i had the cutest poem about dog hair, but now i cant find it...so ill tell a story that i wrote over the summer instead...

  She was the shy girl. She didn't talk to no one, so no one talked to her. She had asked special permission from the teacher (after hours of lecturing from her mother) if she could sit in the corner, meekly claiming she could see better from there. She reminded me of a little mouse--straight brown hair cut in an even line at her shoulders, little eyes you could barely see the pupils of, a nose stained with a rosey pink at the tip, and she stood at 5'3", five whole inches beneath me. I didn't know her name, since I always spaced out during roll call. The only name I heard was my own. To be frank, I didn't care, either. No one did.
  My reason for remembering her was that I sat in the back as well, at her right. She never looked up. It was as if someone superglued her line of vision to the desk. I rarely saw her pencil move, either. By the looks of it, she must have had a F average.
  I had seen her after school in the parking lot, too, while I was waiting for my mom, who was late. Her mother slapped her, then screamed at her to get in the car.
  I almost felt sympathetic. But not quite.
  One day, she didn't come to school. It happened the next day, too. And the next. I was probably the only one to notice. After she had been gone for a week, I came to class on monday and went straight to the teacher. "Where's the girl who sits next to me?"
  "You mean Chassity?"
  So that was her name..."Yeah."
  "She's sick." The teacher said, shrugging me off for a pile of homework that needed shuffling.
  I wasted no time getting to my assigned seat, where I sat the rest of the school day, doodling.
  The next morning, when I dragged the newspaper inside fromt he rain and unrolled it, one of the smaller headlines caught my eye; "Murder in Suburbs: Girl Drowned". Obviously, it was just one of those things I was used to seeing in the news, but right next to it, the picture was blurred by a water stain, as was the description.
  I sat down with my Mini-Wheats and, with only a mild curiosity, turned to the page as suggested by the headline. There, I saw the picture: brown hair, slits of eyes, and the little red nose. My eyes widened. I directed my attention to the picture below it. A woman, much resembling Chassity, stared back.
  The caption read the the girl's mother had dropped her in a bathtub, holding her small head underwater until her flailing arms fell motionless in the water.
  Now, the empty seat next to me screams. Every day, it tells me how she may have been alive now, if only i had said a tiny "hello".

gah!! ^_^ ive been giddy all weekend since homecoming! im so happy....i was asked to dance with andy gallo!! today he asked me if i remembered anything about homecoming, and when i said yes, he told me the only thing he remembered was dancing with me *squeals* its been a long time....

does it really matter what happens anymore? If I die to-night, will it affect anyone? what about to-morrow? or the next day? Why are we here? to lead useless lives, have your moment, then die, and be in a history book that a sleep-deprived student is drooling on? Please tell me. I would very much like to know.



The only thing that was there was darkness. It spread like a wild blaze to the chilled tips of his fingers. The ache lusted after every limb, consuming his wits. It was too much for him to thing of much anything other than pain, or the quarts of blood that stuck in his hair like honey, only much more bitter. His eyes were open, but why couldn’t he see? Muscles ached and strained, and his arm lifted from its immobile position in the red grass. It must have been hovering before his face, but why would his eyes not register its presence? The strength in the arm gave, and he sat quietly. Is this what it is like to be dying? Cold, blind, painful and alone? No light shines for weary eyes, no images of peace to hold onto like a wife. Knowing you will not live to see your children play with each other in the nursery.
What would his mother say?
How will his father react?
Will he be revered in any way, or will all clothed in black lament for what he could, or should have done?
All these thoughts swarm like nectar-hungry bees, but he knows their buzzing questions are likely not to be answered. For one who is dead, is dead. To state the obvious, there is no going back. It is one mistake that cannot be fixed. What troubles more is he died while living, a long while back.
He made a lethal error, and laid seed in a woman he hardly knew. As her stomach grew larger, the shorter his breath was cut, until he lay, alone, in a world of black. What a bitter solution, to let a faceless soldier’s crimson-soaked blade drive him through until he fell to his knees in forced praise.
Lying weak on the battlefield, he felt lead being lifted from him, and body without its yolk finally rested—in peace.

new requests!!--[cowsgomoo14245]--uh...that lady-chick...thing
[icarii]--that other lady-chick thing

sorry, just putting it here so i can reference sns...

:~'~:

My eyes meet his in the rear-view mirror. They are blue as the sky fading behind the mountains. I look away, the moment seeming only a daydream I thought up in the folds of my boredom. But I know it was real. I just don't know what to make of it.

He came again. Walking up the aisles of pews upon pews, until he stops at mine. I am alone this time. His hair is brown, bleached on top. I can't see the color of his eyes. I turn away, to my left, and he continues to walk. Beyond me. Beyond my pew.

I see him every other night. Sometimes his hair is black, others it is blue. At times his eyes are fixed on me, others they are downcast. He asks me "haven't you noticed?" to which i don't respond.

TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEDDDDDDDD!!!! someone please sue the school district for having us get up too early, so i may use the money to hire a personal massuse (sp?). theres snow outside. im cold. my butt is numb. i found Nemo in a sushi bar. i found Annabell in McDonalds (do you even know/remember who annabell is?) i have homework. i am counting the ways things go wrong in my life.

Hi, youve reached the house of the almighty powerful Rynn and Sauce. In case you dont know this number, since i think you are stupid enough to not know it after you just dialed it into the freaking phone, its three, zero, three, nine, eight, eight, five, zero, five, zero. If you would like me to call you back, please recite all reasons why you are not a loser. If you would like me to ignore you, then hang up the phone and spend the amount of time you wasted calling me to think about why you would call me if you didnt want me to call you back. If you think this message is too long, screw you. At the tone, please record your message. *BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP*

"No-name"

Im waiting, still
images of sugar-plums dancing in my eyes
i smile as i look to my elated soul
hiding from the kiss,
keeping me complete
like sleeping, only better
a happy grin,
a faithful touch,
recovery from life's worst edges
wave your hand good-bye
worst your love be broken again

~[the Indigo]

The Top 12 Signs a Boy Band Member is Depressed
12. Even though it might take him an hour or more, he now insists on tuning his own guitar before each show.
11. Deep sighs of despair during his double-spin, kick-kick, hip-thrust dance sequence.
10. His oldest just graduated from high school.
9. The girl he just dumped slammed the door on the way out, and the vase that was broken was Waterford crystal, thank you very much.
8. "I got gloom! Yeah! Girl you know it! (Uh!) Woo, Melancholy!"
7. Doesn't even try to resist being put in his limo to go home at night.
6. Lately, he favors jumpsuits in dark, somber earth tones.
5. Changes name from "A.J." to "A-Lo."
4. Refuses to subject himself to the hardball questions of Larry King.
3. N'STINK
2. Changes name of new single from "Oh, Baby Baby Baby" to "Oh, Baby Baby."
And the Number 1 Sign a Boy Band Member is Depressed...He doesn't want to play his guitar or write music anymore, Oh wait, is that so bad? Never mind.

My way and Martha's way...
Martha Stewart's way #1:
Stuff a miniature marshmallow in the bottom of sugar cone to prevent ice cream drips.
My way:
Just suck the ice cream out of the bottom of the cone, for Pete's sake; you're probably lying on the couch with your feet up eating it anyway.
Martha's way #2:
Use a meat baster to "squeeze" your pancake batter onto the hot griddle and you'll get perfectly shaped pancakes every time.
My way: Buy the precooked kind you nuke in the microwave for 30 seconds. The hard part is getting them out of the plastic bag.
Martha's way #3:
To keep potatoes from budding, place an apple in the bag with the potatoes.
My way:
Buy Hungry Jack mashed potato mix and keep it in the pantry for up to a year.
Martha's way #4:
To prevent egg shells from cracking, add a pinch of salt to the water before hard boiling.
My way:
Who cares if they crack, aren't you going to take the shells off anyway?
Martha's way #5:
To get the most juice out of fresh lemons, bring them to room temperature and roll them under your palm against the kitchen counter before squeezing.
My way:
Sleep with the lemons in between the mattress and box springs.
Martha's way #6:
To easily remove burnt-on food from your skillet, simply add a drop or two of dish soap and enough water to cover bottom of pan, and bring to a boil on stovetop.
My way:
Eat at McDonald's every night and avoid cooking.
Martha's way #7:
Spray your Tupperware with nonstick cooking spray before pouring in tomato based sauces and there won't be any stains.
My way:
Feed your garbage disposal and there won't be any leftovers.
Martha's way #8:
When a cake recipe calls for flouring the baking pan, use a bit of the dry cake mix instead and there won't be any white mess on the outside of the cake.
My way:
Go to the bakery. They'll even decorate it for you.
Martha's way #9:
If you accidentally put too much salt in a dish while it's still cooking, drop in a peeled potato and it will absorb the excess salt for an instant "fix me up"
My way:
If you over salt a dish while you are cooking, that's too bad. My motto: I made it and you will eat it and I don't care how bad it tastes.
Martha's way #10:
Wrap celery in aluminum foil when putting in the refrigerator and it will keep for weeks.
My way:
Celery? Never heard of it.

World’s easiest quiz:
1. How long did the Hundred Years War last?
2. Which country makes Panama hats?
3. From which animal do we get catgut?
4. In which month do Russians celebrate the October Revolution?
5. What is a camel's hair brush made of?
6. The Canary Islands in the Pacific are named after what animal?
7. What was King George VI's first name?
8. What color is a purple finch?
9. Where are Chinese gooseberries from?
10. How long did the Thirty Years War last?










Answers:
1. 116 years
2. Ecuador
3. Sheep and Horses
4. November
5. Squirrel fur
6. Dogs
7. Albert
8. Crimson
9. New Zealand
10. Thirty years

Things you learn from watching movies:

1. It’s easy for anyone to land a plane, providing there is someone in the control tower to talk you down.
2. Once applied, lipstick will never rub off, even while scuba diving.
3. The ventilation system of any building is the perfect hiding place. No one will ever think of looking for you in there and you can travel to any other part of the building you want without difficulty.
4. When paying for a taxi, don’t look at your wallet as you take out a bill. Just grab one at random and hand it over. It will always be the exact fare.
5. Kitchens don’t have light switches. When entering a kitchen at night, you should open the fridge door and use that light instead.
6. A single match will be sufficient to light up a room the size of a stadium.
7. Medieval peasants had perfect teeth.
8. A detective can only solve a case once he has been suspended from duty.
9. It’s not necessary to say hello or goodbye when beginning or ending a phone conversation.
10. A man will show no pain while taking the most horrible beating but will flinch when a woman tries to clean his wounds.
11. Whenever a scary killer is chasing anyone, they choose to run upstairs rather than outside.
12. A player on a football field can look up into a crowd of a thousand and immediately spot their GF.
13. Television news bulletins usually contain a story that affects you personally at that precise time.
14. It’s always possible to park directly outside the building you are visiting.
15. The Eiffel Tower can be seen from any window in Paris.

Things to do at the mall:

Save a few ketchup packets from McDonald's to slurp on as snacks. Tell people that they're “astronaut food”.
Ask the groovy dude at the music store whether inflated CD prices are in pesos or rubles.
Teach pet store parrots new vocab words.
Wear pancake makeup and new clothes. Pose as a fashion dummy in junior departments. Scream occasionally.
Construct a new porch deck in the tool department of Sears.
Stare intently into a surveillance camera for an hour while rocking back and forth.
Test mattresses in a grubby pair of Wonder Woman pajamas.
Ask appliance personnel if they have any TV sets that play in Spanish only.
In the hardware department, ask how well a particular saw cuts through bone.
Rummage through the jelly bean bin at the candy store. Keep insisting that you lost a very expensive earring.
In the changing rooms, announce in a singing voice, “I see London, I see France…”
Leave on the plastic string connecting a new pair of shoes, and wander around the mall taking two-inch steps.
Answer any unattended service phones that ring in department stores and say, “Domino's.”
Try on flea collars at the pet store while occasionally pausing to scratch yourself.
Hula dance by the demonstration air conditioner.

la! this is what i do on a sick day at home, all by my lonesome

Product labels we always need:

On a Sear's hair dryer: "Do not use while sleeping."
(Gee but that's the only time I have to work on my hair.)

On a bag of Fritos: "You could be a winner! No purchase necessary. Details inside." (The shoplifter special)

On a bar of Dial soap: "Directions: Use like regular soap."
(And that would be how...?)

On some Swanson frozen dinners: "Serving suggestion: Defrost." (But it’s "just" a suggestion)

On Tesco's Tiramisu dessert (printed on bottom): "Do not turn upside down." (Too late!)

"Do not iron clothes on body." (But wouldn't this save me more time?)

On Boot's Children Cough Medicine: "Do not drive a car or operate machinery after taking this medication." (We could do a lot to reduce the rate of construction accidents if we could just get those 5-year-olds with head-colds off those forklifts.)

On Nytol Sleep Aid: Warning: May cause drowsiness. (One may only hope.)

On most Christmas tree lights it says "For indoor or outdoor use only." (As opposed to what...?)

On Sainsbury's peanuts: "Warning: contains nuts." (whoa! news flash!)

On a child's superman costume: "Wearing of this garment does not enable you to fly." (I don't blame the company. I blame parents for this one.)

story!!!! old one, actually, yet story!!! anywho...tis called My Life by Captured Fare. Enjoy!

Green light. A girl dashed across the street, arms crammed to the brim with book stacked upon book, raven hair billowing after her. Her expression was neutral, lacking any luster it could, or might, have attained. Judging from pure speculation, she was in her mid-teens, and shone of Native American heritage.
As she reached the sidewalk on the other side, a firm hand clasped her shoulder. She whirled around, books flying off the top of the pile. Oblivious to their relocation, she glowered at the hand's owner. "Whoa, chill, girl!" The boy said, removing his hand from her shoulder. Kneeling down, he took up the books that had been tossed to the sidewalk.
"Phobophobia: How to Overcome it," he stacked the book on top of the others "How to Cover Up Your Tracks after the Perfect Crime," He added it to her armload "The True Facts about Viruses, Bacteria, and AIDS. Aura, what's going on in there?" He questioned, tapping her lightly on her forehead.
She stared at him, eyes slightly narrowed. "What Aura does on her own time is not any of Darrin's business." She sniffed, hoisting up her arms in attempt to give them a second's relief.
"And why don't you dress like everyone else?" Darrin sighed, glancing at the swarms of grey cramming the streets. "Because Aura is not like them, that she isn't" This time around there were traces of apprehension in her voice, and something else that planted a blockade between her mind and Darrin's. Darrin, though, would not dare mention the fact that she was leaking fear to her for his life. Aura was more sensitive than even she knew.

***

After Aura had shaken herself from Darrin, she strode down the street until cars were rare and houses were few. At that point, the road stopped at the worn, tombstone of a driveway. The house at the end seemed forcefully rooted to the spot, looking somewhat dismal. Nothing moved. The furniture inside were sitting ducks; empty thoughts shoved beneath an ashen roof. And how it reeked of rotting paint; of dying flesh: someone had passed away behind these barren walls. The resident, mind too confused to identify the scent of death and her own sanity, heaved the books again before continuing ahead. She came to a halt in front of the muted front door, a single book sliding from the mound she carried. She set her armload upon the bleak steps, fingers lightly brushing the cool cement. It was August. She didn't want to think about it; her mother was gone; just a day after her birthday, even.
Beating away at feelings of self pity, she shoved her hand into her bulging pocket, hooking her fingers in the keys. She jammed it into the lock on the monotonous door knob and forced open the door. Glancing downward, she hesitated only momentarily before she collected the books again.
She entered the stifling air of the house, dropping the keys and her mountain of reading material on a dining table just outside the kitchen. Lifting one of the books, she gave it a fleeting glance, and then walked to the foot of the stairs. Gazing into the depths of the hallway at their end, she exhaled slowly, taking one step, then another, then yet another.
Her logic made cruel mischief as her frantic mind looked ahead toward the top of the stairs, turning every creak into a scream for mercy, every groan into a fly that buzzed inside her ear.
Voices resonated in her mind, cries of anguish, telling her to bring all of the pain to an end; go away, just go away! The book flew from her hand as she clung to the strands of ebony hair, banging on her head, pleading the voices to leave her alone.
In the whirl of madness, her foot slipped on the edge of a stair. She plummeted down, until her hands hit the warped wood at the end of the staircase.
She lay on the floor, sobbing to the air, whispering thoughts of comfort to soothe herself. She cannot be afraid. Never, never, never could she let herself be frightened.
Collecting her broken soul from the ground, she rose, every inch of her trembling with exhaustion, and padded to the kitchen, swinging open the refrigerator door. Alone on the second shelf up sat a cake. Her birthday cake. She could read the elegant blood-red letters; happy 15th birthday, Aura. She glared at it, mind numb. Reaching out, she pulled it out, took a handful, then returned it to its shelf, slamming the door behind it.
Pulling pieces from the sweet, she unthinkingly walked to the door, listening to the knob click as she turned it, and into the street, leaving the faded entrance ajar. She stopped for a minute, snapping her head toward the bushes beside her house. Though her slits of eyes could not see anyone, she could hear them. But the question was; was this person real? Pushing moment away from her memory, she continued out, around the house, toward the sea. The sea. She remembered it so well; happy days spent by her mother's side, holding her hand as they ran across the beach, wet sand clinging to their toes as they flew ocean-side, laughing at nothing. But that was not all she remembered. There were also cliffs. Ones that shadowed half of the stretch of waves that she knew so well.
Chewing another mouthful of cake, she finally knew where she was headed.
Inside the bushes, though, a pair of eyes watched over Aura. Darrin had followed her to the worn house; he knew that Aura had finally broken. Her soul had gone under; no warmth could touch her flesh as it once did. It would sting; the chill would bite it back, and then it would be gone forever.
Sucking his breath through his teeth, he stealthily crept from his hiding place, feet like that of a cat tracing Aura's steps. 

***

Aura stood at the edge of the rocky protrusion on the mild landscape, towering over 35 feet above jagged boulders that ripped through the surface of the crashing waves. She crammed the last bit of white frosting into her mouth, letting it melt on her tongue. Staring out to sea, where golden hues danced among a blue-jean sky, she felt the cold grip her with its arctic fingers, dragging her down into the depths of the blackness clinging to the edges of her élan vital. Though these feelings were a constant presence, she somehow felt that this time she could not escape, couldn't run to her mother for protection from the night.
Rubbing her arms in attempt to generate heat, she closed her eyes, edging closer to the cliff's rim.
   "Aura, stop!" A voice cried out. It wasn't in her head; it was real this time. She slowly turned. "It's too late for Aura to stop now. This world is driving her insane." She stared at him, licking her parched lips "Aura said before that she is not like you, that she isn't. You talk the same, think the same, and you think that something is wrong because Aura is different from you. No wonder that Aura went crazy. No wonder that Aura killed her mother." She heaved a sigh of finality, then turned around, leaving Darrin groping at the air for something, anything to say to her.
Lifting her head to the sky above, she jumped.