Last entry of the year, good night 2005.

A'ight! After much holding hand from friends – reality friends, internet friends, and imaginary friends – the panic attack has been tamed somewhat. So far, we have distractions by an orgy, two cabin-boys, three pretty virgins sacrifice and showering of presents [expected to arrive next week.] I feel muchly loved.

Even with all the ups and downs through the year, it was a great 2005. And I know that 2006 will bring even greater things. I just...KNOW.

Sailing home to see Poppa may not be as bad as I feared. Poppa, after all, is a very busy man. Maybe he'll send one of his men to take care of me. Maybe the man will be hot and sexy. Maybe I'll be able to molest the said hot and sexy man. Maybe I'll have my wicked ways. In all, I am – if nothing else – my father’s daughter. Everything is going to be A-okay! Even if the hot and sexy escort didn't happen, the Captain has advised me to think of the cabin-boys waiting aboard the Praedonis whence I return from the journey.

To all my heroes, you know who you are, thank you for another wonderful year. And for the rest of you, as one wise – and full of knowledge, you know who you are – friend said, "F*@# THEM ALL!"* Ladies and gentlemen, we are having a year-long orgy. Live. Drink. And be Merry!

Happy 2006!!!

*Disclaimer: Wise and knowledgeable friend's word may be used out of context through obscured interpretation. Try squinting your eyes and cock your head to the left to get my morbid perspective. Kthxbi.

Of expectation and disappointment.

We all know that I left my birthing place at the age of thirteen.

This was how the story began.

My father is a merchant and my mother was a scriber from a noble household, new money and old stature. It should have been a perfect balance, but it was not. Their lifestyles crashed and that led to the separation. [And for the longest time, I thought it was because of my magic marker incident. Pshaw!]

The separation did not bother me much. In my early years, it was my father and, mostly, my nanny that took care of me. You see? My mother left our hometown for the sake of education. To be honest, I think she was escaping from the lifestyle. Behind the academic high walls, she was a scholar, not a lowly merchant's wife.

In my early school years, it was the nuns who took care of me, not my parents. Thus, it came to me as a shock that although the bonds between my father and I were stronger, the parental unit assigned to me was my mother.

This is how the story goes.

My mother told me Americana is the ship of hopes and dreams. She told me that this ship will steer us to a better life. She told me that this ship will steer us to new opportunities, ones which do not exist in my hometown. Ones which my father could not offer, ones he cannot provide.

For the first time in my life, I truly agreed with my mother. Americana was the ship of hopes and dreams. Just that and nothing more, unfulfilled hopes and empty dreams.

Four years aboard the Americana, I learned the tricks and the trades: from the pirates, the whore who snug aboard – looking for the same promises my mother was looking for, from the traders and the nobles who boarded the ship.

I'm no genius, but I get by. And I learned that while it was pretty to think so, unfulfilled hopes and empty dreams get you nowhere outside of heartache hotel.

At the age of seventeen, I left Americana – and my mother – behind. I jumped ships, again and again, until I found myself on board the Praedonis.

Life on the Praedonis is fairly simple. Of course, there are certain codes of conduct: parley, pirate rules, and all that. Though, in general, we are free to do what we want with one basic rule of thumb – your rights to extend your arms end where your neighbor's nose begins. I am not the captain of the Praedonis, but I have a decent size cabin close to the captain's quarter. And when I am in my own room, I am the king of my realm. It's not a luxurious life but it's a comfortable life.

My father, in his search for me, walked aboard the Praedonis about three years ago. The trip was short but, for those few days, our path collided. I hired a cabin-boy to take care of him while I continued to do my usual pirate's business. However, I gave him as much time as I can when I am not doing the...piracy stuff.

That was easy. He was on my territory.

My father is not a powerful man, but he has his ways. On his request, The Praedonis shall be ported at my hometown for 2 weeks. The crew will be performing their standard [non-looting-related] tasks: replenishing fresh water, food supplies, gunpowder and other necessary items. Maybe the crew will visit the town's popular red light district. The usual stuff.

Not me. I am being summoned to go back to the place I left long ago. Upon midday of Friday next, I leave the Praedonis to board the ferry which will continue to travel for another 2 days to get to my home where my father will be waiting.

And this is how the story continues.

For those 2 weeks time, my faith will lie on the hands of my father. I feel like I'm back aboard the Americana – nothing but hopes.

Once there, I will be on unfamiliar territory. I do not know what will be expected of me. I do not know how much I can give to fulfill those expectations. What I know is, though - while staying on the premises of my father's wall - I will be taken care of, I will be living under his roof, under his rules, under his...expectation.

I hope I can show him that I can hold my own. I hope he would be proud of me. I hope I do not disappoint him.

We do not know how the story will end.

I am afraid. Call me a coward, I don't care. We, pirates, aren't really famous for our courage, you know? Trickery, yes. Bravery, not likely.

I wished I can stop breathing. I wish my heart would stop beating. Maybe the sky will fall and maybe the world will end. Even my mind turned treacherous. It played along and read the ferry's ticket wrong, giving me a boarding time of 12 hours behind what it should be. I would be missing the ferry if not for the unfortunate of discovering the differences in departure time.

I am panicking. Anything. Anything so that I don't have to do this.

On a scale of 1 to 10 – 1, being mildly afraid and 10, being extremely afraid – the situation has reached 13 on the fear-scale. This is Fear worst than death. Fear with the capital "F". Fear, which can rightfully be file with the rest of any other 4-letters-F words.

I am scared out of my wits.
Expectation and Disappointment...

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.

Due to the fact that I am too intoxicated to make a legitimate entry, I present you one of those savvy auto-entry thing.

In the year 2006 I resolve to: Be kinky more often. Get your resolution here

More Kinky?? More Kinky!?!?!

Well, that shan't be any trouble, should it?
Not at all. Not one bit.
Bwheeee!!!!11

Ecdysis

Shed your skin. Leave a false name. Stretch.

Savvy?

Calling Pirates!

We interupt this program with a word from the Town Cryer:

Seeking pirate-loving, entertainment-loving employees.

Producers of Pirate's Dinner Adventure in Buena Park are raiding Orange County for entertainers. Auditions are in January. For details, call (714) 690-1497 or visit www.piratesdinneradventure.com


That is all.

Booty!

Dear Santa,

The long standing request of 25 hours a day has not been fulfilled. Please see to it.

Love,
Me

...

Dearest Mumsy and Duddy,

I am running away to join the Pirates in Buena Park. I do not wish to be sold to Scots of Clan McColin. Please tend to my flock of sheep for I do not wish them to be lonely, or walk down the wrong path (and get abducted by the Scots).

Love,
Me

...

My Dearest Madame Fortune,

Thank you for the luck, but, STILL NO BOYFRIEND!! Did you left him in YOUR bedroom? Please check.

Regards,
Me

...

Father Time and Mother Nature,

Messing around with my biological clock is NOT funny. Please stop right now.

No Love,
Me

Smoke, baby. Smoke.

I am feeling rather groggy this morning and not at all my usual bright tail and bushy eyes.

I think it's the weather. The first day of cloudy sky always get me. I think it's the negative ions or something. That, or my barista snug a couple shots of vodka in my coffee.

Lucky for me, a super hero picked me up on his bat-mobile, thus I don't have to drive and become hazarded to the mass population.

My brain has already taken off for the holiday. I don't want to work today. Thus, I bring you music of the day.

All together now,

Je ne veux pas travailler
Je ne veux pas déjeuner
Je veux seulement t'oublier
Et puis je fume...

Joyeux Noel, Monsieurs et Mademoiselles!

Pervs of the gutter, stick together. *

Girlstalk 101 – Craftsmanship and Subtlety.

WARNING: Rated R for suggestive innuendo, two fu*k’s – which is NOT two fu*ks, kthx - and one mention of teh penoos.

This happened on the other side of the cyber-network – the Morbid Journal.

A little background; The Morbid Journal comprises mostly of girls - Chatty, noisy, drama-induced, friendly, horny girls. That part of the cyber space should be the ultimate wet dream comes true for any single homo sapiens of the male gender throughout this planet that is called earth. Should.

In reality, our rampage of morbid insanity has turned those – the XY-Chromosome of the specie – running away as fast – and as far - as their human ability, stubby hairy legs, and their internet speed could manage. The rest was made gay at the point of contact. It’s an uncharted territory where no man can cross the line. We like it. We are comfortable to talk about the other sex behind their back.

In honor of Avant-guarde day [see previous entry], allow me to introduce you to the enlightenment for the ‘opposite gender’; a heavy dosage of shock to your system...GIRLSTALK 101: Craftsmanship and Subtlety.

Things are not appeared as they seemed.

Unlike the point blank approaches of the boy’s locker room talks, girl’s talks are extremely crafty and very subtle. After all, we must be polite and lady-like at all times. *bat lashes and assume ‘innocent look’ position*

POSTER: Girlfriends!!1 I have abducted the mad skillz of adding wallpaper to my journal!!!!11!1 All y’all come check it out. Ph43r m3!!!1 LOL. LoL!!!!!111

[A note from the narrator: We are an exciting bunch, please excuse the abuses of the letter L.O.L. and the excessive usage of exclamation mark and the number 1, kthxbi.]

Anyway, where was I…Oh,
POSTER: [flashback] Ph43r m4h m4d ski11 Ownz!!!11!1 Lolololol!!!!111!11
OUR EPISODE: continues…
RESPONDER: Well, it looks like a guy, but...lo, may I say that all I see is hairy belly button and ummm...er..a nippy???
POSTER: fu*k..ur kidding, right? U don’t see teh face?
RESPONDER: Nope. Just the unspeakables. The posts covered the face. =(
POSTER: ... [assuming went back to check the page – narrator]
RESPONDER: Oh, and the crotch. I see the crotch!!
POSTER: Oh, then that’s fine. My work here is done. *snort*
RESPONDER: ...
POSTER: [after a few minutes] hahaha okay, I got it, you’ll still using the ‘small screen’. You’re suppose to see this [link to sexy well-known male model with sexy post without any sexy shirt on.]
POSTER: Please expand pix for full effect. kthx.
RESPONDER: I’ll have you know that mine is a sexy fifteen-inch, which would be an AVERAGE size for any Red-Blooded American, thank you very much!
INNOCENT LURKER #1: Fifteen inch!!!!1!1 O_o That would be quite huge and not at all average, if I may say so myself.
POSTER: *wink knowingly at RESPOMDER under the radar.* Actually, come to think of it, fifteen is a rather small on the average.
RESPONDER: Yesh! I believe the average, by today legal standard, would be twenty-and-one.
INNOCENT LURKER #1: I thought it was eighteen.
INNOCENT LURKER #2: Oooo, aRe wE TaLkiNg ‘boUt TEH PENOOS???!?!
ALL PREVIOUS CHATTERS: YES!!!!111!1 LOL!!1 Lololololollololo *pause to cough simultaneously like they just witness the invasion of the black plague before composing selves and continue to LOL* Loloololololo!!!!11!11 Ahem! *bat lashes and resume ‘innocent look’ position*

We are girls of Morbid Journal. Worship us now for we are crafty and subtle...and very much easily distracted [to be seen in Girlstalk 102: Distraction for the Innocence, coming soon to the t00b near you.] Our conversation of wise and wisdom shall carry on to eternity. Immorality Immortality is ours. We shall stick together, especially when the subject matter is headed for the gutter.

...

Oh, and in case I forget to tell you later:

Happy Christmas/Hanukah/Kwanzaa/Ramadan/Boxing Day/New Year!!


Peace. Love. And Unity.
Carpe Potus, lads. Seize your drink!! You deserve it after reading this entry.

*Disclaimer: Boldness writing style inspired by a hero, the actual discussion can be found at The Morbid Journal. kthxbi.

PS - This entry was done in honor of the Avant-guarde Day. Cleary, I was over excited by the hamburger I had for lunch. Cleary, they have inserted those patties with a copious amounts of crack! I'll have you know, fair readers, normally, I am the soul of decorum. That is all. You may return to your drinks.

To share or not to share, that is the question.

WARNING: One long arse rambling ahoy!

The Art and Etiquette of File-Sharing.

I rarely do controversial post, but this topic has been haunting in the attic of my cerebrum for a few days. It was a work in progress, however, I am feeling avant-guarde today so, here be my 2 knuts.

I am a music-illiterate. Up until a little over 2 years ago – before the mass explosion of the thing called Pod – my knowledge of music and musical artists was limited to erm...pretty much...nothing, sub-zero, actually.

Luckily, I have friends in cyberworld who were willing to enlighten me out of my idiotic state. They introduced me to [fill in whichever diety of your choice here]'s gift that is the File Sharing Community.

The concept is easy to understand. The FSC was made up of many individual music enthusiasts, music lovers, music artists and music promoters. The FSC was extremely friendly and they welcomed the music-idiot – that's me – with open hearts, open arms and unlimited open jukebox.

All I had to do was ask, and one or more of the FSC friendly music experts will give me detailed information on any particular musical artist(s) in the history of time, including how many album(s) they released, what are/were their hits, and a few complimentary tracks featuring his/their favorites.

The idea is...Spread Teh Lurve, Baby! Spread. Teh. Lurve!!

But then, there was trouble in Paradise. Big trouble. BIG, Bada-BOOM sort of trouble that involved legal court and lawyer-sharks and escape-goat named Napster and many sacrificial lambs in the form of innocent teenagers being dragged out from their basements and tar-and-feathered on the streets in the name of Copyrights and Piracy.

Believe you me, I am not taking side. Oh no, not I. Honestly. Really.

So, here is my single-cell organism, amoeba-view perspective.

As I suggested before, my musical knowledge had grown so much with file sharing. I'm still no music experts but many artists/bands that I would never, ever, have heard of were introduced through the File Sharing System, courtesy of FSC.

People send me music files to say hello, to cheer me up, to share their love, to communicate that they are sorry for hurting my feelings, or just for my writing motivation.

Vise-versa, if I fell in love with a song or if I like some Indy, no-name band, I introduce the band and/or the song into the system and before I know it, there are talks of groupies getting together for their concerts in various parts of the country and some major cities in Canada. The exchange of Christmas gifts in the form of their CDs; not just in the US territory but across the pond and across the sea.

File Sharing is for private use. I may transfer the files onto a CD and give it to friend who I know would appreciate a particular style. I do not burn the files onto a CD and sell them out of my trunk in the corner of the street.

I made no profits except for the satisfaction that there are people out there sharing something I feel passionate about. I am not the only lonely soul who speaks of alien entity that no one else understand.


My point is the File Sharing System is a great tool in introducing your name, face, style and what not into the main stream population, especially in this age of information overload.

I have bought - and made other people buy - arts, music, literatures from the artists that I was exposed to via file sharing. Some of them I can say I know them on personal basis, some was a friend of a friend of a friend, where the friend was kind enough to introduce us. It can be as simple as a fan-letter response and grew into a fan-appreciation piece. Yes, there were, also, the exchange of Christmas gifts and many of them were delivered through the File Sharing System and can be shared with anyone who cared to take it.

I tried to respect the artist as much as possible. So, if I know of any artists who strongly oppose to file sharing, then, I exercise my hands-off policy. However, ignorance as it may be, if I don't know, then it's considered Free Territory.

Lads and ladies, do not shun away ALL File Sharing System as invasion of Copyrights. Human, these day, has the attention span of evaporating dry-ice and there are too much information out there to give equal love and attention to. You may have to force them to recognize you, beat them into submission, or GIVE THEM FREE STUFF in order to be known.

It's a give and take process. You want to be righteous and remain unrecognized; sleep with your copyrights and share it with no one? It's your rights. I respect that, but please know that no matter how much I'm itching to have the world know you, I cannot promote your work unless you want to enter into my dirty, low-class, illegal world of Piracy. Land-ho, matey!

...

The above part of the entry shall not be duel-posted to the usual morbid journal because every single soul on the friendlist shall point and laugh in my face, asking me as to why am I making this into such a big deal? Then, each of them will send me 62 songs to my jukebox to cheer me up and rooting me on.

...

In other OMHG!bbq note:

I woke up today and saw the posting voice of God my Sekrit Sooper Hero Sunshine.

In addition, there was song, in a share-file form, and the sacrifice of two cabin-boys in my mailbox. Asdflkfjahggl;;;sdjf!!1!1!!!eleven $@%#$^^

Nothing in 'verse can stop me now.

Today shall be celebrated. There shall be throwing of confetti. There shall be dancing in the streets to the honor of those nekkid sacrificial cabin-boys lambs. There shall be many a singing off-key to the piracy songs of the high sea. Sing-ho, sailors!

O, King Kong, my King Kong!

WARNING: Super Dooper Uber Major Spoiler Ahead!

The Good. The Bad. And the Ugly.

Let's start with The Ugly.

THE BUGS! Omg! You're ugly! U.G.L.Y!! You're ugly. I curled up my toes and tried to pull my legs up on the seat when I saw you.

Someone had warned me about the "tentacles" factor and I remembered thinking, "there's no tentacles in King Kong. Pshaw! [Fill in friend's name here], you are so on crack!" And the friend who warned me probably has already figured out what those tentacles are going to remind me of, being that my brain and her brain shared the same gutter space.

Mister Peter Jackson,
The future generation of little baby!Whiney cursed you for scaring their mommy. May you have nightmares of tentacles tickling your nose from here to eternity. You probably did not get to do as much monsters as you wanted to in LotR Trilogy because, boy, this is putting all skillz to the use!
Scared for life,
Whitney

I wished I know "you're so ugly" jokes, but this is no joke. Bugs and worms - especially worms, you are just ugly. Period. Full Stop.

And a few scenes are quite brutal, but that's not Peter's fault. Poor Peter, he suffers from the QTS [Quentin Tarantino Syndrome]. We should mock be nice to him.

Besides, I've seen the boy next door do the Kong/T-Rex scene with his little plastic toy action figures before. It must be the every boy's dream-comes-true thing. I do like the scene when the girl was dangling in the middle between 2 T-Rex's mouths, though. That was very exciting.

The Bad.

This could be just me, but Kong's size appeared to shift around. A. lot. I could say that *that* was the only thing that really irks my nerve. One minute, he's larger than life, 5-stories high. Other times, he's just a very large Silver Back ape Gorilla.

Also, what is up with the tribal's eye? Was there some sort of eye-plague eating up the villagers? There appeared to be some kind of eye defect on all of them. Though, achieved the goal of scaring me, was extremely disturbing. But maybe that's the point. =/

I kept seeing Nicole Kidman instead of Naomi Watts. Was there crack in my popcorn?

The Good.

Okay, this is going to be longggg. I think overall, the movie was great; three hours and I didn't go to the bathroom once. Yes, it's that great!

A couple of friends warned me about the slow start. I have no problem there. I love period movies and I enjoy the set up thoroughly.

Kong's facial expression! Oh. My. Goodness! How I love Kong's expression. Just. Classic! Dear Santa, I want a Kong of my very own, M'kay? *heart for the nose*

Adrien Brody! Woot!!

I find the Captain extremely sexy. He can call me whenever he ports here.

The sceneries, the backdrops, the sets and the props. Love, love, love!!!

I love the cartoon-y effect of certain parts. My most favorite is the taxi-chase in New York scene. It was so...Roger Rabbit in Toontown. I love it!

Adrien Brody! He is Teh Hawt!!

Sexy Brody typing the screenplay in the cage! Rawrrr!!!!

New York skyline at night was fantastic!

Kong's hair looked very soft. I wonder which haircare product he used. It looked so, so silky and soft. I want fur coat. >_>

Jack Black is great. I love his determined crazy-eye look.

Did I mention Adrien Brody? And the Captain?? AND THE CAGE??? O_o


Overall, I think Kong is great. The three hours was well spent. I would have to think really hard if asked to do it again, though. I think my backprint was permanently carved onto the chair from my retraction and the chair was probably pushed back about 3 centimeters from the recoil. The movie was quite intense.

I love the movie, but I don't want to see Kong die again. Baby!Whitney cried her sorrow tears for Kong. Beauty should stay with the beast [ha! I just typed breast] and hand Adrien Brody down to Whitney. Yesh.


I kept wishing they would make Kong pick his nose. *That* didn't happen. Baby!Whitney is very sad. ='(

Oh, Captain, my Captain. I would like to join your ship on the excursion aboard that big Venture ship of yours, please. I don't mind staying in the cage, especially if I have to share it with Adrien Brody. Heh. Heehee. Bwahhahhahh!!!

ETA: OMG!! NEWS FLASH!!! I was just told that one of my Sekrit Sooper Hero was there, at the theater. AND I SHOOK HIS HAND!!! OMHG!!! Ecstasy! It's like meeting Goofy for the first time when I was 13. Holy wizard's beard, had I known, I wouldn't wash my hand last night, nor shall I ever wash my hand again in my life.

Alright, I'm gonna go run into the wall a couple times to contain my excitement now. Bweee!!!!

...

I just realized that, lately, I roamed here even more than my usual morbid main journal. Hhahaha!!! On-line blogging, exposing the world to my mobidity, one journal at a time.

This town is bogging me down. I got to get out, get out right now.

I am not a city girl, neither am I a tough&rough girl. I don't do camping. I don't like dirt in my fingernails. At the same time, I don't like manicure. I don't paint my fingernails, either. You know, come to think of it? This is probably as "middle-road" as I will ever get. Wow, I'm amazed at myself.

I want to do something wild and crazy. Pick up a one-night-stand and move to Montana, or Alaska. I heard that there are 3 guys to every girl, up north. If I work it, maybe I can have my own harem.

I want to do some painting. How long has it been since I stretched my own canvas? This is one of my 2006 New-Year-Solution thingamajig. I will get my hands dirty, get paints under my fingernails and get my skin burn by thinner.

There's another thing, I swear like a sailor. This is not lady-like at all. This coming new year, I will swear, like a proper lady and not like a mangy smelly uncivilized pirates!

And censorship, Sweet Jesus, censor your mouth for a minute. The "if you think it, say it" is nothing but a theory, a hypothesis that's been proven wrong.

I want to do more traveling, going places. My left baby-toe twitches with interest whenever I think of going anywhere outside of the mundane. Even the thought of going to a Saturday open-market down the street from my house gets me all warm and fuzzy. Yes, it's that bad.

I'm debating doing laundry; maybe today, maybe tomorrow.
Procrastination, thy name is Whitney.

And it's easy to ignore till they're knocking on the door of your homes.

It has come to my attention that I have wander off from the objective of life for a moment. I blamed the Holiday Spirit. Those no good evil ghosts of Christmas.

Christmas is supposed to be about joy and family and friends and love. In theory, yes, it supposed to be all that. In reality, it's nothing but a major dent in the bank account, nostalgia, and loneliness. At first, I thought I was the only weird one who thinks that way, but the on-line journal has proven me wrong.

Anyhoo, I decided that brooding is very unbefitting and unless I want to die of depression, which will make my face looked sad and blue in death and not at all pretty, something has to be done. So yes, that means a slight perspective adjustment. Instead of complaining about what I don't have, let's be thankful about what I have.

The day started off extremely well. I stopped by my boss' house and brought them coffee and tea, which is something I haven't done in a while. They are like my surrogate mum and dad and I love them dearly. Seeing them in the morning is like stop by my parent's before I go to work, there were many hugs and kisses. So, yes, Whitney started off her day with some loving.

Then, I arrived at work. As I woke my computer up, behold, there was a message on screen, left by a co-worker who is like my surrogate little brother and it said that I have a copy of Serenity coming my way. So, yes, Whitney started off her day with some serenity as well.

Then, I remembered about the Amazon gift credit I still have and I finally ordered Leaders of the Free World. Took me long enough but finally, power to the Whitney!

Maybe, like Ebenezer Scrooge, the ghosts of Christmas were the necessary evil. I have a feeling that I will be walking into 2006 with my eyes wide open. Just a feeling, you know?

He's not that kind of girl.

The CDs I ordered from my L'amour Period, last week are still trickling in. O, how I want to throw them on the street and have the buses run over them.

Could you possibly get any more obvious?

God kicks with both feet and keeps his shoes clean.

Angst, it's what for dinner.

This should be a lock post, take caveat, what you see is what you get. There's nothing hiding behind the cryptic façade. I'm only pretending to be complicated.

It is rather remarkable how I bounce back and forth between here and there.

Last week, I saw the world through a rose-color glass. There was romance in the air. There was flirting. There were talks of moving out and moving in. There were dreams of happy ending and ever after.

STOP. Let's think realistically for a moment.

A wise person told me long ago, happy endings are just stories that are not yet ended.

This time around, dreams were shattered and hurtful words were exchanged.

According to our Antagonist of the Week, I am suffering from a severe Peter Pan Syndrome. I need to be watched 24/7 or else I will self-detonate.

According to him, my goal in life is to test out how much I can mindfuck people before they break and I would go at any length to achieve that. Funny thing is he's not the first person to say that. I'm beginning to wonder if I am, indeed, *that* messed up.

Well, good riddance, I say.
I AM NOT A SPOILED, FICKLE CHILD!

For what it's worth, it truly is simple. If you want me to think of you every second, every minute of each day, all you have to do is make me.

...

Happy Birthday, Mister Osbourne.

I'm fed up. I'm tired of waiting on you.

Your 2005 Song Is

Hung Up by Madonna "Every little thing that you say or do I'm hung up I'm hung up on you" You'll be rockin' in the New Year in your croch-o-tard!

What Hit Song of 2005 Are You?

~*~*~*~*~

If you asked me 20 years ago, I love Madonna.
If you asked me 10 years ago, I hate Madonna.

Last week I did the above meme and I say, "Blaghh, I don't like Madonna."
Last night I watch VH-1, and for the first time, I saw Hung Up video. Minus the pink croch-o-tard, I love the song and I like Madonna again.

Comes to think of it..
Most things I hate, I also love.
Most things I love, I also hate.

I find that strange.

Yet, on second thought...
Love and Hate are about Passion.
Indifference is the rest-stop. The place of nowhere.

A week before Christmas, my heart is broken again.
This time by a boy who refused to let me explain.

I have my reason. He has his.
Two romantics do not equal one happy ending.

Almost perfect.
But almost doesn't count. It never does.

Lovecakes, baby, lovecakes!!

In response to my "don't know what I want" yesterday, I finally figured it out.

KONG WANTS CAKE! KONG WANTS CAKE!!!

LOL!!!!11

You were right about the end. It didn't make a difference. Everything I can remember, I remember wrong.

There's a void, under my ribcage, where my heart used to be.

It needs to be filled but…

I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT. I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT. I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT. I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT. I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT. I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT. I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT. I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT. I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT.

They called me The Crazy One

The first word I learned in French was Je t'aime.

Je t'aime.
Ce n'est pas parce que je pense tu es magnifique.

Je t'aime.
Donc, je pense tu es magnifique.

...

I love you.
Not because I think you're beautiful.

I love you.
Therefore, I think you're beautiful.


My French is so rusty. Whatever that escaped from the rust of time, had been returned to the educators. For the life of me, I cannot remember if Ce n'est parce que pas would also be an acceptable grammar. It sure sounds nicer that the correct form up there.

Yes, I know magnifique does not translate to beautiful, but Because you are magnificent is just so *not* English to me. [Except if you work in the circus. Heh.]

Well, there goes my French Poetry.
lol.

Out of nowhere.

Let me get this straight, mercurial is bad, but quicksilver is good.

N'est pas?

...

I want to read a poem, in French. I want somebody to read me a poem. In French. I wonder if Amazon.com has anything of the sort.

Break my arms around the one I love.

Hello Darling,

What have you done to my angel? Offering an apple to a snake is so unbecoming. Sacrifice of a cupid, on the other hand, can be tempting.

Truly mine,
Me

...

I am itching for "War of Heaven" type stories, maybe something in the Garden of Eden, providing it features the Snake.

It must be Christmas time, again.

…

Is it the 28th, yet? ::bounc bounce::

Lookie what me found. XD

Why no one tell me about Match Point? Why?? WHY???

Bweeeee!!!!!1

It's on like Donky Kong!! LOL!!!1

Everytime I see the picture of King Kong, I have an uncontrollable urge to stick my finger up his nose.

I don't know why. =/

I dream of holding you all night, and holding you seems right, perhaps that's my reality.

I think I finally exorcised the "Quentin Tarantino phase" out of my system. Thank goodness for that. Can we say psycho??

Now, it's either blue or pink: melancholy, apathy – see everything through a blue-haze mist – or love love love – cupids and cherubs – period.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Meet the new boy who just moved in to the attic.
...

Sometimes, he questions his own existence.

Fighting side by side with Lucifer all the way down to hell was for a very good cause, a promising one. Morning Star was beautiful, then. Pride, with high ideas of what existence was supposes to be.

Yes, the roads to hell *definitely* were paved with good intentions. Though, along the way, something happened and Lucifer was not himself anymore. Good intentions were thrown into the fire pit of the Dark Kingdom.

He thinks he can be content in hell, if it was not for the scream. The bloody hell screams that make his blood boils and his head throbs. He was, still is, never quite certain whether he wanted it to stop because he found them repulsive or because he was finding the sounds of raw agony a bit more than addictive.

Lucifer called him back, again and again. ."Father is not as forgiving as I am, you know?"

Yes, Morning Star would be happy if he returns. After all, it is lonely at the top, or at the bottom, in this case. Satan would give him free reign. He can break as many hearts and torture as many souls as he pleases. Yet, the screams bother him. That's the just one thing Lucifer cannot fix, just the one thing Satan could not give him – Peace.

"They are not worth your effort. Why help father save their souls? So The Almighty can put them through more tests? Father can be cruller than all hell. But you should know that already, after all, you are the living prove." Morning Star looks at him through narrowed eyes.

Seemed like all the choices he made was wrong. He left Father and descended down to The Dark Kingdom with Lucifer, that was wrong. He left Lucifer and ascended here to please his creator, and that was wrong, too.

A lot of times, he questions his own existence.

...
This story will probably be expanded, maybe.

There will be back story, of course; his simple life in heaven when all of these chaos were not, yet, chaos. Possibly involves the making of many cupid babies. He may have been a commander of the Cupid Army, sending his little soldiers armed with love-arrows down to save mankind.

And the downfall of "love", as the world know it; the shortage of cupids since the day he followed Lucifer down to hell and the lack of affection in this world, now-a-day.

Any taker for beta?


~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sometimes, I see people in colors, not visually, but by feeling. Some people have wings, and the wings come in all shapes and sizes.

Sometimes, I don't even have to know the person to see his wings. It could just be some guy walking down the street or a girl sitting at the bus stop.

Sometimes, I know the person well, but still, I cannot see his wings. It makes me wonder if he doesn't have wings or is it just simply that I cannot feel them.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I sense an enormous electrical current in the air. I'm waiting for the lightening to strike.

Something is changing.

Peace, Love, and Unity will be mine.

Today, I mailed my letter to Santa.

Mister Santa Claus
North Pole, Alaska 99705

Hee. Hee. Ho. Ho. Ha. Ha.