Pro

-crastination.

I need to get my act together. I have a scholarship application due this Friday, and for some reason, I just can't get myself to start working on it.

Blegh.

I have to wake up at 8AM tomorrow (instead of the originally planned 10AM) to attend some stupid assembly that'll probably be nothing more than a huge waste of time. Horray.

I have like, two tests, one project, two enormous homework assignments, and one application due on Friday. None of which I have gotten ANY start on. Oh, and Poetry Night is on Friday.
Sometimes I wish time would just take a chill pill and stop moving so quickly.

I don't even feel motivated enough to write a blog post. Oh noes!

Oh, here's a treat! An exerpt from one of my novels.
Waking Up in Vegas (WWIV)

"          "Okay, look." Ruby let out a long breath, "I know you said you'd take care of it. And maybe you're used to this type of thing and it doesn't matter to you. But it's a big deal to me, and I want all traces of it gone. So let's arrange some sit-down with lawyers and talk this thing out like civil people–"
            "Hold on," Sean held up a finger in demand of silence. He pulled a purring Blackberry out of the back pocket of his tattered jeans and barked into the speaker. "Yeah. I know I said I'd be back in fifteen," he angrily ran a hand through his dark hair, "Listen very carefully: I don't give a fuck. I can ride a bike even if it takes longer, and I can go to Starbucks even though their coffee tastes like shit. Do you know why? Because I feel like it. When did I ever say it was okay for you to tell me what to do?"
            Ruby took in a deep breath to prevent herself from reaching for her gun and shooting a hole straight through the bastard's face. Well, at least he wasn't only a douche bag to her. From the corner of her eye, she could see a vein twitching in Haney's neck from the abuse of profanities.
            "Okay, I need to go." Sean hung up the phone with a frown and immediately began to unchain his bike. "Ugh. I didn't even get my fucking coffee.
           "Excuse me! We're not done here!" Ruby marched up to him and snatched the bike handles out of his hands.
            "Fine. Whatever. Here." Before Ruby could protest, Sean grabbed her free wrist and dropped his Blackberry into her upturned palm. In her surprise, she released the bike.
            "What the hell–"
            "I'll call you." In one smooth motion, Sean mounted the beat-up bicycle and melted into traffic, trailed by the blaring of car horns."

Oh. Sean is such a cutie. :D Too bad he's fictional. (Why do I always have a thing for douche-bags?)

This might be my shortest post in the history of short posts (except for that oober long passage).

 

Somewhere Only We Know

I'm cool as a cucumber today. It's been raining lately, and that suits me just fine.

What I really want right now is a camera. There's so much beauty in the world, yet I have no tools but my eyes to record the magic of each day.

Most digital cameras with high megapixels usually enlarge the picture, but do nothing for color vibrancy and picture quality. At the same time, professional cameras cost too much. And a lot of "good" cameras I've checked out don't have good stability.

I would love to get a professional camera, but life at the moment does not permit it. Thus, I'm looking for a portable version that's as artistic as they get. Something I can whip out at a random moment and go "snap snap."

Any recommendations for a cheap(ish) camera with great picture quality?

I want a camera that can churn out something like this:

I always get what I want

When there's nothing in my way, and when it doesn't belong to someone else. And if nobody else wants it after I ask politely multiple times, and if I leave it there and nobody takes it... then I get what I want.

HOLY MOTHER OF BUG--

It's final's week.

Guess what I am doing right now?
(Well, assuming that you're reading this at a different time from when I am actually doing what I want you to think I'm doing, you probably will not guess right, but take a shot anyway.)

Guess what I should be doing?

APUSH and I have VERY ambivalent feelings toward each other. It's more of a, "I will refrain from throwing you into a blazing pit of spikes and fire, if you..." Well, it's only a one-sided deal. The APUSH book is like the nonfiction version of Twilight.

Speaking of Twilight, am I the only one who thinks that Edward Cullen's glitter farts would smell nice?

Okay, okay. I can't stay and chat for long. FINALS!
Today was very chill. Went to 4,5 Spanish for about an hour, realized how horribly I am failing that class, and got let out.
Spent the next two hours in the library.
Tall-but-not-really-cute guy from journ was there. He had the funniest expression when I walked toward his direction, almost as if he were expecting me to strike up a conversation or offer a greeting. He is such a dork.
Is it bad that I think he's way too fun to tease?
Oh, and VERY-cute-but-kinda-short guy from Spanish sat at the computer across from me for a while. He is adorable. But, you know, after past experiences, my policy is older boys only. (Or ah-mazingly cute younger boys. Oh, them damn cute sophomores.)

Oh, and I have a new friend. Its name is Happiness Balloon.
It's a big yellow balloon with a crooked smiley face on it. (I shall attach a picture AS SOON as I find my cell phone wire.)

But for now, ta ta, so long, too-ta-loo, ciao.

Oh, new musical obsession (From Smallville! <3):

Itsy Bitsy Pink Face Vibrator

Well, that was anti-climatic.
Guess what my trip to Target yielded? For some mysterious reason, every time I visit Target, I almost end up purchasing items that I normally wouldn't even glance at (in other words, items that are reasonably priced under the standards of Capitalism, but insanely expensive when considering common sense and real material value.)
Anyway, I walked away with an ADORABLE gray-and-white sweater. It has a retro vibe, but the loose top and tight waist gives it a refined look. If only I had a camera. Also in my basket was:
the Neutrogena Wave (Duo)!
I know, I know!
The commercials always have an adorable washed-out Disney star smiling and rubbing her face with a pink vibrator. Well, it was just sitting on the shelf, begging to be picked up.
And of course, being the person that I am, I can't splurge on a random facial product that I do not need without writing a review!

My Wave is limited edition pink, like, oh my God. After doing some (too-late) research online, I really wasn't expecting the little thing to work. But, forever the optimist, I ripped over the package with some enthusiasm. I honestly didn't know why I spent seventeen dollars on the contraption, but I suppose I was in an experimental mood -- the same goes for my (New and AWESOME) purple plaid pants.

I won't go into detail about using the thing, since you can probably find that elsewhere. All I have to say is, make sure you don't have a male roommate who easily comes to strange conclusions when a muffled buzzing noise is emitted from the bathroom.

After an abnormally long time staring at my face in the mirror, my sore arm and I have had enough of the Wave. It does not work. Although, of course, that doesn't mean it's a useless piece of trash. It is entertaining, to some degree. Come on, who wouldn't love a bright pink face vibrator? Doesn't it just make you feel pampered and kinky?

Pros:
.Leaves skin feeling tingly and refreshed -- although that might just be the chemicals eating away at my flesh.
.Adorable design. Fits right in my hand.
.Kinda fun to mess around with and hear it buzz.

Cons:
.Takes a while to work up to a lather, and even then there are pathetically little amounts of bubbles. I want my suds!
.Doesn't work. Although that just may be for me, but the white scrubbing pad came off my skin as white as it began with.
.If you're anything like me, who likes taking things apart, the Wave doesn't leave much to the imagination.
.Very wasteful. The cleaning pads are one-use only, and the Wave itself only comes with 21 pads. To be honest, they aren't as phenomenal and amazing as one would expect. They're just the same ol' Neutrogena stuff packed into a little circular piece of fluff.

Little urks:

I am INSANELY tempted to place it on the floor like Vanessa does on the commercial and see if the thing will buzz across the floor. Too bad that would be unsanitary.

My male roommate now looks at me funny.

The wave is fun to play with, and for someone with worse skin than I do, it might even work. If you're looking for a serious skin-cleaning tool, skip the wave and invest on a REAL face vibrator. If you just feel like splurging, the wave is essentially a toy. One which I will probably tire of soon, but, hey, I have a friend who's willing to buy. :]

When the Sun said "Fuck this, man, I'm taking abreak."

I don't know about you, but I think San Francisco is the most amazing place to live in. Ever.

What brought this on, you ask?

Saturday Morning:
7:30AM - Waking up to the tune of my Zombie cell-phone (which has a battery life of about four hours, if I'm lucky.)
7:30-8AM - Yelling at my mother to get back into bed, and stop commenting on everything from my breasts -- or lack thereof -- and the direction in which I comb my hair. (No, mother, I DO NOT have a bald spot on the back of my head.)
8:05AM - realizing that despite nextmuni.com's conviction that the next 28 bus is coming in two minutes, it's actually coming in twelve minutes. There's nothing I love more than freezing on a foggy Saturday morning with an extremely uncomfortable pole digging into my back -- while remaining in the same position for ten minutes straight.
8:40AM - 1PM Why did I suffer through all that? Well, it's all to attend some journalism workshops! :] Interview was mundane, but the people were rather interesting to talk to. Of course, it's a bit scary how the man seems to be balding at a rather young age. Investigative reporting was AMAZING. I felt like a CSI after our mock investigation. I believe I've found my calling!

Anyway, long story short (well... not short. Just, less long...)

Worst parts of the day: Waking up at 7:30 on a SATURDAY (especially after an incredibly tiring Spirit Committee Late Night on Friday), missing the bus, waiting in the cold for ten minutes and probably re-catching a cold, not seeing a single cute guy on the bus. See, contrary to popular belief, there are actually a bunch of adorable men in San Francisco. The thing we young girls complain about is that they are either 1. taken, 2. gay, 3. too old, or 4. dumb as a nail. (Although, I have to say, nails are pretty sharp.)

Best parts of the day: An exciting, although very nerdy, session of "Think like a Journalist!" Where we pretended to be journalists uncovering a huge BART conspiracy. I never knew journalists were so much like detectives. (Like, woah!)

Anyway... I totally lost my train of thought.
Well, I'm off to change the blog layout. :] Catch y'all lat0rz!

Last-minute Summer Thing!

I made another invite! Horrah? ♥


Leave a Comment if you have questions.

So don't be late! Ask Lisa (IM: kawaiilittlepup) for details. Or if you're an AIM hermit, then comment on this post, and I'll pass on the message. :]

F.A.Q. (no, it's mostly Waylon asking.)

Where in Ocean Beach? It's huge.
No idea. Best I can say is... ask Lisa.

Ew. Swim suits?
They're optional.

Do we have to reply?
Swimming, yes.
Movie, yes. Well, that is if you want us to wait for you.
Beach thing: you can just show up with food.
Reply to Lisa. She holds "the list."

Do we have to watch Harry Potter?
Well, I'm skipping the later group myself, and might go in earlier for something else. So, whatever floats your boat.

Is it just me, or do I sound bitter?

I wonder, when you're 15, innocent, naive, and stupid, what do you call someone you "went out" with who never attempted -- okay, not 'attempted', more like 'accomplished' -- anything more than holding your hand?
And none of that tingly "oh my god, homicidal butterflies are going to explode out of my belly and leave me in a bloody and disgusting pile of slush and happiness" feeling.

Yeah, wonderful.

I think this is the... 482th horrible dream-shattering epiphany I've had so far.
No, just kidding. I never really counted. Did I seem the type to? I'm sorry.

I'm glad that I've kept my precious first kiss until now.
Yes, I'm a sixteen-year-old lip virgin living in twenty first century San Francisco, the craziest city in all fifty states. (Also wildest, boring-est, overpopulated, Asianified, and diverse.) I didn't say most dangerous, horniest, loudest, richest, or most overrated. That excludes Vegas, LA, New York, Miami... I would go on, but I'd be driveling.
By the way, I went to the Gay-Pride festival today. I might add "kinkiest" to that description.

Anyway, back to the subject at hand. Snap, snap.

I don't think it should be called a "boyfriend", should it? A close guy-friend? A super-close-but-not-in-the-way-you-are-thinking of guy friend? Yeah... no.
I'm probably overreacting, and by telling myself that, I will under-react, which will cause me to psycho-analyze whether I'm under-reacting, and then overreact again.
Beautiful.

Whatever. I don't have any hostility toward my ex man-friend anyway. Why should I? It's not like he left me empty and soulless, or a pathetic shell of my already pathetic former self. It's not like I can't stand to even breathe without his darly, angelic presence, and all I could do is mope around at home all day, act like a PMSing bitch to my father,then go hanging out like a chirpy school girl with my werewolf best friend, and jump off a cliff for the hell of it.
Oops, driveling again.

By the way, this is a subliminal message. Psst. The Twilight Saga sucks. (And if you laughed at the stupid pun, you're probably a stupider fan. Ew. Rabid Fangirl Cooties.)

Honestly, I could care less. Sure, I'm sorry. (I was a lot more sorry before his subtle expression of his incredible sadness and rage. Oh, boo-hoo.) If you have something to say, then say it. If you don't, then take that melodramatic whining of yours and shove it up your ass. (Unless, of course, you find some strange pleasure in that... then I apologize for my mistake in wording, and please proceed to shove it up another obscene body part.)

Hey, I think I've got my new motto.


I can't believe I actually let myself get dragged around by my stupid imagination and teenage naive. I'm too young for this, and the guys around me are too.
Honestly, high school guys are only "kinda cute", never hot. The ones that show slightest signs of hotness are taken and/or gay.

Oh, how unfair the world is.

The world is never the same as what you read in manga and romance novels. Damn those authors!
(No, I'm sorry. Don't take it to heart. Please continue writing terribly unrealistic, disgustingly cheesy, extremely over-dramatic, wildly romantic, and annoyingly addictive abominati... er... novels.) No really, I'm serious, don't stop. Oh, don't mind the sarcasm is just part of my nature -- the part that's too much of a spineless coward to unleash its full claws to the general every-day public. Damn me and my over-consciousness of self-image!

You know, I should forget about that "self-image". I should look pretty for myself, not eyes that can't appreciate girls (or women) for more than the subject of stupid sexual innuendos -- since those eyes aren't even old enough to see women as a piece of meat. Hey, I'm not really trying too hard anyway. PRIDE IN NO MAKEUP! WHOO! That's right, not a single thing on my face except my trusty Chapstick and moisturizer (with SPF 15 <3). Face it, if Prince Charming was stupid enough to fall for someone as naive (those step-sisters of hers need a bitch-slap) and crazy (schizophrenic bitch who talks to birds and fat faeries, anyone?) as Cinderella, he's probably got a more than a few lose screws under those pretty golden locks of his. Or was he brunette? Hm, I wonder which would be cuter... Ahem. There are no good guys out there, especially not at this age. This feels like when I realized I'll never discover my inner unicorn and suddenly sprout wings and a horn. I'll probably end up married to some typical "Oh, well, I know he's not perfect, but he's good for you. And hey, at least he's not handicapped or deformed." guy and die a disgustingly ordinary old woman. Oh dear, who will take care of my cats?
Lily Allen - Naive (Cover of The Kooks)