Yes, the blog actually exists.

Someone told me that they couldn't find this page anymore. I find this strange because I am writing in it. But, whatever, this page is here; all is right with the world.
On another note...

Oh, god--I can't tell you how much this picture makes me laugh. Oh, Light, you are by far my favorite homicidal maniac. Death Note has never made writing or murdering look so fun.

NOW FOR SOMETHING DIFFERENT!

Because the acoustic version of this song is beautiful.  

Provehito in Altum: Nero

"Ah, good to see you have arrived, Commander Halston. I was beginning to worry about you."

Nero fell into step with the Admiral with some effort. He had traveled for nearly three days straight to reach Sanctum. The terrestrial gravity seemed suffocating compared to that of The Eos, making his movements sluggish and imprecise. The bright fluorescent light beat down on him, making him perspire fiercely, his body's natural reflex to keep from drying out.

He never understood why Central had decided to place their command headquarters on Earth. It was crowded and overrun; everywhere there was the smell and haze of industry, years of pollution now integrated into the atmosphere as seamlessly as though it were a naturally occurring compound. Even inside Sanctum, the brilliantly constructed world within a world Central had designed to house all active duty servicemen, Nero could not shake the feeling of encroachment.

"Good morning, Admiral. I hope that my tardy arrival has not caused you any inconvenience; we encountered some engine trouble around Deimos."

The Admiral smiled at Nero's formal tone; they had been acquainted since his birth and yet he still insisted on standing on decorum. "The Eos giving you trouble, eh? I suppose it is a good thing she is being retired this year; she must be nearly as old as you are, Nero."

"Nearly, Sir," Nero said, a smile spreading across his face.

"Did you know that The Eos was the first ship to be christened in your father's fleet? He was so excited to have such a modern ship under his command; he never let any of us forget that it was his ship. He used to call it the gem of his fleet."

"Yes, he has mentioned that fact to me once or twice in the past," he responded flatly. "It would seem that this diamond has lost its luster." It must have for him to relegate it to the inner ring for his son to command.

"You are so like him sometimes; both of you are prone to grandiose and extravagant wordplay."

"Forgive me, Admiral, but I'm sure you didn't call me all the way here to comment on my wit. My duties are back on Ganymede, so, if you wouldn't mind, I would like to keep this brief," he said coldly.

"To the point as always, Nero," he said dryly, unmoved by the younger man's impudent and snotty remark.

Nero squinted as they entered the artificial light of the solarium; the radiance the harsh fluorescents attempted to recreate had not been felt on the surface of the planet for nearly four thousand years, making it difficult for those who did not call Sanctum home to adjust their eyes to the brilliance. To Nero, who had spent the better part of his life in the far reaches of the inner ring, it felt as though he were being blinded.

The solarium was a vast circular room encased by large glass monitors; to heighten the illusion of a natural existence, the massive dome constantly projected the image of a sunny sky. A complex network of ducts and air conditioning systems generated the gentle spring breeze that currently blew through Nero's hair. The room itself consisted of nothing more than an open expanse of garden, carefully manicured and designed to feel and look like a carefree and open meadow.

"Please, sit down," the Admiral said, motioning to one of several garden tables placed along the edge of the clearing.

Nero seated himself somewhat clumsily in the small chair, his formal uniform far too bulky and opulent for comfortable movement. Why Central insisted on adding capes to high ranking officer's uniforms, he would never understand.

"I will save you the speech about your excellent record of service and fine military lineage and skip to the part you will care about: you're being promoted."

"Under whose recommendation?" Nero asked incredulously.

"Your commanding officer, of course. Who else? You've been reassigned to Origin."

"Fleet Admiral Halston recommended me for advancement? Are you sure he wasn't drunk when you spoke to him last, Admiral?"

"No, Nero; he seemed completely lucid," he answered, laughing at Nero's cynicism.

"When does my promotion take effect?"

"Now; you are to deliver The Eos and all of her men to Origin as soon as possible. There is talk of war in the Eastern colonies. Your father fears, as does Central, that the sentiment will spread westward. It'll be your job to see that none of the mines are taken back."

Nero leaned back in his chair, the shock of his promotion still setting in. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, rubbing his neck idly. His fingers probed the seven light pink scars on either side of his pharynx, their texture oddly smooth compared to the rest of his skin. He could feel his pulse thud as he let his hands rest around his neck, covering his deformity.

"I see your surgery has taken well," the Admiral commented. "Has the adjustment been difficult for you?"

"I cannot say it has been easy, but I am learning to live with it."

"It must be considerably easier not having to wear those damnable high collared shirts all the time. I can't imagine it comfortable to feel as though you were being strangled all the time."

"There is no difference for that is how I feel now, Admiral."

The two sat in awkward silence for a few moments, neither sure of how to proceed.

"Your father must be pleased with your progress," the Admiral said lightly. "He has wanted this for you for a long time now."

"Yes, he is." Now I am truly made in his image.

"But I am sure this has not influenced his decision to promote you. Regardless of your birth, you've done extraordinary things during your short career."

"Yes, regardless of my birth," Nero repeated sourly. "It is truly amazing that I have overcome the handicap of my DNA."

"Nero, I didn't mean it that way," the Admiral sputtered. "You should know better than anyone that I thought of your mother as one of us. I never saw her as anything but human."

"How kind of you," he replied coldly, his voice shaking with the strain of keeping his rage from coloring his speech. "Thank you for delivering the news to me; I trust that my father was far too busy to pass it on himself. " He rose, saluted the Admiral, turned toward the exit and stalked away to the dock.

"You're acting like a petulant child, Nero; you should be happy you've come this far. It's more than most humanoid life-forms ever accomplish," the Admiral called to him as the exit bay doors slid shut.

His boots thudded heavily against the metal flooring of the entry hallway as he stormed his way to The Eos. His heart pounded against his ribs, his blood surging painfully through him like an acidic poison. His chest rose and fell rapidly as his undersized lungs tried in vain to keep up with his rampaging heart. He was ready to be free of this wretched place; he may have been born here, but it was far from his home. He longed for the oblivion of space, for that unending, infinite darkness.

That's all I'll ever be to them, he thought bitterly. No matter how high my rank; no matter how much I look like them—I will always be half of what they are, just a shadow of my father's greatness.

He pounded his fist against the wall and sank to the ground, unable to breathe properly. His hands shot to his neck instinctively, clawing furiously at the tiny pink scars. They're gone, they're gone, he reminded himself. Use your lungs now. He opened his mouth awkwardly and gulped in the dry, filtered air. It stuck in the back of his throat like thorns, but his feeble lungs filled and soon the panic left his body.

He held his head in his hands, his mind a tangle web of indiscernible hatred, and tried to catch his breath. Using his lungs to breathe was still a strange and new experience for him; using them to breathe oxygen was doubly so. His body was simply not made for such an atmosphere as the one he had been born in; it was in this way that he took after his mother. In all other ways that mattered, he was now the mirror image of his father—only 30 years younger.

They shared the same dark hair and eyes which had been passed down for generations in the Halston family. The fair skin of his European ancestors was still present in him despite his mother's rich olive tone; it was also free of any distinguishable markings on his face and arms. As long as no one could see them, they didn't exist. His posture, despite his ignominious birth, was regal and proud; he refused to bow down to any master. Well, except to those who outranked him.

Still shaking, Nero pushed himself to his feet, his knees nearly buckling under his own weight. He clutched his hand, now throbbing from the pain of his foolish and rash outburst. He never felt more like his father when he did something moronic and this time was no exception. Miserably, he continued forward to the docking station.

It was mercifully vacant except for the hanger guards. As soon as they saw his uniform, they allowed him access to The Eos without question. He could feel their eyes bore into him as he walked passed; he was used to the stares by now. Defiantly, he pulled back his long hair from his neck and tied it into a loose ponytail, making his scars plainly evident.

"Did you get a close enough look, gentlemen, or should I stop to let you inspect me?" he asked calmly as he stalked passed them. "If you are lucky, maybe I'll even let you feel where they cut off my operculum. McMahon, lower the gangplank; prepare for immediate departure," he said, pressing the surgically implanted communicator at the base of his ear, standard issue for all high ranking officers.

"Yes, Captain Halston. We've all just heard the news, Sir; congratulations," the lieutenant said softly. "You'll make an excellent captain."

A small stair way descended from the underbelly of the massive ship. As Nero clumsily ascended the undersized walkway, his body contorting awkwardly to fit up the narrow passage, he couldn't help but overhear the guards talking about him.

"What a freak. No wonder Fleet Admiral Halston kept him buried out on Ganymede for the past two years. I wouldn't want to claim him as mine either."

"Yeah, well, it's not like he didn't know what he was in for when he bred with that thing. Titan humanoid birth deformities were well documented by the time his son was born."

"Do you really think he expected him to be a lungfish?"

Their laughter echoed off the walls of hanger, amplifying their voices to unnatural levels. Nero felt as though it were coming from inside him, buried somewhere deep inside the recesses of his brain. He relished it, for their cruelty, their lack of understanding was of a primordial nature.

As he proudly strode the cramped walkways of his vessel, a little smile pulled at the corners of his lips. It was here, among the soft buzz of electricity and the hum of the engines, that he was at peace. It was his lullaby, the gentle kiss goodnight that averted his passions and eased his blood. Here he was just another solider. This was the one place in the entire universe he didn't have to lie about who he really was; here no one was human.

Extra cool points to you if you didn't have to google the word operculum.

Capricorn

So it's been awhile since my last post on here. I stopped doing that 30 day photo challenge because it got annoying to a lot of people on Facebook, including me. Since then, I've been so busy with school I haven't really had much time to do anything but freak out about school. Thank baby Jesus that there is only one week left and I really only have 1 final.

Anyway, I've been writing a lot lately. Mostly stupid and fluffy things, but that is besides the point. I'm not posting that junk on here; if you want to read it, find my deviantart account. :) But, I will be posting some new stuff I've written on here--starting now!

I wrote this last night after finding this picture on deviantart. I already had the character in my head because I had been planning on doing this project in the summer. This picture was just too perfect/inspiring for me to not start writing immediately. Anyway, here is the picture.

Awesome, right? You can check out the original here---->link. There's a whole series of zodiac on eyes and they are all equally breath taking. Anyway, here is a little information about what I actually want to do with the summer undertaking.

It's basically a series of interconnecting stories set in space. All stories/chapters are based off of/inspired by 30 Seconds to Mars songs; everything they sing about reminds me of space, which probably why I like them so much. I normally don't do a lot of sci-fi stuff, so this is a real departure for me. It's been fun so far, so I guess it's fair to say that I'm excited to write the subsequent chapters. 

So, yeah, here's the first chapter. It's called Capricorn and was based off the 30STM song "Capricorn (A Brand New Name)." Give it a listen below.  FUN FACT: this was the first time I realized that Jared Leto was, in fact, gorgeous. How are you 40, Jared Leto? HOW!?

Provehito in Altum: Capricorn 

"Where you headed, girl?" he grumbled as she climbed into the cramped cabin.

"As far as you can take me," she said curtly. She had no time for pleasant formalities. "Quickly."

He liked her instantly; after several months of solitude, a female form was a welcome break from the oblivion of empty space. He would have found her beautiful even if she wasn't the first real female companion he had had in months. She was young, no older than twenty at the most. Her skin was bone pale, no doubt the product of living in the darkness of space, and flawlessly smooth. Her hair was long and raven-colored, just like the infinite horizon he spent his days gazing into. It elegantly framed the high, rounded cheek bones of her heart shaped face.

He was fascinated by her eyes the most. They were orbs of pure jade so clear and vibrant they seemed to glow with inner electricity. He could stare at them for hours; when he gazed into them, he felt as though he were staring into the infinite deep in a way he never felt before. They put all of her other exquisite features to shame. Even her soft petal-pink lips, which she was nervously chewing, were of no comparison.  

"It's rare I get any hitcher's out here, especially women. Where do you call home?" he asked, attempting to make conversation with this beautiful mystery woman. He idly pushed a few buttons on his touch panel, making the tiny freighter ship vibrate and jolt to life.

She pressed her face to the small portal window and watched as the rocky terrain of the small planet disappeared and blurred beneath her. She exhaled heavily and fell back into the stained seat cushions of her chair. She feared that she was going to die on that miserable little rock.

"I'm from nowhere," she said coldly.

"Oh?" he asked curiously. "You just drifting with the winds then?"

She closed her eyes in exasperation. Her savior was far too chatty for her tastes, but he would have to suffice. "Could we just not talk? I've had a very hard day," she grumbled.

"Sure," he responded, somewhat dismayed over her cold demeanor.

She rested her head against the little window, enjoying the vibrations of the tiny ship as it sped off into the void. Her stomach lurched and rolled tumultuously, still unsettled from her last meal. She winced as the man put his hand on the center control panel, irritated by his proximity to her. She shifted uncomfortable in her chair, positioning her body so that it pointed away from him.

Keep calm, Arinda, she thought frantically. You are still full from your last meal. You need no other nourishment. She could feel the familiar pain, the denied yearning of years of imprisonment, burn in the back of her throat. Not here, not yet. You can make it through this. She felt little beads of sweat forming along her hair line and her breathing had become shallow.

"Are you hot?" he asked, disbelief written plainly on his face. "I don't think I've ever heard of anyone getting hot out here."

He reached over her, making her almost leap out of her skin, and manipulated a few button on the control panel. Cool air began filling the tiny cabin and she was immensely glad of it; it scattered the stale, pungent scent of the man that clung to everything in the small enclosure. 

"Thank you," she said flatly.

He eyed her curiously as she pulled the leather jacket she wore off. Her body was thin and elegant even beneath the several layers of dark, insulating fabric she wore. She twisted her fingers together rapidly as she lied with her eyes closed. She seemed to be focusing so intently on something; the pouty look on her face drove him wild.

She gnawed on her bottom lip, making it swell as blood rushed to it. Her face was screwed up with intense concentration, a look of serene frustration shaping the gentle sinews of her face. The twisting of her fingers sped up in a frantic pace; her chest heaved rhythmically as she gasped for breath. In his mind, she was a virginal creature, writhing with its first taste of pleasure. 

"Where is the closest place you can drop me?" she groaned through clenched teeth. She could feel the charges gathering in her fingers as she manically twisted and rubbed them together. Just a little long; just hold on a little longer.

"Well, we've just passed the last terrestrial planet a whole back. There are a few rest docks coming up soon. At these speeds, we should be there in about an hour or so."

Her eyes snapped open. "An hour?" she repeated incredulously. "There isn't anywhere closer?"

"I'm afraid not. Out here, things are pretty sparse. What's a matter? Earlier you wanted to go as far as I could take and now you can't wait an hour? Is my company really so unpleasant?"

"No," she answered, her voice shaking with strain. "I don't like small spaces. I feel like I'm locked in a cage."

He smiled wryly at her. "Why would anyone want to lock away that beautiful face of yours?"

She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. Disgusting, she thought sourly as she took in his appearance for the time. He was a fluid-filled sack, bound in layers of subcutaneous blubber and meat. Layers of dull and dead keratin covered him, almost devoid of pigmentation from his extend stay in darkness. He was small and limp, like a creature you would find in the deep recesses of an ancient sea.

She recognized his species immediately as she took in his dull brown eyes. She felt as though she were looking into the eyes of a corpse; no fire, no pulse, no thought--just an empty vessel. Human, she thought dully. Just my luck. There will be no challenge in this at all.

"You asked me a question about my home earlier," she said sweetly, playing into the man's loneliness and adoration for her. "Do you still want to know?"

"Sure. I love hearing about the lives of the people I pick up."

She placed her nervously twisting hand in her lap gently and took a deep breath. "I am from a planet very far away from the one you call home. Earth, right?"

He nodded his head and smiled. "Damn; I could have sworn you were from Earth. You have a distinctly human shape to you."

"Life on our planets share several evolutionary similarities. We are much the same species in numerous ways.

"My planet is dying. Many of my people abandoned it long ago; I do not know how many of us remain there today or if it is even viable still. When I left, the core was still glowing, but I can feel it in me now...the uncertainty. I'm sure that if it is still there, it hasn't much time left," she said quietly, letting a few crystalline tears drip from her eyes.

"I'm sorry, girl--I don't know you name," he said awkwardly.

"I am called Arinda," she said dully.

"Arinda," he repeated. "That's a lovely name. I'm Michael; I'm sorry about your home, Arinda."

She felt him clap his meaty hand down on her shoulder. She fought the urge to push it away and instead placed her own delicate hand on his. His field was weak, just like all of his mundane species, but it made her mouth water. The burning in her throat was agonizing; she could think only of quenching it.

"Michael," she said softly.  "I've been alone out here for so long. You're the first person to show me any kindness. I think if I hadn't met you, I would have died on that miserable little planet." She took his face in her hands, holding him in those hauntingly deep eyes. "Can you take care of me?"

She felt his clumsy hand slide down her shoulder and grasp her breast awkwardly. She felt her stomach churn in utter disgust at the forward advances of this lesser being. But she smiled up at him with soft and warm eyes; she had already won.

Gingerly, she placed her hand on top of his heart, feeling the steady pulse in her palm. She savored in the feeling of her body charging itself slightly as she drew on the electricity emanating from his skin. Michael began to feel his body weaken, his hand no longer able to massage her nubile body. She pushed him off her with contempt. 

Before he knew what was happening, she had him on his back on the floor. She stood over him like a stalking tiger, her hand outstretched in front of her, hovering feet above his heart. She smiled as she felt herself made well even by this miniscule amount of energy.

"Humans...you are all same. So trusting, so comfortable in you superiority as a species. Do you know what you are to me? Nothing more than a network of electrical energy, wrapped inside a weak electrical field. But, I do suppose I owe you a thank you; the last human I ate was much smaller than you. I was getting pretty weak from hunger.

"It's unfortunate, really, that Central built my prison so far from everything. I normally don't have to resort to this kind of feeding. I can usually take my power from a generator or a battery--sometimes even from a planet. I was planning on feeding when we landed, but you we're just too big of a temptation for me. Besides, once I dispose of you, I'll have my own ship," she said brightly. 

He sputtered feebly, but was unable to form any discernable words. He could feel his heart beat wildly and sporadically inside his chest. His thoughts were becoming foggy and his muscles began to contract on their own as she fed on his electricity. All the time as she drained the life from him, he held her gaze, watching in horror as he saw his inner light fill her eyes. As his lungs captured his last breath, he saw her licking her fingers as though she had just ate a juicy piece of meat.  

As she watched what weak and dull light his eyes had leave them, she stretched out her stiff muscles. The little cabin seemed much larger already with him out of the way. Lazily, she put the little ship on autopilot and set about the arduous task of disposing of his body. She sighed, realizing that at the speed she was currently traveling she couldn't dump him into space.

She bent down and grabbed the corpse by the arms and drug him to the back of the small ship. Her stomach rolled as the stench of decaying flesh burnt her nostrils. Hastily, she covered him the best she could with the scraps of cardboard and plastic she found lying on the ground from his past freight runs. Satisfied with her temporary placement of the body, Arinda strolled about the ship's interior.

It was dark and crowded with a low ceiling. Its previous own likely had to hunch over to fit through the passage ways. There were only four chambers to it entirely: the deck, the cargo space, which was by far the largest, the engine room, and the rest quarters. She groaned as she inhaled yet another wave of the previous owner's scent on her bed sheets. When she landed, she was going to have to gut the ship of its furnishings just to make traveling bearable. 

As she lied on the tiny bed, her eyes explored the dimly lit room. A few posters were tacked to the walls of women in various suggestive poses. Several receipts for snack foods littered the floor like dried leaves. What a glorious and meaningful existence, she thought sarcastically. She put her arms behind her head idly as she stared at the ceiling, reflecting on everything that had come to happen that day to lead up to her escape.

But she was not truly free; she still bore the shackles of her birthname. She closed her eyes as she tried to conjure up a suitable new name for herself. After several minutes of fruitless reflection, she rolled on to her side. She picked up her pillow and fluffed it, perhaps more aggressively than necessary. As she laid her head back down, the stubborn hard spot still remained. Annoyed, she reached her hand into the case and pulled out a little book with a yellow cover.

Complete Astrological Profile for Capricorns. You've got to be kidding me. She held the book in the feeble light and leafed through it idly. "Capricorn," she out loud to herself as she studied the picture of a goat climbing an impossibly steep mountain. It should have just given up and settled for having reached the heights it did. Instead, it labored forward, never losing sight of its true goal. 

She smiled to herself as she tossed the book aside, feeling herself born anew. The weak starlight filtered through her small window, bathing her like the pure waters of a christening. Here, as the cosmos as her witness, was she given the name of Capricorn.

Day 5: A picture of your favorite memory

I think it almost impossible to pick just one favorite memory. But, this one is by far a contender.

This was taken at the end of August 2006. Erinn and I are at the Arco Arena seeing Taking Back Sunday, Angels and Airwaves, Head Automatica and The Subways. This is not how the day started out.

I had planned on going to see this concert with my friend Nikki. I offered to give her a ride to the concert since I was going to be in Sacramento that day to drop off my buddy Curtis at the airport. Well, some wires got crossed and Nikki's cell didn't ring, so when we showed up at her house, no one was there. Majorly bummed, I convinced my mom to buy Erinn a ticket so we could still go to the concert.

As it was, Erinn had this guy from Stockton up to visit here. It turned out she found him kind of boring and odd and was generally not enjoying having him around. So this was also an opportunity for her to send him on his way home by saying that we were going to drop him off at the bus station (I know, we weren't the nicest about this kid. I still feel bad about it).

After all the hustling, we barely made it to the airport in time to drop off Curtis. After we said our good-byes, we dropped off the other kid at the bus station (which was honestly one of the most ghetto places I've ever seen). We checked into our motel and got dressed for our concert. My mom, who was after a series of stressful things and bratty behavior, on her last nerve so she had us take a cab to the arena about three to four hours before the concert started

We get in the cab, which the air conditioning vents have been gutted out of, and our driver starts saying some weird and random things--mainly: "Figure out what you wanna do with your life." This should have been an indicator of what kind of ride it was going to be, but I just smiled and laughed like "WTF?" It was at this point that we realized he was on his cell phone and was not talking to us.

As we began speeding down the high way (literally speeding--like 80+ speeding in a rickety cab with no air conditioning), he began to yell louder and louder as we drove along. It became apparent that he was breaking up with his girlfriend when he said, "Bitch--Imma do me and you-a do you." When he hung up, I distinctly remember exhaling. He then proceeded to tell us things like, "Bitch was getting possessive" and "One woman just ain't enough. I got me three. One woman JUST AIN'T ENOUGH! You know what I mean?" After which he called his other girlfriends to fight with them too.

We didn't know what he meant.

Against all odds, we made it there alive. I gave him 40 dollars because I didn't want to ask him for change. As it was, he dropped us off about a mile from the actual arena so we had to walk the rest of the way. It was literally 112 degrees out that day, so by the time we got there, we were drenched in sweat and dehydrated. We proceeded to sit in the line for like 2 hours in the sun. I could feel myself baking. When we finally got into the air conditioning, it was one of the most refreshing feeling I have ever experienced to this day.

This is when we took this picture. After nearly dying of dehydration and heat stroke and having a mildly terrifying experience. This is one of my favorite memories because a) my best friends was there to witness it and b) as awful as it was, I still remember laughing like a banshee as we waited in line when I thought about what I was gonna do with my life

Day 4: A picture of your favorite night

If you couldn't tell, this was taken at Pier 39 in San Francisco. What you obviously can't tell is that this was taken in January of 2007 and that prior to snapping the picture I was doing a very fancy dance which, at the time, Ryan still found "cute." Ah, the innocence of youth. Anyway, we were in San Francisco that day because that Christmas I had received a lot of concert tickets as a gift from my mom. On this occasion, we were going to see Fall Out Boy.

That meant a lot in 2007, because Fall Out Boy had just become ridiculously popular due to "From Under the Cork Tree" and "Infinity on High." I was quite excited because I had liked FOB for a long time before this and I had never been able to see them live before.

We went to SF early that day and played around at the Pier for a while. We tried on silly hats and watched the sea lions roll around like big blubber balls. We took this one picture right as we were leaving.

We got in the car and promptly got lost for the next two hours. We called everyone we knew trying to figure out where the hell we were and how to get back to Market Street. Finally, we found the venue at about 8:30pm. We made it just in time to see New Found Glory and then Fall Out Boy. Our seats were in the very last row in the highest level of seating. The guy next to me kept yelling "Fuck me, Pete Wentz!"

It was probably one of the funnest concerts I've ever been to.

Day 3: A picture of the cast from your favorite show

True Blood

True Blood is not exactly the most high brow piece about vampires to ever be created, but I must admit it is the most entertaining. Plus, it is gratuitously sexy and violent. Basically everything I look for in a television show.

Also, Alexander Skarsgard (there is nothing else I really need to say).

Here are the close contenders for my favorite shows (it was very hard for me to pick).

Bleach

Bleach is one of my favorite animes. It's like an adult version of Dragon Ball Z except it doesn't suck.

Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood

I seriously doubt many of you know this version of the show (or the other one for that matter), but it is so much better than the original FMA (which was awesome in so many ways). It's mature yet light hearted with a lot more brutality and depth than the first anime. I think everyone should check it out.

Yes. I do watch a lot of cartoons (sometimes in Japanese). I blame the schools.

Day 2: A picture of you and the person you have been close with the longest.

Technically this is a picture of the two people I have been the closest with the longest. Here is some information about both of them.

Erinn

• We met in the second grade in the lunch line. When I heard her name on the roll list, I thought she was a boy because at the time I didn't know any female Erinn's (or Aaron as I thought it was). We shared animals crackers. We were then inseparable for a long stint of time (second grade through high school--like 10 or something years). We live in different places now, so we don't see each other as often as we'd like. However, when we are in the same place we still hang out like we did when we were little (minus the jump roping, four square, and accelerated reader program). I would say she is my best friend, but that is incorrect; she is more like the sister I never knew I wanted.

Ryan

• I'm quite sure that he hates this picture, but whatever. When I first met Ryan, at the Grudge 2 (which was terrible), I knew instantly that "he (was) going to make waves in my life." (I really though exactly that).He has, in so many ways. I wake up next to him everyday and it makes me stupid happy. Some days, when I look at him, I hear this song in my head (and just to be clear, I really am not a Justin Bieber fan; Ryan likely doesn't even know who Justin Bieber is).

• Mostly this song though. This was playing when I first realized I lesbians him.

30 Day Photo Challenge: Day 1

An homage to fads.

I have been noticing on facebook lately that a lot of people keep posting pictures with labels like "Day 3" and some enticing description about their picture that makes me click on it. I normally don't like being one of those people who upload like 60 pictures a day and begging people to comment on them (omg, I'm SOOOOO bored. Leave me some commentz ftw), but I looked into this 30 Day Picture Challenge thingy and it doesn't sound so terrible. However, I have to admit I have a mild touch of facebook fever (if you don't know what this is please see: http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=facebook+fever. It is a real affliction.) so I have decided to post my pictures and their subsequent stories on here. So yeah, here is the beginning of my 30 Day Photo Challenge.

Day 1: A picture of yourself with fifteen facts.

1. I have an unhealthy relationship with cats. Not in an a disturbing sexual way. More like I think about cats a lot, hang out with cats a lot, find every cat video on youtube hilarious regardless of comedy content, have lolcats.com on my most visited websites list...you get the idea.
2. I say "I know" when I actually don't; I have tried very hard to stop it, but have thus far made no progress.
3. I consider changing my major from biology to chemistry everyday and then talk myself out of it when I think about the misery I would endure by having to take more math. I really don't think my sanity could handle it.
4. My favorite play is Hamlet. Yes, I am aware of the incredible lameness of this fact, but I cannot help myself.
5. In middle school, I was what could be considered "hopeless" when it came to dressing and doing my hair. We're talking seriously bad. I think I have destroyed the majority of the pictures of myself from the 6th grade because they make me unspeakably embarrassed.
6. I spend the majority of my time avoiding work until the little things I have to do pile up. I then spend two whole days doing them while I bitch about how "I don't have time for this!"
7. If I had to, I am quite sure that I could survive entirely on flaming hot cheetos and avocado and cheese omelettes.
8. I am addicted to Words with Friends.
9. I would like to go to Cosplay one year with an awesome homemade costume so I can be queen of the nerds.
10. I would like to learn how to sew so I can one day make my own wedding dress. People continually tell me this is a horrible idea.
11. Whenever I have to speak with one of my professors in a one on one situation I become inexplicably nervous and begin babbling like a moron. This has led my calculus teacher to perceive me as "dingie." He no longer calls on me in class since our odd encounter.
12. I make jokes nobody except me gets.
13. It takes me forever to tell a story in person. I feel this is why the majority of my friends text me rather than call or email me. I really do need a 150 character limit.
14. I love science fiction movies and books because I have always wanted to go into space. Not like as an astronaut, but like a cool future person who visits Mars on the weekend or pilots space freighters. That's right--space freighters.
15. I like almost every genre of music, especially metal and progressive rock, except for country.

<3

It has been exactly one month since my last blog post. I know, I am extremely neglectful of this poor little blog. Especially considering that in the month since I have last posted, I have done approximately nothing (unless you count watching Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood as something productive, which, sadly, society doesn't).

I'm so lazy I barely have the motivation to wash my clothes. I still haven't gotten around to it for this week (and it is Wednesday). I keep rationalizing my laziness by telling myself "How will anyone know if it's dirty if there are no stain and it doesn't smell? Really, I'm conserving water. I should be given some sort of recognition for being so eco-friendly."

Showers have also become a taxing labor, as I have to choose every morning between sleeping an extra 30 minutes or washing my hair. We all know that college students need more naps than toddlers, so I almost always want the extra 30 minutes. Being female, however, makes it extremely ridiculously hard for me to not wash my hair everyday. It is a good thing I don't have any dry shampoo. If I did, it is entirely possible that I would bathe only when people started avoiding me.

If you didn't know, school has started again for me and, just like last semester, I find myself feeling more and more zombified every day. All I want to do is eat flaming hot Cheeto's and sleep (also not considered productive). I have many things to say about the semester thus far, but I don't have the energy for that right now.

Tangent in 5....4....3...2...1!

I have to laugh at this, mainly so I don't feel any more moronic than I already do. On Friday, I have to wake up at 5 am (it exists?!) so I can get to Calculus by 8:30. First off, why would anyone in the history of academics think putting a class so early in the morning could possibly lead to anything good? Anyway, I stumble out to my car around 5:15 as it takes me about three times as long to find my keys in complete darkness. It is very cold and dark outside and unnervingly quiet. I clunk across the porch and begin climbing the gentle incline up to my car. As I am about half way up the hill, there is a rustling in the bushes.

As my mind begins to do cartwheels and replay everything I know about serial killers and I feel certain death is near, a peacock emerges, walks over to me, and squawks "Heeelp" and scampers off to do whatever it is peacocks do (I do not literally mean the peacock said "Help." This is what they sound like when they squawk). I giggle to myself over my active imagination. I continue up the hill. I step in a pile of frozen leaves and instead of just going with gravity and falling forward (the direction I was walking) I decide to wrench my body around so that I fall on my stomach and slide to the bottom of the hill.

Once again, nature has proven it hates me. I am lulled into a false sense of security by the lack of a serial killer only to be defeated by a pile of frosty leaves. My road rash may be healing, but my distrust of nature will never fade.

Wish me luck at the ocean tomorrow.

O rly? You want to go this way? You better send your friends for heeeelp.

New Year's Resolution

Well, it's that darling time of year again. The one wonderous week where everyone is on their best behavior because they have made some vague promises to themselves. I believe these things are "New Year's Resolutions." They are a nice thought. I like to wave good bye to them as they inevitably fall behind me during my journey through the year. I think on them fondly, especially when I break one, always vowing to get back on track tomorrow.

In the spirit of the season, I've decided to take part in this New Year tradition. Below is a list of my resolutions for 2011. See if we share any; maybe we can keep each other on track, or, at the very least, put the off until tomorrow with each other until December 31st.

Allie's Resolutions 2011

• To finish at least one story that I have been working on.

• To go to bed on time for school so I don't wake up feeling like I've just gone a bender and am now being forced to fill out DMV forms all day long.

• To make memories with old friends and new friends before I am too busy to have a life.

• To study o-chem for the coming year.

• To keep my new fish alive for longer the four months (miss you, Oro. I am sorry I killed you)

• To relax a little more and enjoy the little things without worrying about being on schedule

These are all I can think of right now. I'm congested and have cold brain, so thinking is extremely difficult today anyway. Wish us both luck on keeping our resolutions. Let's have a classy 2011.

The Lazy blogger

Because I am feeling lazy and yet neglectful, I am filling out this form my friend Tabatha posted on facebook about getting to know people. I realized my blog is school heavy, so I thought this would be a nice little get to know Allie sheet.
1. What time did you get up this morning? 12ish
2. How do you like your steak? Medium; I hunger for the blood of innocent animals.
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows Part 1.
4. What is your favorite TV show? Futurama, Bleach, Kekkaishi, The Conan O'Brien Show.
5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be? Somewhere full of trees.
6. What did you have for breakfast? I've ate breakfast all day today...technically, an avocado and Mexican cheese omelette.
7. What is your favorite cuisine? Mexican
8. What foods do you dislike? Pickles. They are pure evil.
9. Favorite Place to Eat? Eh, it changes, but right now it is the little Mexican restaurant that opened next to the bar in Kelseyville. Carnitas = <3
10. Favorite dressing? Ranch or poppyseed.
11. What kind of vehicle do you drive? 07 civic ex. How I love it.
12. What are your favorite clothes? As I got dressed for a Mormon wedding today, I realized all of my shirts show off my boobs or are in some way inappropriate. This made it difficult to get dressed. Anyway, I like clothes that are a little off beat--either punky or hippie ish. And boob centric, apparently. No wonder I had so many guy friends in high school.
13. Where would you visit if you had the chance? France, Greece, Spain, Tokyo--everywhere.
14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full? Depends on how cynical I feel that day.
15. Where would you want to retire? Somewhere with lots of cats.
16. Favorite time of day? Sunset and when the stars come out.
17. Where were you born? Ukiah, California.
18. What is your favorite sport to watch? Curling, because it is not a sport.
19. Who do you think will not tag you back? I'm not on facebook!
20. Person you expect to tag you back first? I'm still not on facebook.
21. Who are you most curious about their responses to this? Not on facebook.
22. Bird watcher? I watch my cat kill birds. Because I hate them.
23. Are you a morning person or a night person? Night.
24. Pets? Cat and some fish (they live at separate houses).
25. Any new and exciting news that you'd like to share? I got straight A's. I have new fish friends. Good times, good times.
26. What did you want to be when you were little? A cat doctor (NOT a veterinarian), a princess, a volcanologist. Practical things.
27. What is your best childhood memory? Meeting my best friend in the lunch line and bottle feeding my kitten.
28. Are you a cat or dog person? Cat, if it wasn't obvious.
29. Are you married? No.
30. Always wear your seat belt? Yes, because my car screams at me if I don't.
31. Been in a car accident? I haven't.
32. Any pet peeves? When people don't press the clear button when they are done using the microwave. People who say ASAP as "A sap."
33. Favorite pizza topping? Pineapple.
34. Favorite Flower? Orchids.
35. Favorite ice cream? Cookies n cream
36. Favorite fast food restaurant? Tacobell
37. How many times did you fail your driver's test? Once...I don't like to talk about it.
38. From whom did you get your last email? Gosh, who e-mails anymore with facebook?
39. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? Chanel, Manolo Blahnik, Christian Louboutin.
40. Do anything spontaneous lately? I randomly ran into my friends at a gas station. I don't think this counts as spontaneous, but whatever.
41. Like your job? Being a student sucks mostly.
42. Broccoli? YES.
43. What was your favorite vacation? Mmm, the one I took with my mom to Monterey after she had her surgery.
44. Last person you went out to dinner with? Mom.
45. What are you listening to right now? Final Fantasy 14 battle music.
46. What is your favorite color? Pink
47. How many tattoos do you have? 2
48. Coffee drinker? When I drive somewhere in the morning.
49. How many children do you have? 0. Thank. God.
50. What are your plans for today? Went to friend's wedding, watched a movie, now sleepy time.

GFAJ-1 and Capella

This is Mono Lake. It lies in the middle of a barren expanse of desert near the California-Nevada border. It has a salinity that shifts back and forth between two and three times higher than the average salinity of the ocean. The primary life that exists in this extreme environment is brine shrimp and alkali flies; migratory birds also frequent the lake, providing a vital resting stop on their trip down south.

This lake has become one of the most important bodies of water in the world because of something that is nanometers in size that breaks one of the key rules of life on Earth. Until now, as we understood it, life was thought to center around six key elements: hydrogen, oxygen, carbon, nitrogen, sulfur and phosphorous. A bacteria discovered in oxygen absent mud, named GFAJ-1, was found to use arsenic, which is chemically similar to phosphorus, in the backbone of it's DNA rather than phosphorous. Arsenic is poisonous to life because of its ability to mimic phosphorous leads to disruption of metabolic pathways.

I know--this is very sciencey. But this bacteria has just changed our definition of life. Take a moment to appreciate this by thinking about everything you know about math, such as two plus two equals four, and try to convince yourself that there will ever be a time when it doesn't.

I know, right? Kinda mind boggling. This little bacteria is breaking all the rules...those rules may never have existed in the first place. GFAJ-1 has taught us that life outside our planet may be different from us in ways we can't even conceive of yet. This microbe just opened the door to the very real possibility of life on another world.

In honor of GFAJ-1 and all the knowledge its discovery has bestowed upon us, I have written a brief story. I'll probably do more with it in the future, but right now I'm too busy panicking about finals to focus on too much.

Capella

The lights of the planet faded into the distance as the rocket climb higher and higher into the deep. The haze of the atmosphere began to dissolve and it too faded to blackness. Before Capella's eyes lay the boundless elegance of the universe. Stars twinkled like smiles thousands of light years away, as though they were welcoming back home.

She pressed her face closer to the viewing window of their craft, hoping that if she got close enough to the wonders of the outside she would understand them, be able to shape them with her hands. "We are passing your constellation, Capella," Einath called to her from the pilot's chair.

She cocked her head to see past him. In the distance she could see the golden glow Auriga the Charioteer. "I believe you are the northern most one?" he said, gesturing to the most brilliant in the system. "Yes," she said, smiling. "And you are the southern."

Many minutes passed as they both gazed at the stars they had been named for; how appropriate it seemed now as they rushed past them at speeds only light ever exceeded that they were picked for this voyage. Eventually, the glow of their stars was consumed by the darkness and new ones took their place in front of their eyes: Taurus, Orion, Monoceros, Hydra and finally came Libra, the scales--the place they had been sent to.

In the distance loomed a massive glowing red orb named Gliese 581. The red dwarf was only two thirds the mass of her home star and was significantly dimmer, but it was a marvel to her. Little flair jumped off its surface and twirled in the air like dancers before drifting back to the surface. "We are here," Einath said as the craft slung shot past the star and head toward a large, blue planet. "Gliese 581g."

"They are so similar, aren't they?" Capella pondered. "More so than we had even hoped. What do you think it is like down there?" She had to restrain herself from pressing her nose to the glass.

"The same as the pictures," Einath said dryly.

"Of course," she answered, perhaps a little sharper than she had intended. "But what do you think it's like? Do you think it will feel like home?"

"No."

"That's it? Just plain 'No'? I swear sometimes you can be so dull."

Einath considered this for a moment, "I wasn't aware I was expected to elaborate on my answer."

She sighed. "That is how conversation works. I talk then you talk and then I comment on what you said and so on."

She was met with silence.

"You are hopeless."

He sighed. "I do hate to interrupt your philosophical ponderings about the planet we're about to land on, but I would appreciate a few minutes of silence as I try to land this multi-billion dollar space craft without killing all of us."

This literally ends where I started falling asleep last night, I hope you enjoyed it and, like I said before, I'll probably work more on it in the coming weeks.

Holly Jolly Insanity

It's that lovely time of year again. Inside your house, your family is gathered around the TV for Rudolph and his bioluminescent nose. The radio insists on playing a hideously outdated or, even worse, a horrible "updated" christmas song about sleighs and bells and baby animals until you have to turn it off for fear of vomitting due to cuteness or before you develop diabetes. Stores have "the hottest gifts" for that "special someone" at "super low prices." Your credit card company has to hire extra goons for those post season collection calls--remember, every time you exceed your limit and then are forced to take out another credit card, that band dressed like pirates from TV writes a song about your credit score (I like to imagine they do anyway. The song I play in my head drowns out the sound of my finanaces' death rattle).

Thanksgiving passed just like any other one before it at my house--lots of small children running like mad things, crying (thankfully from an actual baby this time rather than a metaphoric one), too much eating, and my eventual energy crash as soon as all the sharks--I mean, the rest of my family--went home as soon as they had deavoured every last morsel of flesh that clung to the carcass in our kitchen that was at one point in time called "turkey." The only holiday I actually wanted to celebrate was Black Friday; not because I care about buying people presents, but because I wanted to buy ME a present. But, unfortunately, poor people are not allowed to shop (death rattle). Besides, who actually wants to get Lion Kinged at Wall-Mart just to get some toys which will likely give your children lead poisioning?

Hauntingly similar, no?

Consumerism is frightening during December and the end of Novemeber. Everyone loses their minds when they see those big "SALE" signs. Something about getting bargains brings out the base instincts of people. Suddenly, we are all starving and that sale is a big, juicy steak at a "reasonable" price.

I think it is best to remember in these crazy times that the best gifts you get during the holidays are free or home made.

Everyone already knows what to get you anyway (Well, your guy friends do anyway). I have heard it's appropriate for every single holiday.

Allie Gonzales and the Part 1 Finale

If you didn't know, I love Harry Potter.

I first read Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone when I was nine years old. My mom took me to the Lake County Library for the first time (at least the first time I remember having ever gone to that smelly place). I discovered they had a room full of books for kids--a whole room! I walked around in there for a long time (probably about half an hour) until I stumbled upon a brightly colored book with an odd pastel drawn cover. It had big golden shiny letters reading "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" emblazoned over the picture of a boy riding on a flying broomstick trying to catch a little yellow ball with wings. In the back ground there was a forest, a unicorn, a castle and a three headed dog. If you're still having a hard time picturing the cover here it is:

What child would have the ability to resist this kind of fantasy? I can't remember a time I didn't (and still don't) long for magic to be real. Needless to say, I took an instant liking to the book. It was the story of an orphaned child who lived in a closet under the stairs, suffering the cruel whims of his elephantine cousin Dudley. When he turned eleven, he got a letter (delivered by owl, of course) that informed him he was in fact a wizard and had been admitted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A dear friend of mine once admitted that when she turned eleven, she stayed up at night waiting for her letter from Hogwarts; when it didn't come, she wasn't sad because she thought that it all might still be real--she was just a muggle.

I read every Harry Potter book from the time they came out. Eventually, the books were released in such a way that the age Harry was in the book I was in real life. I know, it sounds silly, but it made me feel that much more connected to that world. It was impossible for me to not imagine my friends playing the role of Harry's and the people I didn't like as the psuedo-villains and real villains in the stories. My friends and I read the books together; we'd call each other up and discuss for long hours what was going to happen next. We'd share our outrage together when a character we loved got killed (Why, Sirius? WHY FRED!!?).

I grew up with Harry Potter and he grew up with me. I think I will always love the story and the characters. I actually look forward to my children reading them and being able to pass down my love of literature and Harry Potterness with them.

SO, yes, I was one of those weird people outside the theater at midnight Thursday, dressed all in Death Eater black and trying to stave off frostbite in my nose and toes, with my mom. When I looked up at the poster:

It reminded me of being in the library all those years ago and how much I've changed in all that time. I used to be a happy, carefree little kids. Now, I am a sleep deprived college student who spends the majority of my free time doing derivatives and writing papers--no more time for fantasy and magic. When I read The Deathly Hallows, I cried when it was over because it was like putting a period on the end of my childhood (also Hedwig died. That was a low blow). I graduated that year. I moved away that year. I fell in love (and got my heart broken). I "grew up."

When I watched The Deathly Hallows Part 1, it was like being a kid again. I didn't feel silly for shedding a tear for a dead owl I didn't know--it's Hedwig, after all. It was like stepping back in time to that magical state of childhood where all this could be real--I'm just a muggle.

You may call me nerdy and over sentimental. Well, I do not care. I will always love Harry Potter because, to me, it represents the most magical kingdom of them all--childhood.

Lazy

If you haven't noticed, I've been a bit of a slacker the last few weeks. Life just seems to get more chaotic as the end of the semester approaches. I used to have time to be creative and relax, but lately all I have time to do is calculus homework (and I'm barely keeping up with that). This is an account of a field trip I took in my Biology class in October.

I was required to meander into Montgomery Woods Tuesday to "observe nature" as part of my Bio class. An acorn nearly murdered me as I climbed up the gentle incline of the one hill in the park. It went a little something like this:

1. I get out of the car and am immediately sorry as the temperature is around negative 63 and I have (foolishly) only worn a hoodie and neglected to bring my Nike's (Coach sneakers are cool for hiking, right?)
2. Learned some terribly interesting things about redwoods (well, I would have, if I hadn't been focusing on sending blood to my toes to keep from developing frostbite.)
   
3. Coach sneakers are not cool for hiking. Especially not canvas sneakers that absorb all the free moisture from the forest the day after a rain storm (we got eight whole inches) and which is currently enshrouded in fog, which apparently is like a rain storm in the redwoods. Lovely.
   
4. Walking in moist air uphill makes me breath as loud as an angry walrus. Everyone asks me if I am okay. I would have answered them, but my tertiary bronchioles were busy trying not to explode.
   
5. I need to look at the ground when I walk because, get this, oak trees like to grow around redwoods. Oak trees drop slippery leaves. And acorns. Acorns are round; round things roll. Round things roll better when they are on a moist incline. I am clumsy at the best of times.
6. I am heaving along, my socks now completely saturated and making a delightful "squish" sound with every step I take, when I am distracted by one of my darling classmates talking. I take my eyes off the ground for a moment to respond so I don't look like I dislike eye contact. As I step forward, I feel my right foot slipping.
   
7. I am in some sort of half-split position, trying to sort out why this is happening. Several people are laughing at me. Awesome.
   
8. I fall over to escape going into a deeper split and realize I am on a hill, so I roll about ten feet down the it before being stopped by a large rock in the road. More people are laughing.
   
9. Properly humiliated, I pop to feet and squish my way back up the hill, my face aglow with the redness of retardedness.
   

What did I learn from this experience? Chiefly, Coach shoes are not meant for hiking. Secondly, Mother Nature is a crazy bitch who wants to kill me with acorns.

Saturday Disk Purging

I was going through some old files I had on a flash drive from forever ago (something I hate doing because most of my files are mediocre at best) and I happened upon this short story thingy I never finished. I'm posting all I wrote on here. Let me know what you think of it (I plan to keep writing it now that I found it).

Untitled

It was a sunny day; nothing more remarkable could be said of that Wednesday for is was average and dull in every other way. There was no particular zest to it—after all, it was a Wednesday. There was no wind to speak of or clouds to streak the sky; there was just the unbearable pounding of the sun upon the already parched earth.

It was on this day that Haven ventured out of her house for the first time in nearly two years. She hesitated at the threshold of the door to her single wide trailer. She placed one ashen white foot on the sandy ground. A shriek stuck in her throat with a profound “Uheau!” It had been so long since she felt the unsettling sensation of sand between her toes that she didn’t know if she could continue forward.

She drew in a deep breath; all of the muscles in her body tensed up as she planted her second foot firmly on the shale. It took all of her power to keep from jumping back inside, but she was determined to conquer her long standing fear. With an olympian sigh, she propelled her whole body forward; for the first time in nearly twenty-four months she was exposed to the sun.

Her body seemed alien to her in this light; indoors she saw herself as healthy, with rosy skin and vibrant blue eyes. Now she saw herself as others did—drained, almost cyanotic, with brittle skin; her eyes were watery and washed out, no longer even a shade of blue; they were instead a disconcerting and stark grey. All that remained the same was her hair; even in this harsh light it was the same unmistakable raven tone.

As she stood in the sun, she wondered how she had let things get so far out of her control.

She was twenty-five when she had moved into darkness (the day after the incident). She had forgotten how bright the sun could truly shine, how her body could glisten like it was faceted with a thousand precious gems. The only dark spots on her were the sickly purple scars on the palms of her hands.

It was the day of the winter solstice; the air was still and heavy with the scent of fresh rain on city pavement. Haven sat in her usual table at El Teatro, her favorite bistro. For her table she could see all the people passing on the sidewalk huddle together, hoping to escape the biting chill of the atmosphere. She cast a tentative glance at her wrist watch and realized that she was running late.

She gathered up her equipment--her purse, her laptop, and a tattered brown leather brief case--and dashed out to hail a taxi. Everything had come down to this one day, this final testing. Could the cure really be so close? She shook her head in disbelief as she slid into the damp and putrid smelling back seat of the cab.

"J and S Pharmaceuticals," she commanded.

As they pulled away from the curb, it began raining again. She watched, with a high degree of amusement, as people scurried and squealed as they became saturated with big drops of water. The ride seemed to take less time than usual today, which she found odd for time always seemed to snail buy on Wednesdays.

She ran into the large entrance hall of her company. She flashed her security pass to the receptionist and, practically sliding on the marble floor, hit the stairs. She couldn't stand the cramped feeling of the elevator. The stairs were much better decorated anyway; she delighted in the carved sickle moons on the steps. They seemed so odd to be found in a drug company.

She reached the fifth basement floor--the main laboratory--before anyone else had arrived. Carefully and methodically, she set up the experiment; first, she picked out three infected mice and put them inside a new cage. They scampered around blindly, bumping into each other and sometimes the cage itself. One had resigned itself to the lying in its food tray. She withdrew on of seven sterile large bore needles and began to hang the IV bag she had stashed in the cooler the night before. There was no indicative markings on the bag other than a single word--"White."

13:30 to Mars

So, I like the band 30 Seconds to Mars.

And, no it's not just because Jared Leto is gorgeous (it doesn't hurt though).

As I was trying to reinvigorate my ancient iPod (the first one ever made with color, btw, that weighs like 20 times as much as my iTouch), I found all my super old downloads from their original album ("30 Seconds to Mars"). It has a lot of good songs, but my favorite will always be "Buddha for Mary." If you haven't heard this song, I'm putting up a video of it below. Don't be weirded out by the first little bit; it changes a lot around 1:05.

I know, it's a little creepy, but I love the way it sounds. I can still remember the first time I listened to it in high school.

As I was scanning youtube for 30 Seconds to Mars musics videoes, I stumbled upon the video for "From Yesterday." I remember thinking, "Hm, this is...interesting," when I watched it a loooooong time ago. Then I noticed that they had "the full length" version of the video, which is a staggering 13 minutes and 30 seconds long (oh, how clever).

If you have the spare time and mental fortitude to watch this video, it's below. Following it will be everything that popped into my head at the corresponding time of the video. Compare notes with me (and try not to pee your pants).

So here's what I thought of this "short film."

1. :10--Wow, that is a seriously irritating flute sound
2. :23--OMG, that is a scarrrry dragon (or do I mean sound effect?)
3. :43--what the hell is wrong with that guy's voice? Srsly, calm down.
4. 1:03-1:10--I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU ARE SAYINGGGG.
   
5. 1:12--For real, is the understandable portion of this video going to have Chinese subtitles?
   
6. 1:25--Oh, I see, they are in a mental institution for stylish bands.
   
7. 3:30--I didn't know time travel changed what clothes you were wearing.
   
8. 3:50--Oh, hey the actual song is starting.
   
9. 4:16--Oh man! Somebody forgot to tell Jared that his guyliner isn't waterproof.
10. 4:49--You're being way too cavalier about seeing death.
    
11. 5:16--Ugh, really, more Chinese? I hope bizarro voice isn't in it.
    
12. 5:45--He is.
    
13. 6:00--How does that little kid from like 600BC know 30 Seconds to Mars? Does Jared Leto really have that much money that little kids just wanna be his friend? Also, why are grown men friends with a little kid?
14. 6:38--Two subtitle types in one scene? Say whhhhhat.
15. 7:11--Oh, yeah. This is a music video. I almost forgot.
    
16. 7:34--I do love a good spin.
    
17. 7:39--Don't feel bad; sleeves are hard. You'll get it next time.
    
18. 7:46--This video suddenly is more interesting to me.
    
19. 7:50--Now it is not.
    
20. 8:26--I can't describe how hard I am lol'ing right now.
    
21. 9:08--Does money make you a ninja?
22. 9:19--Laughing so hard, my stomach hurts.
    
23. 9:24--Oh, stop, please! I can't breath.
    
24. 9:29--Is 30 Seconds to Mars killing people? Is that legal?
25. 9:35--God, this song really gets in the way, man.
    
26. 9:41--Oh, look. It's "Eyes Wide Shut."
27. 9:56--Now my stomach hurts for a different reason.
    
28. 10:09--The green goblin has been hard up for work after Spider Man.
    
29. 10:58--"You guys wanna go get milkshakes now we're done battling to the death?"
30. 11:14--WTF? That's where it ends?
31. 11:15--13:30--Credits. :(

End take on this "film"--This is a good song, but seriously--how much money did you spend on this video? China. Costumes. Make-up. Extras. Stunt people. Camera people. Sound people. I mean, okay, yeah, it is a kinda a cool concept and I guess they get points for creativity, and I can respect that. I also like most of the costumes and sets and all the visual symbolism. But it comes off a little jokey in some places, rather than like cool and mysterious. I still like 30 Seconds to Mars a lot (even if they're sound has changed a bit over time), but I think that this video tries way too hard. The shorter version is much better.

Ones and Zeroes

SO, I know it has been a ridiculously long time since I've posted any fiction on here. I've been so busy with doing homework for my English class, writing has become a bit of bother. But, today I found some time in between coloring pictures of photosynthesis and doing calculus homework to sit down at the computer and crank out some writing. 3 hours later, I realized I had wrote 50 pages about a rather small event in the plot of this story (Halcyon). After some editing, I got it down to about 20, so about a whole "chapter" or episode.

I'm posting about the first four or five pages of the section titled "Ones and Ceroes". It's told from the perspective of my favorite character, Cero, so I hope you enjoy it.

Ones and Ceroes

Cero

He stands before me shaking like a leaf. Even in his own imagination he is pale and scrawny, like some fragile creature who's just been exposed to the light for the first time. His hands are balled up into fists at his sides, as though they might be of some use against me here.

“Child,” I say, bored of watching him squirm like an bug pinned to a board, “just take my hand. This is all very tedious.”

His eyes flash with some emotion I can no longer discern; Halcyian emotions have always been difficult for me to read. He relaxes his hands and lets his shoulders slump; he is defeated. He reaches for me hesitantly, as though I may turn back into the snake. Finally, the last of his resolve dissipates, and he places his hand in mine.

I have to steady myself with a deep breath as his essence envelopes me; it is an empty comfort because I haven't a body to make respirate. He gives a small shudder when he inhales without his body's consent. How many times has my breath been his? I can not help but roll my eyes. “What makes you think I want to pull the strings on that meat puppet?” Then leave. “And wander bodiless with the wind for another millennium? No, thank you. You're body suits me just fine...for now. Even if it does smell like the pier at low tide.”

His muscles around his temples tense and some small veins pulsate in his neck. I seem to remember that this means he is angry with me. His body wheezes out a laugh he tries to stifle. When I laugh through him he hits the s's too hard, a habit I had adopted for my manifested state, which he finds particularly repulsive. I force another through his lips, despite his many efforts to keep it suppressed. It is like scraping metal against metal to make his voice mine; I forgot how hard using vocal chords could be, especially when the vessel rejects me.

His face twists in a strangely familiar pattern of muscle contractions. Ah, here is a face I know! Hatred. I cannot help but smile as I feel his hostility seep out of him. The more adrenaline that hits his blood stream, the stronger the enjoyment becomes for me. I can feel myself fortified. His emotion, however, makes him perspire something fierce. I wince as I am once more assaulted by his scent. Low tide isn't quite the accurate description for it; it's more like a dank cave full of creeping moss and fungi, yet there is the smell of brine. It's rather nauseating, to be honest, but it is a call to me. I can feel it pulling at me the moment it hits the air, as though it is permeating my skin.

“Come on,” I say, trying to quell the hunger rising in my stomach, “I want to take you somewhere.” I stride forward confidently, dragging him behind me like an anchor. He is still in the stupor of this place. Off in the distance, I can hear Aramia laughing loudly with her consort. They make a truly dreadful pair, but if any two beings have ever deserved each other it is them.

My load seems to have gotten significantly heavier. I turn around to see that Hylen is now being dragged on his stomach, his tongue lolling out like a moron, his eyes glazed over like a corpse. A trail of spit drips down his face; as the droplets slide off, he turns them to butterflies and his eyes focus briefly, flashing with some childish feeling I care not to interpret. I pull him harder, but he seems only to become heavier. He is now making grass grow in a circle around him and when I tug him he lets out this sad little wail and grips the grass with an iron resolve.

“Oh, yes, it's all so delightful,” I say mockingly. “Sadly, as entertaining as it is to stand around watching you dribble on yourself, we've other matters to attend to.”

He puckers his lips and makes this hideous gurgle, like a pack of angry screeching birds. He is doing something I think is called whining. I do not have time for sympathies; the close proximity of my own kind in my space makes me unusually uncomfortable, as though I am naked. Perhaps it is because the invader is Aramia. I hope she doesn't think that time has healed my wounds.

“You are going to be very angry with me for this, but I am afraid it is unavoidable.”

He looks up at me, his eyes still a tangle of warm feelings. He has now made several small, phosphorescent flowers in his patch of grass. He pokes at them hesitantly and delights when he discovers that his touch makes complicated patterns in their light. I crouch down next to him and in one fluid motion, pull him up over my shoulder, like a bag of grain. As soon as he leaves the ground, his garden turns black and shrivels. He kicks his feet at me and strains out toward them as I walk forward, cursing as they crumple and turn back into the whiteness.

“Why?...Making life!”

“You weren't creating anything, moron. This is your imagination. Nothing you make in here will ever be tangible.”

“Real.”

“No, it's not.”

“You.”

“Yes, I am real. This is just where I've been hiding out while the vermin have been scurrying around in our head.”

“Mine.”

“Not any longer. Come on, we're here.”

As we reached the end of the vast whiteness, in the distance a polished copper door appeared on the horizon. As soon as it became visible, it slid forward to meet us. I dropped my guest on the ground and he gave a soft wheeze.

“I am always stealing your breath, aren't I?” I mused, grasping him by the collar of his ratty shirt and pulling him to his feet. “Pity I cannot share with you in this sensation. If you allowed me to, I probably would treat you a little better.”

“Fuck you.”

“O-ho-ho! Someone has found his backbone at last.”

The trance of this place still lingered in him, but he was trying to force his arms to swing at me. Instead, he staggered around doing a wonderful impersonation of an inebriated half-wit, complete with drool and slurred profanities.

“Come now, Hylen, it was a compliment. You mustn't get so worked up. It's not good for our body. I plan on living a long life in it.”

“You are a parasite, just like Rory said.”

I felt the muscles around our jaw tighten. “Do not quote petulant children to me. I have my own to deal with. Enough of this foolishness; let us journey on.” I gestured toward the door. “You have to open it.”

“Why?” He fell to the ground, his legs twitching wildly beneath him.

“Because it is taboo for one of my kind to go beyond this point without permission. I have to be led in by my vessel.”

I wondered if he could hear the resentment in my voice or see it flash in my eyes, as I felt it did. The idea od being led anywhere by someone like him was repulsive.

“Where are we going?” he asked cautiously as he tried to rise to his feet. I extended my hand to him once again. He grasped it solidly this time, without any hesitation or doubt. I knew regardless of my answer, he was going to take me.

“We are going to time travel.”

Sniffling

Every time I go out my front door in the morning, I regret it. The world seems to get a little more disgusting every day. Not in the way you might think, like seeing prostitutes or homeless people fight over a slab of meat or riding the murder mystery car (I think they are commonly referred to as "public buses."). No, I am talking about the change in seasons.

Don't get me wrong: I love Fall. It is probably my favorite season, what with all the crunchy leaves and grey skies. It just makes me want to drink a latte and read a book or hold a warm, fuzzy animal. Every year I look forward to the days when it rains and the dirt makes the special good smell, which I refer to as "rain yums."

However, the Fall and Winter season also bring with them the most disgusting thing in th world--colds. Yes, colds. The cold itself isn't disgusting, it's the side-effects. I don't mean the excessive snot, big red nose, runny eyes, or general cold induced stupidity (it's a real thing). No, I mean people who, rather than be an adult and blow their nose, sit there a sniffle like crazy.

Allow me to elaborate. Baseball Joe, who sits next to me in my calculus class,like to go for long early morning runs. As a result, he is always very sweaty and generally gross. In the Fall season this is extra true because not only is he dripping with his on sweat, but he is also covered in a layer of fog. This fog also infiltrates his nasal airway, stimulating the excess production of mucus to keep the water balance right in there or something. He is also being exposed to colder morning temperatures, which makes him more likely to catch a cold (which he now has)

As Baseball Joe sits next to me, I am very aware of his affliction. How so? Well, he leans his head down on his left arm and inserts a Vick's vapor inhaler into his nose and really lets lose on it. It's utterly shocking how much he can inhale for being so congested. While I am in awe of his lung capacity, he then proceeds to "clear" his throat by loudly hacking and gargling the mucus which is now stuck to his tonsils. This goes on for about 40 seconds. Sometimes it goes on while I am eating a banana. When it is that latter, time seems to slow down and the sound of his actions are magnified by about a million. I feel as though I need to pierce my ear drums with knitting needles to keep from vomiting. I have to stop eating my banana, which without fail turn a hideous brown color before I can safely resume eating it. When the ordeal is over, he looks at the people around him and snuffles out "Sowwie. I had uh culd."

Really, I couldn't tell. You do such a good job of hiding it, what with the nostril shaped Vick's inhaler you take hits off of every five minutes.

Battle of the Calculus Seating Chart

Every day while most of you are tucked up all cozy in your beds, I am dragging myself out of mine (at 6) so I can get to class on time (9:30). No, I don't take an obscenely long time doing my hair in the morning; I have a 45+ minute commute to Ukiah everyday. I actually leave the house at 7:45, go pick up my boyfriend, and then finally leave at 8:30. It's arduous, especially when I know on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays I am going to have to endure a form of psychological torture.

I always thought that in college I would be able to waltz in and out of class at my leisure and sit wherever I wanted (mostly in corners or the back). This is true of all my classes...except one. My calculus has an implied seating chart that most decent people respect; it formed the first day of class and everyone has been obeying it. The first day is the only day I have ever cared to be on time for because I have the pick of the "blenders" (seats at the back of the class that allow you to just kind of blend in with the wallpaper so the teacher never bothers you). Unfortunately for me, someone decided that jocks need to be educated.

No offense meant to people who go to school and play a sport; that's all fine and dandy. But, let's face it, there are people who play a sport and go to school. These people have infiltrated my classes; they slow the rest of us down because they miss about 75% of the classes because they are off "being athletic" (sleeping in). Normally, I wouldn't care; I'd just put my head down and do my homework in class. As I mentioned before, my choice of blender has been infiltrated. On my right sits my friend the wall; he is comfy to lean my head against and he supports our pal the air conditioning/heater. To my left sits a guy I call "Baseball Joe" because in the time since we have been in the same math class (a year and a half) I have yet to learn his name. He looks like Viktor Krum minus the attractiveness; I guess you could call him potato shaped. He has a tattoo of the American Major League Baseball logo on his arm.

Every time I see it, I want to ask him how drunk he was or how much he got paid to get it on such a visible body part. All these things are unoffensive, if not entertaining but Baseball Joe has one repulsive habit: he chews tobacco.

In my ear

All class long.

Every day.

He smells like a third world country; he runs before he comes to class, so he is caked in smog and sweat. As if these aromas weren't appealing enough, he decides to throw chewing tobacco on top. Okay, okay--I know; these are bearable offenses for le blender extraordinaire. But one thing is not endurable. He spits his tobacco liquid into a tin can that makes this little "ping" sound every time he spits in it. So, all I hear for two hours is: "So, if the limit doesn't approach" "ping" "thing then it doesn't" "ping" "ist. You see, techincal" "ping" "speaking, if some" "ping" "approaches infinity it doesn't have a li" "ping."

The kid next to him wears hearing aides. Every day before class starts, he turns off the one in his right ear and cranks up the left one. How I envy the hearing impaired sometimes. While I am listening to baseball-zilla chomp his way to mouth cancer, he can learn calculus.

Monday, we had a test; Monday, my boyfriend decided to take an extra long shower and made us late. Monday, war was declared.

As I ran in just in time and headed for my normal seat, a tiny girl ninja-ed her way in front of me and sat in my seat. Well, haha--joke's on you. Enjoy not being able to focus on anything for the next hour and a half as you are serenaded to "Tobacco swill in F." But, sadly, there was a rather attractive looking Indian girl in Baseball Joe's usual spot. As further proof God hates me, the only spot left was in front of my professor, next to Baseball Joe. Feeling slightly homicidal, I approaced the seat-stealer after class and kindly asked her to "please let me have my seat next time. I have such a hard time seeing the close to the board." (Lie). To which she responded "Not my problem, Baby." She called me Baby. Seriously. I have resolved to make her life horrible in that class. I haven't decided how yet, but I feel like Baseball Joe may be my ace in the hole. Stay tuned for the resultant warfare. This seat is too good to let go of so easily.

When Good Food Rebels

Today I, like an optimistic fool, made a lunch for my boyfriend and I at 6:45 AM. Lots of things go on before 7 AM...many of them I have no control over (rain, genocide, burglaries--that sort of thing) but I have concluded that one of those things should not be the preparation of anything edible besides cereal or raw fruit. "Why?" you may ask. Well, this is why.

This morning, I stumbled into my kitchen at 6:30 like I always do--slowly and with much resignation. The meal of champions was anything that required minimal thought and cooking skills--toast. Insert bread, wait, flip bread over, wait, search for butter. The toast was so unremarkable in every way that I decided I should make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with it for my lunch. I then went about my merry way with my morning ablutions, stopping occasionally to scare my cat away from the ham sandwich I made for my beloved.

Lunch rolls around. It is a bleak day--sky a skatter'd with clouds, trees creaking ominously in the wind. Not a good reception to your pb and j. After eating my food, I laid down in my car for a pre-physics nap. While I was just drifting off to dreamyland, my stomach made a sound that can only be described as sinister and I experienced a pain which can only be described as stabbing in my abdomen. "Fantastic," I thought as I felt the contents of my stomach curdle. "Nothing to look forward to except and hour a half of excruciating pain and physics."

I was correct on all accounts. Thankfully, when my teacher started going about sine and cosine, my stomach started to feel better. Thinking I was over the worst of it, I went to the library and read "Sideways" while I waited for my boyfriend to get out of his class (about 2 hours). "Sideways" has a lot of long, descriptive narratives about wine--focusing specifically on the smells. Fifty pages of "under-ripe pear", "blackberry", and "pungent gourmet cheese" later, I found my head sweating, my stomach rolling and and my legs shaking. I became paralyzed with fear when I realized I had to do the unthinkable: vomit in a public restroom trash can.

I don't know if you've ever been in this situation before, put public restroom trash cans don't smell very good. Probably the only thing that smells worse is the public restroom toilets. You get the distinct impression you weren't the fist person who regurgitated into the industrial tin spray painted receptical. Also, it is a very public place, which invites very loud public comments about your decency. Well, fuck you--I am vomiting.

After regaining control of my body and concluding that I couldn't fashion a clever disguise out of the contents of my purse, I went back to the library and took a nap on top of "Sideways."I awoke feeling renewed and pleasantly nausea free. I concluded I had been food poisoned by the strange jelly I put on my sandwich this morning. I should know better than to trust pink goo in a jar anyways.

When I got home today, I decided that toast would be a good choice on a still shakey digestive system. When I opened the cupboard, the wheat bread was missing. So, naturally, I yelled "What you guys throw away good bread for?" To which I got this response: "That bread wasn't any good. It has mold all over it." Horrified, I opened the trash can to see several slices of bread growing green mold on the bottom crust. I had ate four slices of fuzzy, moldy bread.

I have been betrayed by one of my favorite foods. I thought we had each other's backs, whole wheat. Why have you forsaken me? WHY?

I may never be the same again.