welcome.to.my.mind

Weird?

2008-05-12T23:30:03Z

Okay, this is the most random thing EVER, but there you are.

I happened to mention to someone today that I like to dip my popcorn in soda and then eat it (pepsi is favorite). They immediately were like, "EW! That's disgusting! Why would you TELL people that?"

So here I am, telling people that. Just thought I'd share a weird fact.

Oh, and I got called a slut twice in the past three days, and got made fun of for being a virgin just as often. Once by Jen's sister's boyfriend (he called me a dyke who sleeps around, actually) and once by a kid in my brother's class. He's in fifth grade. Brother: my sister is so stupid! Kid: And a slut! Brother: No, she's a virgin! Kid: LOLOLOL. (*facepalm* Thank you, Franklin. Way to stick up for me.) And the other virgin hilarity was from Jen's cousin Brandi. Brandi: (to me) Do you smoke? Jen: only sometimes, and she's never even had sex, dude! Brandi&Jen: LOLOLOL!

What up with picking on Amber recently?

Entry of randomness

2008-05-04T01:26:47Z

So...I don't have much to say today. But I am bored, which always leads to fun. Yeah, not really.

I still have writer's block. I finished a 4000+ word D&J fic last week, started the Full House fic for goddessinsepia--and now nothing. I can't think of more than a sentence or two for any D&J fic, and I'm procrastinating on the Full House fic because the het pr0n is giving me issues.

I went with Jen to get a tattoo yesterday (she got one, not me). Okay, I get that she's a taurus and all (but so NOT loyal like they're supposed to be) but why oh why get a bull? It's the weirdest tattoo for a girl, ever. If any of you out there are Tauruses and have little bull tattoos, I'm sorry, but...I hate it.

She didn't even flinch at the tattoo, which makes me think that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to get one myself--but then I realized that I think she has a high threshold for pain. Plus, my grandmother would shoot me. I'd get a butterfly or a star though. No horned animals for me, thanks.

Um...oh yes, I am officially a Saint Mike's student now. Yay for catholic school. But they have a gay issues club, so hopefully I can be somewhat out. We'll see.

That was a pointless update about my RL. SP out.

secret_plasures @ 2008-04-30T20:15:00

2008-05-01T00:17:32Z

Oh yeah, and clearly I forgot to mention it, but...

I got back with Jen.

I know. I definitely put that off...

meme of lasts

2008-05-01T00:13:49Z

from

goddessinsepia (I'm working on that Full House, I promise! The pr0n is hard.)

1. Last cigarette?
When it comes to smoking, I don't but I have. Jen smokes, and she always offers me drags. And I can't say no to that girl. So...last Friday. (I think I'm getting addicted, unfortunately)

2. Last beverage?
Pepsi

3. Last phone call?
My grammy

4. Last text message?
From Jen, saying "thx i luv u so much!!" I told her I'd give her a ride. That's the only reason for the "i luv u"

5. Last CD played?
A Drake Bell CD I made--both of his albums (Telegraph and It's Only Time) burned onto one disk.

6. Last BUBBLE bath?
Oh god, not since I was about 8. I had a regular bath a few months ago...

7. Last time you cried?
Yesterday

8. Last meal?
An italian grinder

ORIGINAL FICTION: Choices

2008-04-27T03:05:16Z

So, yeah, I've never posted anything original before, cept for poetry. But I wrote this short story for a class awhile ago, and I figured, well, it's gathering dust (figuratively) on my laptop, so I might as well air it out.

Title: Choices
Author: Amber (that's me)
Summary: Nova has a lot going for her: she has an amazing boyfriend, a supportive best friend, and she’s enjoying a gap year before college. Then everything starts falling down around her: her parents are disappointed she didn’t go to a good college, her boyfriend reveals an uncomfortable secret, and finally her best friend ends up in a coma in the hospital. Nova just can’t take it anymore and goes on a three-day journey. Will the trip be enough to solve her problems? And what about the mysterious stranger she meets on her way? Approx. 8500 words.

The audience laughs loudly at the latest antics of Adam Sandler, but even with the echoes of fifty laughing people ringing in my ears, I can tell that Logan’s laugh is forced. I frown. He hasn’t been acting like himself all night--all week, actually, come to think of it. Maybe he’s worried about his job. Maybe his grandmother is sick. Whatever it is, he hasn’t told me about it. What kind of a boyfriend doesn’t tell his girlfriend what’s bothering him? Well, it doesn’t matter. I’ll just have to ask him. I decide to wait until after the movie, though. I hate when people talk in movie theaters, so I try not to do it myself, because I also hate hypocrites.

The movie ends forty-five minutes later, and Logan and I head out of the theater, throwing away our empty popcorn bag and soda cups. We emerge into the twilight and by unspoken agreement make our way to a bench conveniently placed near the theater.

“What’s up, Nova?” Logan asks, sounding concerned.

“Nothing,” I reply, a bit surprised. “I was going to ask you that. Is something wrong?”

Now it’s Logan’s turn to be surprised. “No,” he says quickly. “Why?”

I shrug. “You just seemed…not yourself this week.”

“Oh.” Logan shrugs and smiles. “Well, sweetie, everything’s okay.”

I smile back. “Good,” I say in relief. “I was worried.”

“I’m sorry,” Logan says sincerely. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

I lean in for a kiss, but Logan stands up. “I’ve got to get home,” he says. “I promised Mom I’d watch Lindsay while she goes to some party.”

I pout. “So your twelve-year-old sister is more important than your girlfriend?”

“’Fraid so,” Logan replies.

I sigh in resignation, and then stand as well. “Fine. But…wanna go out again on Tuesday?”

“Uh, sure,” Logan agrees. “Look, I’ve really got to go.”

“Bye,” I reply, feeling slightly hurt.

“Byeas!”

It’s only about seven o’clock on a Friday night. I have nothing to do. I know that there’s a party I could go to out in the abandoned factory, but I’m sick of parties. It’ll just be the same old beer, same old drugs, and the same old ex-classmates, most of whom just got back from their first year at college. I don’t want to go. But I don’t want to stay at home either.

I pull out my cell phone and call my best friend Aisha. Immediately, her voice-mail picks up. “Hey, you’ve reached Aisha Morgen! Leave a message!”

“Hi,” I sigh. “It’s me. I’ll try you at home. Later.” I don’t really expect Aisha to be home--she has a boyfriend herself, who she met at college. He’s living with his uncle in town now, instead of going back home to Mississippi.

I dial her home number anyway. Or at least, I hope it’s her number. I dial it so rarely that it’s not even in my phone’s memory. The phone rings four times before an unfamiliar male voice answers, “’Sup?”

Crap, it’s the wrong number. I hang up without saying anything.

Almost immediately, my phone rings. “Hey,” I answer it.

A barrage of giggles sounds in my ear. “I saw your number on caller ID and told Sean it would be funny if he answered,” Aisha manages to say through her giggles.

“Argh, I thought I had the wrong number. You busy?”

“Nope, just chilling. Watching movies. What’s up?”

“Well, I had a date with Logan, but he cut out early to baby-sit his little sister. I was hoping we could do something?”

Immediately, Aisha replies, “Come on over. You can hang with us. Besides, you haven’t met Sean yet.”

I smile. “Cool. Thanks.” I hang up, and start walking towards Aisha’s place. It’s not far from the theater.

When I arrive at Aisha’s, I let myself in and call out, “Hello?”

“In here!” Aisha’s voice comes from the living room. I cross to the entryway and look in. Aisha and someone who can only be Sean are sitting on the sofa in front of the TV, watching what looks like Moulin Rouge. They look cute together.

Aisha looks up, scoots closer to Sean, and pats the cushion beside her. “Sean, this is my best friend Nova Anza. Nova, this is my boyfriend, Sean Thomas. Have a seat,” she adds invitingly. “Want a Coke?”

“Please and thank you,” I reply.

Aisha stands and walks into the kitchen.

Sean leans forward, extending his hand. I shake it. “It’s great to finally meet you,” he says, grinning.

“Same here,” I reply, sitting beside him. “I hear you live with your uncle. That works out pretty well for seeing Aisha, huh?”

Sean’s happy demeanor changes immediately. He glares darkly. “My dad’s an idiot. He found out I was dating a black girl and threw a fit. I’m not allowed home until I dump her.”

“Racism is terrible,” I reply. Then, to change the subject to something a bit lighter, I point to the TV and ask, “So, how did she wrangle you into watching that?”

His grin returns, but it’s mischievous this time. “She told me Nicole Kidman was in it.”

I laugh, then settle back to watch the movie for the millionth time.

At midnight, I decide to head home. My parents will start to worry if I don’t turn up soon. I actually have a curfew. It’s so gay. I mean, I’m nineteen years old and I have to be home by 12:30. They say it’s not punishment, but I know it is, because I decided to take a gap year before going to college. And I didn’t even get into a good one for next year. I’m just gonna take classes at the community college. And they expect me to believe it’s not punishment? Did they even listen to themselves talk?

“You’re doing what?” Mom had said.

I replied, “Taking a gap year.”

“Why?” Dad demanded. He’s a college professor with a Ph. D., so of course he wanted me to follow in his footsteps.

“Wait,” Mom broke in, before I even had the chance to open my mouth. “It’s because of Logan, isn’t it? He’s taking a gap year too, isn’t he?”

I never even got to explain. Yeah, it was mostly because of Logan, but I had a thousand better reasons all worked out to tell them.

I let myself into the apartment and hang my coat on the hook by the door. I start towards my room, but my dad calls me back.

“You’re almost late.”

“Yeah, but I’m not,” I point out. He sighs, but doesn’t say anything else, so I continue on to my room. I wish I had my own place, but I just don’t have the money. I’m not even working right now.

I change into my pajamas, and then flop backwards onto the bed. I exhale between my lips, making a sound that Aisha always makes fun of whenever she catches me making it. She claims that I sound like a horse.

I roll over onto my stomach and look across the room at my bulletin board and the pictures tacked to it with those giant pushpins. Right in the middle is a picture of Aisha and me at our graduation. Our school colors were white and red, and the girls wore the white. I remember complaining about that, because I thought I was too pale to look good in white. Judging by the picture though, I looked fine. Aisha looks good too, the white of the gown contrasting starkly with her dark skin, but she looks good in anything.

The biggest picture is of me and Logan. My mom took it before our senior prom almost exactly a year ago. We look really happy and in love. I don’t know what might have changed. Logan’s odd behavior seems even more pronounced when I compare it to the way he acted back then. I wish I knew what was up with him!

I stand up, cross the room to turn off the lights, and crawl under the covers. I yawn. I have a feeling I’ll be asleep in a matter of minutes…

The ground is falling away from me. I look around, trying to figure out what’s going on. I’m in the claws of a bird, but not high enough that everything is minuscule. In fact, everything seems too big for my height. It’s when I think to pry the bird’s talons from my shoulder that I realize I don’t have opposable thumbs. I squeak in terror, and realize that I’m a rat. My flight suddenly becomes ten times more terrifying. I struggle in the bird’s grasp and fall to the ground. I run frantically, hearing the cries of the bird only inches above me. I take a flying leap, and land in a classroom. The speed of my jump blows off all my fur, and it floats gently to form a pile beside me. My crunchy old history teacher hands me a test. Hesitantly, I start to fill in the answers. I’ve only answered three questions when the teacher snatches the test from my paws. I squeak in protest, but--

I wake suddenly to the sound of the phone ringing. I groan and roll over. Who’s calling at this hour? I groan once more at the realization that my parents have gone out to breakfast, as is their Saturday morning custom, so I have to answer the phone.

I stumble into the hallway and pick it up. “H’lo?” I mumble groggily.

“Hey, it’s me,” Logan’s voice replies.

“What’s up? Why are you calling so early?” I ask, stifling a yawn.

“I need to talk to you,” Logan says.

“About what?”

“I’d rather talk in person,” Logan says, avoiding the question. “Can you meet me at Dunkin' Donuts in an hour?”

“Sure,” I reply slowly, nonplussed. “See you then.”

“Thanks, Nova. Byeas.”

“Bye.” I hang up the phone, calmly. I walk down the hall to my bedroom, fling myself onto the bed and scream into my pillow. Then I sit up and make my supposed “horse noise”. I was this close to finding out what Logan’s deal was. He’s just tormenting me now.

My inner ranting is interrupted by a yawn. I decide to take a shower at some point before going to meet Logan. Maybe it’ll wake me up some more.

Forty-five minutes later, I’m hopping on one foot, trying to pull my pink Converse sneaker on with one hand and put an earring through my ear with the other. As usual, I’m running late. It takes at least twenty minutes to get to Dunkin' Donuts from here on foot, and even longer by car, considering that it takes half an hour to get down Main Street in the morning and afternoon with traffic--even on a Saturday.

I manage to get my shoe on and the earring in, and then I run out the door, barely remembering to grab my purse and scribble a note to my parents. I dash past old people and little kids out shopping; dodge a kid on a skateboard; then, finally, seventeen minutes after closing my front door, skid to a stop outside the entrance to Dunkin’ Donuts. I flick my hair out of my eyes and open the door.

And there’s Logan, sitting at a corner table, blowing on his open cup of coffee. I know exactly what’s in his cup: decaf coffee-cream-no sugar. It’s what he always gets. Beside him on the table is my usual, a small hot chocolate.

“Nova!” he calls, noticing me. “Over here!”

I smile at him and make my way over. I sit in the hard chair across from him.

“Hey. Glad you could make it, sweetie,” Logan says, sliding the cup of hot chocolate over to me.

I take a sip of the hot drink, then mock-glare at him. “Okay, are you finally going to tell me what’s bugging you?”

Logan takes a sip of his own drink, and then puts the cover back on. “Yeah. I guess so. Um, Nova…look, this is really hard to say…”

“Is someone sick?” I ask immediately.

“No, nothing like that.”
“Thank goodness.”

“Thank goodness,” Logan agrees. “Actually, um--”

“You’re not going to college next year?” What I really want to ask is, ‘Are you breaking up with me?’ but I don’t think I want to hear the answer.

Logan shakes his head. “No, I am. I--”

“Are you going--?”

“Nova! Would you just let me talk?”

“Yeah, right, sorry.” I guess he’s fed up with my stalling.

“Thank you.” Logan takes a deep breath. “Nova, I really like you. I mean, I love you. But…”

“But you want to break up,” I finish for him. Damn. I knew it.

“I…yeah. But--”

“What did I do, Logan? I thought things were going great.” I don’t understand. I knew it was coming, but not where it was coming from.

He looks away. “They were. It’s nothing you did. But Nova…I’m not…I mean…I’m…”

“What? Madly in love with another girl?” I supply sarcastically.

“Not a girl,” he mutters, then closes his eyes.

I blink. What did he just say? “What did you just say?” I demand.

Logan opens his eyes, takes my hand, and looks at me intently. “Nova, I’m gay,” he says simply.

I wrench away from him. “You’re what?” I yell.

Logan looks hurt. “I thought you’d understand,” he says, sounding bewildered.

“Understand? How could I possibly understand? I’m normal. I’m attracted to the opposite sex!” I exclaim.

“Why does it matter?” Logan asks desperately.

“Why does it matter? Because you lied to me! When did you decide you were gay?”

“It’s not--”

“It’s not a choice, yeah, okay. Just answer the question.”

“I figured out I was gay around Christmas--”

“You’ve been lying to me for five months?” I shriek.

“--of senior year,” Logan finishes.

I just stare at him. How could he do this to me? I pick up a cup and take a sip just to give me time to think of a response.

I nearly spit the mouthful out again. I must have picked up Logan’s cup by mistake, because I definitely don’t taste hot chocolate. But I don’t taste decaf coffee either, for that matter.

“What the hell are you drinking?” I demand.

“Vanilla chai tea,” Logan replies defensively. “What I always drink.”

“Since when?”

“A couple months ago, why?”

“I don’t even know you anymore!” I declare, then stand up and stalk toward the door. “And I don’t know if I ever did!” I add, and then storm out, fighting back tears.

I absolutely can’t believe that Logan would do this to me! We’ve been going out for nearly three years now, ever since June of junior year. Whatever happened to trust and truth and all that other stuff that’s important to relationships?

I decide to call the one person who’s never lied to me, as far as I know. I pull my cell phone out of my purse and dial Aisha’s number.

“Hey, what’s up?” she answers.

“Logan dumped me,” I tell her, and then lose my battle against the tears as my anger and indignation crack to reveal the betrayal and sadness that were hiding the whole time I was talking to Logan.

“Ohh, Nova,” Aisha’s quiet for a moment. “Hey, I’m at work, but why don’t you come down and tell me about it. There’s hardly anyone here.”

“Okay,” I reply, sniffling. Aisha hangs up, and I stuff my phone back into my purse. Then I turn around and start off toward the little bookstore on the other end of Main Street where Aisha works.

I’m there within minutes, and the moment I open the door and see Aisha standing there behind the counter, I burst into a fresh wave of tears. Aisha immediately turns to the fourteen-year-old kid alphabetizing shelves and catches his attention.

“Hey, Garth,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know how to work the register?”

“Yeah…”

“Good. Then will you come watch for customers while I talk to my friend here?”

The kid’s eyes light up. It’s pretty obvious he’s never done anything so important on the job. “Yeah!”

Aisha comes out from behind the counter, takes hold of my shoulders, and steers me into the back room/break room. It’s kind of a dingy place, with boxes everywhere, peeling paint, and who-knows-how-old coffee sitting in a pot. Aisha plops down on the floor and tugs me along with her.

“Okay, talk. What happened?”

“Logan broke up with me!” I wail.

“Yes, you said that,” Aisha reminds me. “Why?”

I sniffle and wipe at my eyes. “He’s gay.”

Aisha winces.

“Yeah. And he’s been gay since Christmas of senior year! That was almost a year and a half ago! He’s been lying to me since then.”

“Well…” Aisha begins hesitantly, “Technically, hasn’t he always been gay? I mean…you’re born that way, yeah?”

“Whose side are you on?” I snap.

“Yours, of course.”

I harrumph, and then point out, “You don’t seem angry with him.”

She shrugs. “Well, I’m not.”

“Don’t you even care that he was lying to me for so long?” I ask.

“Well,” Aisha says delicately, “he was probably trying to figure out if he was really gay, and then what that meant, and then if he should tell you, and then how to tell you. And then he worried about your reaction.”

“My reaction? If he’d just told me immediately--”

“Are you more angry that he’s gay, or that he lied to you?” Aisha interrupts.

“What--I--both, of course! But I’m more upset that he’s gay! He wouldn’t have lied to me if it wasn’t for that, and he’d be…be…”

“The same as you?” Aisha supplies. “Nova, you’re a terrific person and you know I love you, but you don’t understand what it’s like to be a minority. How could you? I mean, you’re a perfect blue-eyed, blonde-haired American (yes, I know it’s dyed), with roots tracing back to England and, like, Scandinavia. It’s not your fault. But me? I’m black, Nova. My mom’s ancestors were slaves and my dad is Jamaican. I get treated different all the time, even if you don’t notice. Now, Logan is like the boy version of you, but he’s in a minority too. The difference between him and me is that he can hide his difference. He’d probably prefer to do that. So he really took a huge risk in telling you.”

“Maybe,” I admit grudgingly. “But it’s still abnormal. And he still betrayed me! He even said something about being with a guy. That means he’s cheating on me too.”

“‘Betrayed’ is a pretty strong word,” Aisha says mildly.

I shake my head. “Aisha, you don’t understand. I loved him. He was my first real serious boyfriend. I went out with other guys a few times, and even made out with a couple, but Logan was--or is, I guess, he’s not dead--the first and only guy I ever f--”

“I know!” Aisha interrupts hastily. She hates the term I was about to use.

“I wonder if that means anything to him,” I continue. A sudden thought occurs to me. “We’ve f--done it,” I edit myself, “since he turned gay. I wonder if that meant anything to him.”

Aisha looks at me uncertainly. “Nova, you don’t--”

“Yeah, okay, you don’t turn gay. Whatever.”

Aisha sighs. “I’m sorry Logan broke up with you. I agree that he probably ought to have told you a bit sooner. But I also think that you ought to try to empathize with him a bit more. Try to understand where he’s coming from.”

I gape at her, and then stand. “I’m leaving,” I say frostily. “I can see you’re not going to be any help.”

And, fighting back tears once again, I leave the store, leave the room, and leave Aisha.

Early the next morning, I wake up to my mom shaking me awake. “Nova, honey, wake up,” she says urgently.

“Why? What time is it?”

“It’s four, honey, but something’s happened. Mrs. Morgen just telephoned.”

My blood runs cold. I know it’s an overused expression, but that’s what it feels like. “Oh gods, what happened?”

“Well, honey, there’s been an accident. Aisha was on her way back home last night, when she…she was shot.”

My lower lip starts to quiver. “Is she…okay?”

“She’s in the hospital. She’s in a coma right now. The doctors…aren’t sure when or if she’ll wake up.”

For what seems like the millionth time in the past twenty-four hours, I start crying. Oh gods, we were fighting earlier today, and now she might never wake up and I can never apologize and I’m still angry, which is terrible, and I’m furious with Logan and I don’t know Sean and my parents will just be too over-protective…I need to get away from all this.

Like, right now.

As soon as the thought enters my mind, I leap out of bed. Mom is taken aback as I rush around, gathering up clothes to put on.

“Nova, what are you doing?” she asks in alarm.

“I’m about to be getting dressed. Why?” I reply. I head out the door with my armful of clothes and make my way into the bathroom.

Mom follows me and comes to an abrupt halt when I shut the door in her face. “Why are you getting dressed now?”

“Because I’m leaving,” I say, my voice muffled by the sweatshirt I’m pulling over my head.

“But visiting hours aren’t until eight, and I don’t think you’d be allowed in anyway!”

I open the door again, walk down the hall, and deposit my pajamas in the laundry room. Mom follows again.

“Nova, we’ve told you, you can wear things more than once before washing; it’s more environmentally friendly.”

“Do you think I care about that now?” I shoot back.

“Nova Elizabeth, just because you’re distraught, that does not mean--”

I laugh. It’s not a nice sound. “Distraught? Mom, you don’t know the half of it.”

“Then tell me about it!”

“Logan’s-gay-Aisha’s-hurt-we-were-fighting-there-happy-now?” I say all in one breath.

“No!” she replies. “I am not. The hospital is not open right now, so there is no need--”

“Who says I’m going to the hospital?” I interrupt. “I never said I was going to the hospital.”

“Then where, exactly, are you going?” Mom demands.

“I don’t know. Just away.”

Mom makes a sound of disbelief. “I do not think so, young lady!”

Why is it that when parents are mad at their kids, the kids suddenly become young ladies or young men?

“Mom, there’s really nothing you can do to stop me. I’m nineteen. I have my own car. I make my own payments on the car. You have zero say over what I do.”

“Maybe not,” Mom says evenly, and that’s when I know I’m in trouble. She always becomes calm when she’s really angry, and almost formal when she’s furious. “But since you are, as you insist, an adult, that means you ought to act like one. Do you know what adults do when they have a crisis?”

I assume this is a rhetorical question, so I say nothing.

“Well?” Mom prods.

“I don’t know, Mom. You tell me,” I say sarcastically.

Mom literally straightens her back. She seems to gain about three inches. “Adults,” she begins, in a super-formal tone, “discuss their problems in a reasonable manner. They ask for advice, and do not simply run away from them.”

Even though I know I’m way over the limit, I can’t seem to stop talking. “I’m not running away. I just need to clear my head. Besides, how the hell do you expect me to discuss my problems with anyone? Aisha’s in a coma, Mom! Logan’s gay and he lied to me! He ought to talk to me, because I have justification! So…so there! I’m leaving!” I turn on my heel to go back to my room, and see Dad standing in the doorway.

“What is going on in here?” he asks.

“David--” Mom starts to say.

“Dad,” I interrupt, “I just want to get away from everything for awhile. A lot’s happened in the past two days. I just need to clear my head.”

Dad hesitates. “Well…”

“Dad, can I go? Just for three days.”

“I suppose…” Dad says slowly. “But at least wait until a decent hour. And, ah…I’d stop by the hospital first.”

“David!” Mom snaps. “You can’t just let her go!”

“She is right,” Dad tells Mom gently. “We really don’t have any say. She’s legally an adult, supposedly able to make her own decisions.”

I ignore Dad’s ‘supposedly’ and dash into my room, calling “Thank you!” over my shoulder as I begin to throw clothes into an old backpack.

At eight o’clock on the dot, I pull into the visitor lot at the hospital. I hurry inside and ask the lady at the desk where Aisha Morgen is.

“She’s on the fourth floor in intensive care, but only family is allowed to see her right now.”

“I’m her sister,” I lie, hoping this woman hasn’t actually seen Aisha or her mother.

“Oh, really?” The woman replies, looking at me suspiciously.

“Adopted,” I add, trying to project an ‘I get that all the time’ air.

“Hmm…what’s your name?”

Damn it, what’s Aisha’s sister’s name? I haven’t seen her since I was about ten. “Tasha!” I reply, the name suddenly coming to me.

“I’ll have to check,” she tells me, then gets on the phone. What, does she not believe me? On the other hand, I am lying.

The lady hangs up and looks at me again. “Your mother confirms that she has a daughter named Natasha. All right, go on up.”

I head for the elevators, wondering what the big deal is. I’ve been to intensive care to see my grandmother before, and they didn’t have to check anything.

The instant the doors open, I see what the big deal is. There are three policemen and a reporter sitting on a bench outside the main ward area. Immediately one of the policemen stands.

“Who are you?” he asks.

I know better than to lie to a policeman. “Um, I’m--”

“Nova!” Mrs. Morgen calls suddenly. I look up to see her rushing out of a room. Before the door closes behind her, I see Aisha connected to a million wires and tubes, with a bandage wrapped around her head.

I want to cry, but I manage not to--barely--as Mrs. Morgen hugs me. “I thought it was going to be you. There’s no way Tasha could have gotten here this fast. I’m sorry honey, but you can’t actually go in. I do want to talk with you though.”

“What happened?” I ask. “Why are there police here?”

She sighs. “Nova, they think that this was a hate crime. There were some other shootings last night in the area. All of the victims were black. Aisha is the only one who wasn’t killed instantly.” Her voice trembles on the last three words. “They’re only letting family in to see her, just in case. Anyone could be a suspect.”

I wonder if the fight Aisha and I had is motive enough for me to be a suspect.

“Don’t worry,” Mrs. Morgen adds, “the police called your parents and neighbors, and they confirmed that you were home last night. We’d never suspect you at any rate.”

“I--thanks for telling me,” I say. “Um…when is she going to wake up?”

Mrs. Morgen sighs again. “Honestly, honey, we don’t know if she is going to wake up.” She blinks rapidly, and I look away.

“Well…I’m going out of town for a couple days, so um…if she does, tell her I’ll see her as soon as I can. Actually, tell her that anyways.”

“Of course,” she whispers, and I worry that she might start crying. I never know how to deal with adults crying.

I turn and walk back down the hallway and wait for the elevator. Whether or not she’s crying, Mrs. Morgen is so strong. If I had a daughter, and she was in a coma, I’d be bawling my eyes out. But then, when Aisha’s dad walked out when we were thirteen, she was strong then, too.

I make my way back to the visitor lot and climb back into my car. I back out of the parking place, then get back to the main road and head towards the highway. I have a vague destination in mind, and so I need to head south.

I don’t even remember the name of the place I want to go, but hopefully I’ll remember when I see the exit. My family used to go there when I was little, and it was just so calm. I think calm is my best option.

I turn the radio to my favorite station and wish my cruise control worked as I turn onto the on ramp.

I drive all day, except for three hours, during which I stop for lunch, dinner, and a stretch break. I really want to stop somewhere and stay the night, but I told Dad that it would only be three days. I’ve already used one up with driving, and I’ll use another one driving home. I have to get there early tomorrow morning if I want any time at all just to chill.

Even though I’ve just started driving again after my break, I decide to pull off the next exit. I’m hungry, and hopefully there will be a 24-hour drive-thru or convenience store around. And, if that skipping is any indication (because my unreliable gas gauge certainly isn’t) I need to get some gas, and soon.

As soon as I pull off the interstate, I wish I hadn’t. I’m in this run-down little town that, quite frankly, scares me more than a little bit. Not knowing how the owners of the surrounding houses will take to my turning around in their driveways, I keep going, looking for a public place, like a gas station or a business, where I can turn around. I can probably stave off getting gas for another few miles.

Of course, as soon as I think that, my engine skips a few more times, then stops all together. To make matters worse, I’m on a sharp corner with the speed advisory sign reading twenty miles per hour.

“No,” I moan. “Why here? Why now?” I shift the stalled car into neutral, hoping there’s enough of a hill here that I can coast off this corner.

Luckily, I make it around, and even luckier, there is a gas station ten feet ahead of me. It’s closed, but it’s off the road and will be open in five or six hours. I can lock the doors and stay in my car. Maybe even sleep, although the chances of my actually falling asleep here are slim.

“Hey, we’re closed!” someone suddenly yells. I jump, then strain my eyes to see where the voice is coming from. A guy approaches my car from the rear of the station.

I roll down my window a crack. “I know; I was going to wait until morning. I’m out of gas.”

The guy shakes his head. “Girl, you’re so lucky I’m the one who found you here.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Well, look, it’s like this. Most people around here aren’t overly fond of your type, if you know what I mean. White people,” he clarifies.

“Why?” I ask in surprise. It’s common, albeit unfortunate, for white people to hate black people, but I’ve never seen it the other way around.

“Most of the people here have been here since the 60s. You know, Martin Luther King, the civil rights movement, the KKK. They passed on their hate to their kids, and them to their kids. I’m one of the few people who finally asked why. So--yeah, you’re lucky. You shouldn’t stay here.”

“Um, I don’t have much choice,” I point out.

“Oh. Right, you’re right. Uh…come with me. Lock your car.”

Wondering why I’m trusting this guy when he just gave me such a dire warning, I get out and follow him, against my better judgment.

He leads me behind the gas station and through a gap in a fence. Immediately on the other side, he climbs through the partially-open window of someone’s garage. I stop, terrified, afraid the police will turn up any second and I’ll be arrested for assisting a burglary or something.

The guy’s head appears in the window. “Come here!” he calls. “Come get this gas can!” He lifts the red container onto the sill.

I go over and take it, then stagger back. It’s completely full, and I wasn’t expecting it. Seconds later, I’m glad I’d staggered backwards, as the guy climbs back out the window and falls flat on his face.

He jumps up and dusts himself off. “Here, I’ve got it,” he says, and takes the can back.

I raise my eyebrows, but follow him back to my car. He sets the can down, unscrews my gas cap, and then bends down to pick the can up again.

“I can do it,” I say, and I start to head forward, but he lifts the can and starts pouring before I’m close enough.

“I’ve got it,” he repeats.

“Misogynistic, aren’t you?” I comment snidely, assuming that he doesn’t even know what the word means.

“Not at all; I love women.” He flashes a cheeky grin.

“Well, thank you, I guess,” I say. “I’ll head off now, before I get arrested.”

“For what?” he asks confusedly, his grin diminishing.

I gesture toward the back of the station, and the house that lies beyond. “Breaking and entering!”

He starts laughing. “That’s my house!” he manages.

“Right, so why did you climb in the garage window?”

“My folks keep the doors locked. I didn’t want to go all the way inside for the key.”

I hesitate, not sure whether to believe him.

“You can go over and ask; they’ll tell you,” he offers. “Their names are Darla and Darrell. Yes, alliteration.”

“It’s okay, I believe you. In that case, um, how much do you want for the gas?”

He waves his hand. “Don’t worry about it. So--” He stops suddenly, then starts again, in a slightly different tone. “So, what’s your name?”

“Nova Anza,” I mutter. I can only guess what he’ll say about it. I get all kinds of dumb jokes, about explosions and being from outer space mostly.

“Cool. Your parents astronomers?”

I sigh, and wish they were. “Well, you know how people with names like London or Paris are named after the place they were conceived?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, so was I.”

He looks confused. “Where’s Nova?”

“Rusting in a junkyard, I’d imagine.”

He gets the weirdest look on his face, and then he laughs. “Seriously?”

“Unfortunately.”

“That’s awesome. My name’s Darren Johnson. Not nearly as interesting. Anyway, so, Nova, where you headed?”

“South,” I reply. “I’m not sure where, exactly. There’s this town--I went there when I was little. It’s just so--”

“Peaceful,” he interrupts. “Yeah, I know where you mean. Lakeview.”

Yes, that’s it! “Yeah! You’ve been there?”

He shrugs. “It’s only a couple hours from here.”

“Do you know the way?” I ask. “I really have no clue how to get there.”

“Well…I do know the way, but not by highway. You have to get off in some city area, and then go back--I never go that way. But you’d probably get confused going over all the back roads…”

I suddenly get a brilliant idea. “Come with me!”

He snorts. “What? Ten minutes ago, you were convinced that I was a gangster or something, breaking into someone’s garage.”

I blush. “You remind me of someone I know. And besides, my first impressions was wrong. You can’t blame me; you’d just said I couldn’t trust anyone in town!”

“True enough. All right, I’ll go with you.”

I smile. “Great.” Then, unexpectedly, I yawn.

“Whoa, how long have you been on the road?”

“On and off since nine…a.m.,” I reply sheepishly.

He raises his eyebrows. “Okay, I’m driving. I’ve never been in an accident in my life; I don’t need to break my record.”

I sigh, but give in, because I really am tired.

I stretch and yawn. For a moment, I’m confused. Did I fall asleep driving? Then why aren’t I dead?

Darren’s cheerful, “Morning, Sleeping Beauty!” reminds me immediately.

“Morning,” I mutter back. It’s still pretty dark out. A glance at the clock tells me it’s three in the morning. “Are we almost there?”

“Yeah,” Darren replies. “Technically, we are there. In Lakeview. My older brother Derek lives here, so we’re heading to his place. And don’t freak out or anything, but we are going to break in there. He’s on vacation. I have a key, but it’s on my key ring. In my house.”

“And of course, knowing that he was on vacation, you left your keys anyway,” I remark.

“Of course,” he replies. “But just in case you were worrying, there’s a picture of me and him at my high school graduation stuck in the frame of a mirror hanging in the living room. Just, y’know, to prove it’s my brother’s house.”

I stick my tongue out at him. “Okay, so I think you’re breaking in one time… How old are you, anyway?” I ask.

“Twenty-one,” he replies. “And you?”

“Nineteen.”

“Yeah? I would’ve guessed--” He suddenly slams on the brakes. “Almost missed it,” he explains, before I can open my mouth.

“As if I’m not stiff enough,” I complain, as he turns up the drive. “That’s just what I need, a nice case of whiplash.”

“Shut it, you,” he responds, in a fake tough-guy voice, before flashing that winning smile again. “Besides, we’re here,” he says sweetly.

Okay. How smart is it to fall for some guy you pick up at a gas station at eleven at night? It’s not at all, it’s pretty dumb. But that’s exactly what I’m doing.

“Earth to Nova, come in Nova,” Darren says, waving a hand in front of my face. “Are you going to get out?”

“Sorry, I was spacing,” I reply, then cringe at the terrible pun I just inadvertently made.

Darren grins. “Yes, that was very cringe-worthy.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, before getting out of the car.

Darren gets out as well, and leads the way to the back of the house. “I hope the window hasn’t been replaced--aha! Good, not yet.” He bends down and in the light cast by a streetlamp I see a cellar window with a sheet of plastic stuck over it.

“What is it with you and windows?” I ask, but Darren doesn’t answer; he’s intent on peeling one corner of the plastic back. He reaches through and unlatches the window, then pushes it in.

“After you,” he says, standing back and bowing. He obviously doesn’t think I’m going to do it.

I drop to my hands and knees, then my stomach. I slide through the narrow frame backwards, feet first. Finally, I’m hanging by the tips of my fingers.

“If I land on anything sharp, you’re dead,” I inform Darren conversationally, then let go.

I fall about a foot, onto a solid cement floor. I look up. “Well, that’s not so bad.”

Darren grins. “I didn’t think you’d do it.”

“I know,” I reply. “Now get in here so we can close that window, or else a skunk or something will decide this is a great place to live.”

He obeys and quickly lowers himself down too. He only has to drop about an inch. I wonder how he fit through the window, and then realize, as he reaches up to close the window and his T-shirt raises a couple inches, that he’s pretty skinny for his height.

“Onwards and upwards!” he cries, and dashes across the cellar to the stairs. I follow, more slowly in the unfamiliar room lit only by the streetlamps outside. He graciously opens the door at the top and allows me to go through first. “Across the hall is the living room. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

I roll my eyes, but enter the living room and sit on the couch (after surreptitiously checking for the picture, which is there).

Darren sits beside me and yawns. “I don’t know about you, but I’m beat.” He reaches down and pulls out the recliner, props his feet up, leans back, and closes his eyes.

I shrug, then follow suit.

This time, I wake up first. I check my watch. Eight-fifteen. Then I look over at Darren. His mouth is slightly open and his breath comes in little puffs. I have the craziest urge to kiss him. Well, why not?

I press a kiss to his lips, and after a second, he kisses back. Finally, I pull away and open my eyes, which had fallen shut. He opens his eyes a second after I do.

“Hmm. Well. I could get used to that.”

My intended response, something along the lines of, “Who’s Sleeping Beauty now?” dies before it’s even born.

“Yeah?” I say instead.

He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, actually. How would you feel about us--well. Where do you live?”

“Two states up,” I reply.

“Whoa,” Darren says. “What are you doing way down here?”

I sigh. “I needed to get away.”

“From what?”

“My best friend got shot. They think it’s a hate crime type of thing. She’s black. She’s the one you remind me of,” I add.

Darren winces. “Man, was she one of those ones in that bunch of killings two days ago?”

“Thank gods, she survived.”

“That’s good then.”

“Yeah, but we were having a fight when it happened. My boyfriend--I mean, my ex-boyfriend,” I hastily correct myself, “just told me he’s gay. Can you believe it?”

Darren winces again. “And she wasn’t okay with it?”

I give him a look. “No, she was fine with it. She defended him! Can you believe it?” I repeat.

Darren immediately stands. “No, I can’t. You had a problem with this guy?”

“Well, duh! He’s gay. He was cheating on me with some other guy. He wasn’t even attracted to me and he still--was with me.”

Darren shakes his head. “Man, I had you all wrong. I’m leaving. You probably should too, before Derek and Tracy get home. Breaking and entering, you know.”

“But--Darren! How are you going to get back?”

“I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry.” He stalks toward the door. Suddenly he stops and faces me again. “It’s the same thing, Nova. Your hate for your boyfriend, that shooter’s hate for your friend and those other people, even my neighbors’ hate for white people, it’s all the same. And it’s all stupid and pointless.” Then he turns on his heel and goes out the front door, slamming it behind him.

What? How dare he tell me that I’m the same as those racists! I’m not!

I get up, too, and storm out to my car. Darren is nowhere in sight. Well, good! I don’t care what happens to him!

I turn onto the main road and resolve to find a gas station to ask for directions to the interstate.

I sigh as I pass the exit. Only one to go, and I’m home. I’d love to just keep going, but today’s the day I told Dad I’d be home, even though I have even more on my mind now. Damn it, I still can’t believe he said that! I just don’t understand! I left him nearly twenty-four hours ago, and I still can’t stop thinking about it! I thought that by staying overnight at a motel last night, I’d wake up with a new outlook, or something. Clearly not.

I angrily punch a button on the radio, and my favorite station blares into life.

“Who does he think he is!” I exclaim aloud. “Comparing me to racists! Racists hate people for absolutely no good reason. Just because their skin color or ethnicity or something is different. I’m not the same at all. I don’t exactly hate Logan for one thing, and for another, I dislike him for a legitimate reason! He’s gay, and he’s not normal, not the…same…as I am.”

It suddenly hits me, and I gasp.

“Oh my gods. He was right. He was so right. It’s the same. It’s the same damn thing.” I’m wrong. I can’t just hate gay people for no good reason. I have to talk to Logan as soon as I get back in town. Thankfully, it’s only another ten miles away.

My radio station suddenly goes dead. It tends to do that. I randomly grab a CD and put it in. The familiar opening notes of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody fill the car. Talk about coincidence--this is one of Logan’s CDs.

I try to sing along, but I don’t know half the words, and besides, I have to have a plan for what to say to Logan.

“I’m sorry?” I try out loud. “No: I’m sorry.” This time it’s not a question. “I was wrong--oh, damn it, this is so ga--dumb. I don’t know what to do.”

I drive silently as the song finishes and another starts. I stare at the little “Track 02” in disbelief. It’s that song, what’s it called, by that group Boy George was in. Who even listens to this guy?

I shrug. Well, it’s only, what, four minutes out of my life? I’ll deal with it.

Just as the song ends, I get into town. I take a deep breath, and then turn onto Logan’s street. I don’t have far to go, as Logan’s house in the first on the road. I pull into the driveway, put the car in park, retrieve Logan’s CD, and turn off the ignition.

Slowly, I open the door and get out. Then I walk up to the door, ring the doorbell, and wait.

And wait.

Frowning, I press the button again. Logan’s car is in the driveway. Then I wonder whether the doorbell is working and raise my hand to knock instead.

The door opens and catches me by surprise. I quickly lower my hand.

“Nova,” Logan says flatly, a bit out of breath. “What are you doing here?”

I don’t answer immediately, but take in his appearance. He’s shirtless and his hair is tousled.

“Uh, hello?” Now he sounds impatient.

“Sorry, um, am I interrupting something?”

Logan looks over his shoulder. “Yes, actually.”

“Sorry,” I say again. I knew it. He looks like he’s been making out.

He rolls his eyes. “Look, Nova, for Chrissake, would you just say whatever you came to say?”

“Yeah, sorry. Um, I wanted to say--”

“Logan, who is it?” a vaguely familiar voice calls.

“Nova!” he yells back.

A guy I sort of recognize as being a year ahead of us in school appears behind Logan and casually drapes an arm across his shoulders. “You’re a real bitch, you know that? You’re a--”

“Skylar, don’t.” Logan sighs. “What do you want, Nova?”

“I want to apologize. I was…out of line. And…stupid and prejudiced.”

Logan raises his eyebrows. “And this is coming from…where?”

“After Aisha got shot, I just had to get out of here. I met a guy and told him everything. He made me realize that I was just as wrong as whoever pulled the trigger.”

“That’s for sure,” Skylar mutters.

Logan steps on his foot.

“I--I was surprised. I wished you’d told me sooner. I felt like…maybe nothing we did together mattered to you.”

“How do you think he felt?” Skylar demanded.

Logan rolls his eyes, but in a much nicer way than when he’d done it to me. “Skylar, you’re not helping,” he says pointedly. “But yes, do answer his question.”

“I didn’t think. Look, Logan…I’ve always just had this…aversion to gay people. Like, it’s okay to be gay, as long as I don’t know about it?”

“Yes, your ‘that’s so gay remarks’ should have made me realize that,” Logan says. “And I just thought you were a victim of popular culture.”

I wince. “I’m sorry. That must have hurt to hear.”

“You think? Nova, to be honest, I’m not sure what the point of this conversation is. People don’t change.”

“Add ‘overnight’ to that last sentence, and you’ll be right. I’m going to try, Logan. I’m going to try to watch what I say, and try to be more accepting. I guess I just thought you should know that…and that I’m sorry.”

Logan closes his eyes and leans back against Skylar. I wonder if he realizes he’s doing it. After a few moments, he opens his eyes again. “Okay. Here’s the deal. I accept your apology. I’m glad you’re going to try. But I think maybe we should just--not be friends.”

“Wh--”

“Because,” Logan answers my unfinished question, “you just hurt me too badly. Like, I listen to all your problems, and then when I really need you to understand, you don’t. Y’know? I guess I did sort of lie by omission, and yeah, sneaking around with Skylar was pretty slimy. But some of the things you said were just ignorant and repulsive and…and it hurt to hear it from you of all people.”

“Let me educate you,” Skylar says. “Gay is not a synonym for stupid, it’s a synonym for homosexual, or if you’re old, happy. It is not a choi--Ow!” He glares at Logan, who just stepped on his foot again, evidently harder this time.

“Skylar, she’s trying. Give her a break. She gets it. And if she doesn’t, well, she can learn in nicer ways.”

“I’m sorry,” I say again, over Skylar’s irritated mutterings. I take a deep breath, hardly able to believe what I’m about to say. “And…I’m glad you’re happy with each other.” He can’t know what it costs to say that last sentence. It’s just not possible. I loved him. Or, well, present tense. I still do. But where does Darren fit it?

Logan nods. “Thank you.” Maybe he does know…I can’t quite read his tone. “Oh, and Nova…Aisha’s awake. Your mom called earlier and said to tell you if you stopped by.”

“She is? Oh, thank gods. Thanks for letting me know. Um, I guess…goodbye?”

“Goodbye,” Logan confirms. “Maybe someday, Nova, we’ll be friends again.”

“We’ll never be friends,” Skylar tells me. “Just so we’re clear.”

I feel like laughing as I remember the CD in my hand and give it over. “I deserve it, I guess.” I feel awkward, but also like the moment isn’t quite ended. Finally, I stick my hand out, and Logan shakes it. Then I spin around, and hurry back to my car.

I put it in gear and turn toward the hospital. Maybe not everything turned out like I hoped with Logan, but Aisha’s awake. That’s something. I’ll tell her about my…what is it? A change of heart? Yeah, I’ll tell her about that. And maybe I’ll call information for Darren’s number and tell him, too. Maybe he’ll reconsider. Who knows? I certainly don’t. As I found out this past week, there’s a lot I don’t know. The good news is, there are also a lot of people out there willing to teach me.

secret_plasures @ 2008-04-26T21:15:00

2008-04-27T01:23:56Z

You know how sometimes you just get wrapped up in your own life and all your own problems, and then you have that "shit. I'm not the only person in the world, and really I'm much better off than some people" realization?

Based on that, you all probably realized that I just had one of those.

I totally did, just a short time ago, tonight actually.

So...yeah. Just, I'm very small, not just on a cosmic scale but a worldly scale, a national scale, even a town-ly scale.

secret_plasures @ 2008-04-23T20:33:00

2008-04-24T00:38:44Z

Okay, despite the fact that you all know I'm bisexual, I want your honest opinions about bisexuality. Does it exist? Is it possible to like guys and girls? Is is a choice? Is is a total bullshit made up orientation?

You cannot offend me. My best friend has told me that she thinks I'm choosing to be that way, and I listen to my grandmother say it doesn't exist on a weekly basis. I just want to know. Because it seems like the orientation that appeals to everyone--gay, straight, trans, whatever--to put down.

It's a meme-filled funfest--from otempora01 and absinthe_waltz, respectively

2008-04-20T01:10:12Z

Anonymous Meme: Pick people from your flist and make statements of what you would like to say to them. Don't reveal who they are.

Aside from being scarily like me, you listen, give advice and yell when necesary. Some of my RL friends don't even do that. I actually have told you this, nonanonymously, but you are the best.

I love your name. Your real name, not your username, although that is pretty neat too. And the story behind it is lovely.

I really want to get to know you better. You're another one who is scarily like me, and I'd like to see some of the other ways.

We became friends through someone else, and when she defriended me, you didn't. So I'm really thankful for that. You're another one I wish I knew better.

I'm no longer on your flist, but you're still on mine. You were the first person ever to friend me. I practically worshipped you back in the day. And you're still one of the people I admire liekwoah.

We have very little in common, aside from shipping AS/S, but again, I'd like to get to know you better.

A - Age: 17
B - Band listening to right now: Christina Aguilera.
C - Career future: High school english teacher.
D - Dad’s name: Tracy
E - Easiest person to talk to: Jillian
F - Favorite type of shoe: Slip on/sandals
G - Grapes or Grapefruit: Grapes
H - Hometown: Topsham
I - Instrumental talent: Ha!
J - Juice of choice: orange
K - Koala Bear or Panda Bear: Panda
L - Longest car ride ever: Vermont to Florida.
M - Middle name: Marie
N - Number of jobs you’ve had: 2...
O - OCD traits: I have a bunch, but the most OCD is: my food can't touch, and I have to eat all of one thing, turn the plate clockwise, eat the next thing, etc.
P - Phobia[s]: Heights, fire, and death
Q - Quote: "Evil is the vulgar lover who loves the body rather than the soul..."
R - Reason to smile: .Um, none?
S - Song you sang last: In the End-Linkin Park
T - Time you wake up: 6 am Weekdays, 9-12 weekends
U - Unknown fact about me: l...don't know.
V - Vegetable you hate: Beets
W - Worst habit: Biting fingernails.
X - X-rays you’ve had: Teeth.
Y - Yummiest food your belly likes: stir fry.
Z - Zodiac Sign: I refuse to say it. It's also the name of my mom's boyfriend. My bday is July 27, figure it out.

I AM AN IDIOT

2008-04-14T02:24:00Z

I posted yesterday about how Jen wants me to get back together with her, right? But I decided not to be an idiot and said no?

Well, at 11.30 last night, I left her a voicemail basically saying that it was going to end badly, but I wanted to get back together too. I have no idea if she's listened to the message yet. I managed to get out of seeing her tonight. Because I don't want to deal with it all again, but I do want a GF. I think I'm using her, and that's bad. At the same time, I DID fall for her so hard last time...I'm just confused.

Hey HP fans of my flist, have you all heard about the lawsuit JKR is bringing against Steve Vander Ark? I can't believe it. I don't want to know what that'll mean for fandom...

Drake&Josh-related spiel

2008-04-13T02:04:33Z

I'm not sure if I've ever actually said outright, but I HATE JOSH'S SCRUFFY UNSHAVEN DRUGGIE LOOK. I know I just stereotypes scruffy looking people as addicts and vice versa, and I'm sorry, but...please Josh, just shave. Or grow something other than five o'clock tomorrow shadow.

Also, apparently this is because of hair product, but Josh's hair in lots of pictures looks really greasy and gross. So he looks unwashed AND unshaven.

Does anyone remember back when--I say anyone like someone's reading this--Really Big Shrimp first aired? I think Drake and Josh, and maybe Miranda, hosted Nick like all day that day. I didn't WATCH RBS then, because I missed the beginning or something and didn't want to watch from halfway, then my interest waned--not the point. Sorry. Josh's hair is the point. It was like, shoulder length and he didn't look good. I remember thinking specifically, "normally I love guys with long hair, but that's bad."

Now Drake, on the other hand, has looked very nice lately. At the KCAs, Josh looked good and cute (I'll forgive his suspenders) and so did Drake. Drake's glasses/facial hair combo just makes me go "guh" and melt.

Meme type-thing

2008-04-13T01:49:56Z

Taken from

absinthe_waltz

Music Shuffle Survey
- TO TAKE THIS SURVEY, SIMPLY PUT YOUR MUSIC PLAYER ON SHUFFLE AND ANSWER THE QUESTIONS WITH THE TITLE OF THE SONG THAT COMES ON -

[it's better if you don't cheat and don't skip any songs.]

What is your name? Things I'll Never Say - Avril Lavigne (k, this is the weirdest coincidence ever. There was a time when I WOULDN'T say my name. It's Amber, btw)
How is your life going?: Don't Stop Me Now - Queen
What is your nickname?: You're My Best Friend
What is your theme song?: Found a Way - Drake Bell
What is your best friend's theme song?: Virginia Plain - Roxy Music
How is your life going to turn out?: Forgotten - Avril Lavigne
Will you get married?: Rusted Silhouette - Drake Bell
Will you have kids?: Drift Away - Uncle Kracker
What will your job be?: Hot One - Shudder to Think
Did you/will you finish school?: Hold on Loosely - .38 Special
Who is your best friend?: Crazy Little Thing Called Love - Queen
Who is or will be your significant other?: Fight For All the Wrong Reasons - Nickelback
Who do you like?: Buttons - Pussycat Dolls
How will you die?: Killer Queen - Queen
How do you feel right now?: Do What You Want -Drake Bell
What is your favorite song?: Circles - Drake Bell (I am really into Drake right now...so this is one of my actual favorites)
How could you describe your parents?: Who Knows - Avril Lavigne (LOL!!)
Your best friend[s]?: Nobody's Fool - Avril Lavigne
Your teachers?: We Are the Champions - Queen
Your significant other [or crush...]?: Listen to Your Heart - DHT
Yourself?: Far Away - Nickelback
What is your best feature?: Nobody's Home - Avril Lavigne
What will you be / should you be, profession-wise?: We Are The Boys - Pulp
How could you describe this survey?: Mobile - Avril Lavigne
What makes you angry?: Karma Chameleon - Culture Club
What makes you sad?: Right Kind of Wrong - LeAnn Rimes
What makes you happy?: Ain't No Other Man - Christina Aguilera
What makes you dance?: Bittersweet - Venus in Furs/Thom Yorke
What is your favorite color?: A Public Affair - Jessica Simpson
How would you describe yourself?: Don't Preach - Drake Bell
Who is your worst enemy?: Kiss You All Over - Exile
Who do you hate?: Someday - Nickelback
Who do you love?: Highway to Nowhere - Drake Bell
Who do you lust after?: Girls & Boys - Good Charlotte (OMG LOL! So true.)
Finish the Sentance
I wish: Seasons of Love - RENT
I want to: Two Out of Three Ain't Bad - Meatloaf
I want to kill: My Happy Ending - Avril Lavigne
I want to eat: Ever the Same - Rob Thomas
My head: We Might as Well be Strangers
I am: That Smell - Lynryd Skynrd
My best feature is: Where is the Love? - Black-Eyed Peas
My eyes are: Church of the Poison Mind - Culture Club
My hair is: Bad Case of Loving You - Robert Palmer
My face is: It's Only Time - Drake Bell
You should: Fallen For You - Drake Bell
Random
Words of advice: Ballad of Maxwell Demon - Shudder to Think
How do others see me?: The Scientist - Coldplay
How do I see myself?: Here it Goes Again - Ok Go

secret_plasures @ 2008-04-12T14:49:00

2008-04-12T18:51:25Z

Happy birthday, Daddy. He would have been 45 today.

I will separate this into 2 different posts later tonight, but for now, I also have to say:

JEN WANTS TO GET BACK TOGETHER. She said (in a note, for chrissake!) that she can’t get me out of her head (Kylie Minogue much?) and that she “truely” loves me.

Now, there is a little part of me that wanted to say yes. But the rest of me, thankfully, wouldn’t let me be that stupid.

I CANNOT WRITE

2008-04-09T22:48:34Z

I have having major pain-in-the-ass writer's block. Yes, I just churned out a 2,000+ word Drake and Josh fic in a night, but I haven't been able to write anything else--original and poetry included--for about two weeks. So here's what I'm proposing:

is there something you've always wanted to read, but couldn't find anything like it? No matter what it is, I'll write it (if, you know, I know the fandom) I'll write something original, some fandom thing, RPS, even explicit het sex if you like. Just ask. Even if it's a random fandom, I might know it. I know a lot of stuff that I don't ever talk about. Like...um...I don't know, Full House. I could totally write a Full House fic if you wanted.

K, that's the end of my begging for writing prompts. Maybe if I get famous someday, I can get commissioned to do stuff like this. That'd be cool.

Two memes

2008-04-06T02:04:26Z

Both taken from

captain_lubey

A body of water, smaller than a river, contained within relatively narrow banks.
A stream.

What the thing you push around the grocery store is called.
Shopping cart, or just cart

A metal container to carry a meal in.
Lunchbox.

The thing that you cook bacon and eggs in.
Frying pan.

The piece of furniture that seats three people.
Couch, but I use "sofa" in fics

The device on the outside of the house that carries rain off the roof.
Gutter.

The covered area outside a house where people sit in the evening.
Porch.

Carbonated, sweetened, non-alcoholic beverages.
Soda

A flat, round breakfast food served with syrup.
Pancakes.

A long sandwich designed to be a whole meal in itself.
Grinder or sub

The piece of clothing worn by men at the beach.
Swimming trunks. Or, if it's a bikini-style dealie, then Speedo (ew)

Shoes worn for sports.
Do we mean sneakers or cleats?

Putting a room in order.
Cleaning

A flying insect that glows in the dark.
Firefly or lightning bug

The little insect that curls up into a ball.
I don't know what this is referring to

What's it called when private citizens put up signs and sell their used stuff?
Garage sale or lawn sale

What's the evening meal?
Supper or dinner

Dear

captain_lubey,
I don't really know how to tell you this, I dislike you.
I think I realized it when I threw up in your camping car and I saw you sit at my father.
I'm sure you're masochistic enough to understand that Santa doesn't exist.
I'm returning your ring to you, but I'll keep your photo as a memory.
You should also know that I never openly mocked a new life as a clone.
Good luck on your short-term leave from jail,
secret_plasures

Dear (the person who last commented on your journal),
I don't really know how to tell you this, ___1___
I think I realized it ___2___ ___3___ and I saw you ___4___ ___5___.
I'm sure you're ___6___ enough to understand ___7___.
I'm returning ___8___ to you, but I'll keep ___9___ as a memory.
You should also know that I ___10___ ___11___.
___12___,
-Your name-

1. What's the color of your shirt?
Blue - Our romance is over
Red - Our affair is over
White - I'll join the monastery
Black - I dislike you
Green - Our horoscope doesn't match
Grey - You're a pervert
Yellow - I'm selling myself
Pink - Your nostrils are insulting
Brown - The mafia wants you
No shirt - You're a loser
Other - I'm in love with your sister

2. Which is your birth month?
January - That night
February - Last year
March - When your dwarf bit me
April - When I tripped on sesame seeds
May - First of May
June - When you put cuffs on me
July - When I threw up
August - When I saw the shrunken head
September - When we skinny dipped
October - When I quoted Santa
November - When your dog ran amok
December - When I changed tennis shoes

3. Which food do you prefer?
Tacos - In your apartment
Pizza - In your camping car
Pasta - Outside of Chicago
Hamburgers - Under the bus
Salad - As you ate enchilada
Chicken - In your closet
Kebab - With Paris Hilton
Fish - In women's clothing
Sandwiches - At the Hare Krishna graduation
Lasagna - At the mental hospital
Hot dog - Under a state of trance
Other; With George Bush and his wife

4. What's the color of your socks?
Yellow - Hit on
Red - Insult
Black - Ignore
Blue - Knock out
Purple - Pour syrup on
White - Carve your initials into
Grey - Pull the clothes off
Brown - Put leeches on
Orange - Castrate
Pink - Pull the toupee off
Barefoot - Sit at
Other - Drive out

5. What's the color of your underwear?
Black - My best friend
White - My father
Grey - Bill Clinton
Brown - My fart balloon
Purple - My mustard soufflé
Red - Donald Duck
Blue - My avocado plant
Yellow - My penpal in Ghana
Orange - My Kid Rock-collection
Pink - Manchester United's goalkeeper
None - My John F. Kennedy-statue
Other - The crazy monk

6. What do you prefer to watch on TV?
Scrubs; Man
O.C.; Emotional
One Tree Hill; Open
Heroes; Frostbitten
Lost; High
House; Scarred
Simpsons; Cowardly
The news; Mongolic
Idol; Masochistic
Family Guy; Senile
Top Model; Middle-class
Other; Ashamed

7. Your mood right now?
Happy - How awful I've felt
Sad - How boring you are
Bored - That Santa doesn't exist
Angry - That your pimples are at the last stage
Depressed - That we're cousins
Excited - That there is no solution to this.
Nervous - The middle-east
Worried - That your Honda sucks
Apathetic - That I did a sex-change
Ashamed - That I'm allergic to your hamster
Cuddly - That I get turned on by garbage men
Overjoyous - That I'm open
Other - That Extreme Home Makeover sucks

8. What's the color of your walls in your bedroom?
White - Your ring
Yellow - Your love letters
Red - Your Darth Vader-poster
Black - Your tame stone
Blue - The couch cushions
Green - The pictures from LA
Orange - Your false teeth
Brown - Your contact book
Grey - Our matching snoopy-bibs
Purple - Your old lottery coupons
Pink - The cut toenails
Other - Your memories from the military service

9. The first letter of your first name?
A/B - Your photo
C/D - The oil stocks
E/F - Your neighbour Martin
G/H - My virginity
I/J - The results of blood-sample
K/L - Your left ear
M/N - Your suicide note
O/P - My common sense
Q/R - Your mom
S/T - Your collection of butterflies
U/V - Your criminal record
W/X - David's tricot outfits
Y/Z - Your grades from college

10. The last letter in your last name?
A/B - Always will remember
C/D - Never will forget
E/F - Always wanted to break
G/H - Never openly mocked
I/J - Always have felt dirty before
K/L - Will tell the authorities about
M/N - Told in my confession today about
O/P - Was interviewed by the Times about
Q/R - Told my psychiatrist about
S/T - Get sick when I think of
U/V - Always will try to forget
W/X - Am better off without
Y/Z - Never liked

11. What do you prefer to drink?
Water- Our friendship
Beer - Senility
Soft drink - A new life as a clone
Soda - The incarnation as an eskimo
Milk - The apartment building
Wine - Cocaine abuse
Cider - A passionate interest for mice
Juice - Oprah Winfrey imitations
Mineral water - Embarrassing rash
Hot chocolate - Eggplant-fetishism
Whisky - To ruin the second world war
Other - To hate the Boston Celtics

12. To which country would you prefer to go on a vacation?
Thailand - Warm regards
USA - Best regards
England - Good luck on your short-term leave from jail
Spain - Go and drown yourself
China - Disgusting regards
Germany - With ease
Japan - Go burn
Greece - Your everlasting enemy
Australia - Greetings to your frog Leonard
Egypt - Fuck off now
Italy - In pain
Other - Greetings to your freaky family

AHHHHH COLLEGE!!!!

2008-03-20T00:02:35Z

I GOT ACCEPTED TO ST MICHAEL'S!!!! NOW I DON'T HAVE TO GO TO UVM!!!!

My grandmother thinks I'll get accepted at 2 of my remaining 4 colleges. Which ones? The two women's colleges, Mt. Holyoke and Smith (they get links if I get accepted. Till then, no pimpage). She thinks I won't be accepted at Middlebury or Dartmouth, because of how many people apply there. Well, so far I'm 2 for 6, with 4 unknowns. We'll see.

In other news, I am about to start the ginormous task of tagging my whole journal. We'll see how that goes.

secret_plasures @ 2008-03-17T20:52:00

2008-03-18T01:04:08Z

So, it turns out that Jen was cheating on me with that Auri guy for awhile. Did I post about my terrible Valentine's Day? She didn't do anything for me, remember? Well, she got something for HIM. I don't know if I was "the other woman" or if he was "the other man" but however it went, I AM PISSED and she is a BITCH. i only wish I'd known about this when I broke up with her. I would have been so much meaner about it.

My only problem is that I can't make myself dump her as a friend--mostly because I like her family too much. If I ever see Auri though, I am so going to say, "hi, I was Jen's other significant other" or something.

And now, I will not say another word abut Jen. For awhile at least.

So, happy St. Patrick's Day to any of you on my flist who may be Irish, even a little bit (like me!) and I shall ramble on some more about other stuff later. Maybe tomorrow, cause I'm skipping school again.

another meme

2008-03-17T00:44:14Z

I actually hope someone does this one...I have some fics I'd LOVE to write more about. (link goes to my ffn profile)

Comment with any of my fics/drabbles, and I will write you a minimum of 100 words of what happens in that same universe, in the time frame you specify. You can ask for ten years before, five minutes after the last line, three months before the first scene, whatever you like: I will write about it.

a semi-meaningful meme...

2008-03-16T02:07:01Z

Everyone has things they blog about. Everyone has things they don't blog about. Challenge me out of my comfort zone by telling me something I don't blog about, but you'd like to hear about, and I'll write a post about it. Ask for anything: latest movie watched, last book read, political leanings, thoughts on yaoi, favorite type of underwear, life experiences etc. Repost in your own journal so that we can all learn more about each other.

Only, don't ask me about yaoi, because if you don't already know, you're clearly an idiot. And I won't apologize for that, because, dude, READ MY ICON.

sad RL stuff

2008-03-13T23:20:57Z

my great uncle Henry died today...

my other great uncle, Donald, had a last week stroke and is now in a nursing home...

and my great aunt Irene who has had MS is now in the hospital.

I AM OFFICIALLY SINGLE!!!

2008-03-13T19:48:22Z

Totally self explanatory, huh? It was SOOOO easy, I wish I did it forever ago! Granted, it was so easy as to make me think that she didn't care, but, I don't care.

She'd actually started saying stuff like love ya in text messages and emails, and THAT made me realize she should have been doing it all along...so I got up the pluck and that was that.

She's still one of my best friends, so things like staying the night might be awkward, but I am DONE with her.

Now...I need to find a GOOD boyfriend or girlfriend who is WORTHY of me. Or maybe I'll just stay single for awhile. Whatever comes up.

Did you know...

2008-03-09T23:37:51Z

...that when your house is on fire, your phone rings busy? It's true. I just got a call from my grandmother.

Me: Hullo?
G: Alanna's house is on fire. (she's an old classmate)
Me: HE-LLO! (a Mom-ism I picked up, gr)

So, after she explained that it didn't look like anyone was home, I hung up, turned the phone back on, and dialed Alanna's number. Why? I don't even know. How? An even bigger mystery, since I haven't called her since I was 13. And the phone rang busy.

I looked in the phone book, realized that yes, I was dialing the right number (he-llo!) then noticed they had a second line. I dialed that too. Busy. So either they were on both their phone lines (while the house was burning???) or that it rang busy because the house was burning.

Weird.

Some stuff about Dumbledore

2008-03-09T01:09:35Z

Here's a quote from a JK Rowling interview about Dumbledore. (Link goes to a Grindelwald/Dumbledore comm) Jo is my heroine, seriously. I see how some of what she says could be construed as anti-gay (as in, "don't worry, he's gay but celibate") but still...it just makes me happy.

...and I don't have a Dumbledore icon. I need a gay!Dumbledore icon.

COLLEGE!!!

2008-03-09T00:38:25Z

I got accepted at the University of Vermont!!! It's actually my safety school, the one I'll go to if no one else accepts me, but I am definitely going to go SOMEWHERE next year! I am seriously excited about this!

The thing with UVM is that it's got like 10 000 undergrads, and everywhere else I applied has 2 000--4 000. Big difference. And you know, I like Burlington. I do. Church Street is awesome. I want to go explore someday. But I don't know if I want to live there for four years.

Well, whatever, I am definitely college-bound come fall! w00t!

iTunes help

2008-03-04T18:27:59Z

Okay. I know most out you out there must have an iPod. I actually do own one, but it's a shuffle and never been opened. I'm cool like that.

Anyway. Would it be suicidal and dumb to try and buy, say, half-hour TV shows from iTunes with dial-up? I expect it would be. It takes hours to make YouTube work, and I usually don't bother. Also, if I DID manage to buy TV eps, could I burn them to DVD, or would I be restricted to watching them on my computer?

Because I am an idiot and not into the whole iPod thing...

I need help (with a fic, don't worry!)

2008-03-04T02:42:44Z

so, I know no one who's reading this is actually in the fandom, but I have a Drake & Josh fic that I CANNOT THINK OF A TITLE FOR. If anyone is willing to read what I've got written (about 600 words) and give me an idea, I will love you and then I will...do something for you. If it's possible. which means I can write you something.

So, the basics of the show, if you don't watch preteen television: Drake and Josh are stepbrothers. They are known to kiss each other (somewhat innocent, but I don't kiss my brother half as much). And that's them spooning in my icon. So it's slashy, if that's motivation for you.

Josh knew that something was going on. There were more whispers that ended abruptly when he walked by than usual. He’d already detoured into the boys’ room to make sure he didn’t have anything weird stuck to him, and he didn’t think enough people knew anything about Oprah that they’d be talking about his running her over.

So that left only one logical conclusion…the only problem was, Josh didn’t know what it was.

He entered his next class, and had barely sat down at a desk when Drake barreled into the room. Josh looked quizzically at his stepbrother. Drake wasn’t in this class. In fact, Josh knew for a fact that Drake had class on the other end of the building and up a floor.

“What’re you--” he began, but Drake cut him off.

“Josh, we need to talk, NOW!” He grabbed Josh’s arm, then dropped it like it burned when the whispers started up again.

Nonplussed, Josh stood up and started to follow Drake into the hallway. “Bring your laptop,” Drake ordered. Josh grabbed the case, then exited the classroom.

“Okay dude, what is going on? Do you know why everyone is--?”

“Yeah. Go to Megan’s site,” Drake said grimly.

Josh opened his laptop, got onto the internet, then typed in the address. “No way,” he groaned when he saw the page.

There was Drake.

And him.

And they were kissing.

He
And Megan, evil demon-child that she was, had captioned the picture with a simple “Brotherly Love.”
Question mark.
“Yeah. And I guess one person saw it, and told everyone else. Have you heard any of the rumors going around?”
Josh shook his head. “No. I mean, I’ve heard people talking, but not what they’ve been saying.”
“Great. So we can’t even correct people.”
Josh closed his laptop. “Well…maybe it won’t be so bad.”
“Yeah, I doubt it. Do you know what people are probably saying? They’re probably saying we’re in a gay, incestish relationship together.”
“Incestuous,” Josh corrected automatically.
Drake made a who-cares sort of gesture. “Whatever.”
“Besides, even if we were, we wouldn’t be.”
Drake stared at Josh.
“What?” Josh asked defensively.
Drake shook his head. “Dude, okay, that didn’t even make sense.”
Josh made an irritated noise. “Okay, we’re stepbrothers, right? So even if we were…y’know…then it wouldn’t be incest. We’re not blood related. I think--putting aside the whole gay marriage issue--that we could even get married.”
“Because that’s so comforting,” Drake muttered sarcastically. “It doesn’t matter. People are still saying it. Probably.”
Realization dawned on Josh. “Um, you dragging me out of class probably didn’t help matters.”
Drake groaned. “Yeah. Okay, go back to class, I’ll go to mine, and then we can figure this out after school.”
“I work until eight,” Josh reminded him. “You could come by the Premiere--”
“Hey, don’t take it personally, but let’s put some distance between us, okay?” Drake interrupted.
Josh gaped at his stepbrother. “What? That’s not fair. I didn’t do anything to you.”
“Actually, you did, and that’s the problem.” Drake paused. “Are we fighting? This is stupid. Just--don’t you think we should?”
“What, fight?” Josh asked moodily.
“You know what I mean.”
Josh sighed. “Yeah, I do. Okay. But just until we fix this.”
“Deal. See you at home.” Then Drake strolled off in the complete opposite direction of his class.
Josh shook his head and returned to his own.
knew the circumstances…but no one else would.