Dress- $368
Shoes- $5 (because they were feeling generous, also because the shoes were send backs from some wedding that never happened)
Hair appointment- $60
Hair twisties- $11.99 per set of three (I bought six)
Tanning sessions- $20 per set of ten twenty minute session
pantyhose- $20 (they ain't got any holes)
Pictures- $33
corsage- $10
ticket- $45
Spending five hours with some of your very best friends- PRICELESS
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Croatia
Ben, Croatian is the language of Croatia. Croatia, its located in Southeastern Europe, bordering the Adriatic Sea, between Bosnia and Herzegovina and Slovenia. And each of those countries have their own language too. Croatia is pretty much beautiful and its as Mediterranean as it gets, old mediterranean too. Its pretty, look it up some time you lazy bum.
Now that I am done harrasing Ben, because I have to do it once a day, otherwise my life isn't complete, I have a mental breakdown and it just isn't pretty.
So, because of a phone conversation last night I have discovered that:
1. I am a mental case
2. That somebody does love me but doesn't love me and sees me in his future but doesn't see me in his future and UGH ITS ALL SO DANG CONFUSING.
Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
DANG IT, that's FORTY EIGHT ISN'T? *Sighs loudly*
(you know who you are, If you didn't understand that last sentence...trust me you don't need to...)
Now that I am done harrasing Ben, because I have to do it once a day, otherwise my life isn't complete, I have a mental breakdown and it just isn't pretty.
So, because of a phone conversation last night I have discovered that:
1. I am a mental case
2. That somebody does love me but doesn't love me and sees me in his future but doesn't see me in his future and UGH ITS ALL SO DANG CONFUSING.
Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
DANG IT, that's FORTY EIGHT ISN'T? *Sighs loudly*
(you know who you are, If you didn't understand that last sentence...trust me you don't need to...)
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Amaranth
It was long ago, ages to him it seemed, when he took that oath. Of course, back then, he was a child, merely a child, with a gift the government felt the need to control. He was just a child. A child without a name because he was taken from his mother the moment he was born.
Baptized, immediately, he was given a government name, the name he would forever live with, Amaranth. The name of a never dying flower.
He had a gift from the womb, they knew because his mother was monitored closely. She would have nightmares, violent ones. She would scream someone’s name, someone she never knew and the next day, that person would die. How could she know, they always wondered. She didn’t…Amaranth did.
The government raised him. He never had a father or a mother, only Doctor this and Mrs. That. When they thought he was old enough, they taught him how to track another human and soon after they taught him how to kill.
At age seventeen, he took the oath. He vowed to be the government’s dog, but at the time it hadn’t sounded so bad. He vowed his loyalty to them. To protect, to watch, to kill on command.
They branded him then, a cross on his back, something that would forever remind him of the oath he took in times of doubt. He was petted, he was kissed, and he was lavished. He was stupid…he fell for it.
They showed him the dark room then, full of the infinite candles. They tried to explain to him what it was, but he already knew. It was home. It was where he was meant to be.
They showed him his candle then, the one under the glass. They told him he would forever be young, he would age to an early twenty and he would forever be handsome. They said it as if it were a perk to his new torture, at first it was, but soon enough, it became a torture device. Each year, he was the same age, living in a room full of dying people. Masochism was the only way to enjoy this, and he wasn’t a masochist.
Granted, they never said he couldn’t fall in love. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love, though. At any given moment, he might have to kill her. So he had to settle for meaningless sex with random women whose names he always made sure not to know.
That only sated him while he was young (though technically he was always young). He longed for something more. He longed to be loved, something he was never given.
He never picked her. He was always aware of the bright crimson of her candle. He knew there was something about her that drew him to her. He hadn’t even seen her.
Then she ran away, she was the first and they started following her, first only one or two, soon whole families. They made him track the runaways as soon as they became aware they were gone. The first few he caught, their lives were spared but they were severely beaten until they released enough information to let him know where everyone was going and how to get there for the most part.
As easy as it would be to just bomb the damn country, the government wouldn’t do that. It would cause a revolt, a rebellion. Australia was the only free place, but they were regretting that decision.
His assignment was simple, instead of tracking the next runaway; he was to follow them, pretending to be a runaway himself. He was to stay with them, befriend them, find out why they ran away, and find out what power they held. He was supposed to become their leader if possible and ultimately lead them to their destruction. And to lead her, his love, to her execution.
Baptized, immediately, he was given a government name, the name he would forever live with, Amaranth. The name of a never dying flower.
He had a gift from the womb, they knew because his mother was monitored closely. She would have nightmares, violent ones. She would scream someone’s name, someone she never knew and the next day, that person would die. How could she know, they always wondered. She didn’t…Amaranth did.
The government raised him. He never had a father or a mother, only Doctor this and Mrs. That. When they thought he was old enough, they taught him how to track another human and soon after they taught him how to kill.
At age seventeen, he took the oath. He vowed to be the government’s dog, but at the time it hadn’t sounded so bad. He vowed his loyalty to them. To protect, to watch, to kill on command.
They branded him then, a cross on his back, something that would forever remind him of the oath he took in times of doubt. He was petted, he was kissed, and he was lavished. He was stupid…he fell for it.
They showed him the dark room then, full of the infinite candles. They tried to explain to him what it was, but he already knew. It was home. It was where he was meant to be.
They showed him his candle then, the one under the glass. They told him he would forever be young, he would age to an early twenty and he would forever be handsome. They said it as if it were a perk to his new torture, at first it was, but soon enough, it became a torture device. Each year, he was the same age, living in a room full of dying people. Masochism was the only way to enjoy this, and he wasn’t a masochist.
Granted, they never said he couldn’t fall in love. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love, though. At any given moment, he might have to kill her. So he had to settle for meaningless sex with random women whose names he always made sure not to know.
That only sated him while he was young (though technically he was always young). He longed for something more. He longed to be loved, something he was never given.
He never picked her. He was always aware of the bright crimson of her candle. He knew there was something about her that drew him to her. He hadn’t even seen her.
Then she ran away, she was the first and they started following her, first only one or two, soon whole families. They made him track the runaways as soon as they became aware they were gone. The first few he caught, their lives were spared but they were severely beaten until they released enough information to let him know where everyone was going and how to get there for the most part.
As easy as it would be to just bomb the damn country, the government wouldn’t do that. It would cause a revolt, a rebellion. Australia was the only free place, but they were regretting that decision.
His assignment was simple, instead of tracking the next runaway; he was to follow them, pretending to be a runaway himself. He was to stay with them, befriend them, find out why they ran away, and find out what power they held. He was supposed to become their leader if possible and ultimately lead them to their destruction. And to lead her, his love, to her execution.
So lets take a vote
Who likes
Flame of Sorrow?
Neverfading Sorrow?
Crimson sorrow?
My personal favorite is the first.
Flame of Sorrow?
Neverfading Sorrow?
Crimson sorrow?
My personal favorite is the first.
Its not a new chapter, I'm sorry, please don't eat my face
Chapter two is done, but long. So, I will type it, eventually, when I get around to it....STOP PRESSURING ME.
I haven't posted a regular post in awhile and there really isn't much to talk about or complain about, which I know how much you guys love to complain.
Since, I started writing this new story, whose title I have an idea or two for. Maybe I'll say some of them here.
Ok, I want the title to have a dark quality about it because obviously, the book is really dark, its a dark romance. Ben, I know you are good with that kind of stuff, so you think you could help me out here, buddy? Hm? HM? HM?HM?
(Sorry, I just learned how to make big font...leave me alone...my mommy says I'm special)
But yes, any suggestions *cough* Ben *cough* Amanda*cough* Nick *cough*
Whoo, that was quite a coughing attack, I probably have swine flu.
Anyway, there is one idea I have and that's
wait for it
wait for it
wait for it
Hand of Sorrow
But that's the name of the song that inspired me to write the book, so I don't want to be plagiarizing if I even spelled that right. Would you be plagiazdsajdsoidaosoufa, (You knew what I meant) if you used the name of the song that inspired you to name the book?
I mean there's also some other ones but not me they sounded too stupid to even suggest, so if you really want to know the other ones you're going have to pester/bribe me into telling you (I like cookies,cupcakes and fuzzy puppies)
I haven't posted a regular post in awhile and there really isn't much to talk about or complain about, which I know how much you guys love to complain.
Since, I started writing this new story, whose title I have an idea or two for. Maybe I'll say some of them here.
Ok, I want the title to have a dark quality about it because obviously, the book is really dark, its a dark romance. Ben, I know you are good with that kind of stuff, so you think you could help me out here, buddy? Hm? HM? HM?HM?
(Sorry, I just learned how to make big font...leave me alone...my mommy says I'm special)
But yes, any suggestions *cough* Ben *cough* Amanda*cough* Nick *cough*
Whoo, that was quite a coughing attack, I probably have swine flu.
Anyway, there is one idea I have and that's
wait for it
wait for it
wait for it
Hand of Sorrow
But that's the name of the song that inspired me to write the book, so I don't want to be plagiarizing if I even spelled that right. Would you be plagiazdsajdsoidaosoufa, (You knew what I meant) if you used the name of the song that inspired you to name the book?
I mean there's also some other ones but not me they sounded too stupid to even suggest, so if you really want to know the other ones you're going have to pester/bribe me into telling you (I like cookies,cupcakes and fuzzy puppies)
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Amya
Her name was Amya. Her candle was crimson red. The time period was niehter present nor past. It was in a bleak future where the world was run by one malicious Empire, outlawing even the tiniest of sins. The death penalty was common but no longer was it humane. No liquid poison injected into you to slowly kill you. You were beaten to death or far worse depending on which crime you commited.
Amya was a freedom fighter. She didn't live in the government built neighborhoods. She lived with people like herself. She was a sinner, but so were they. She lived in a field, in Australia, where the summer never ends. They had trailers, run down campers, but not nearly enough. When it rained, the stronger and wiser ones gave the shelter to the children, while they slept in the surprisingly durable cardboard boxes. Rarely did it rain though, because the summer never ended.
The government knew about these sinners, everytime a child went missing or everytime an expectant mother fled before her scheduled birth, it was recorded. They were hunted, many of them never made it to Australia, because He got to them before they could.
These sinners had an Underground Railroad all their own. He knew of some of the parts and had taken away many flames this way. Sometimes they got a head start though. Women who had a child before didn't need to purchase the government issued and tracked test, because they had a way of just knowing. They'd run away, taking their previous child with them. No one would notice, unless their husband, a government approved partner, stayed behind and told. No one notice until Sunday, when they weren't at church, a law punishable by death if they missed even one day for anything other than the utmost emergency. Then it would be too late and even He couldn't find them.
Her name was Amya, her candle was crimson red. She was the leader of the sinners, the first to run away.
He was undeniably and unbelievably in love with her, her, the one he swore an oath to kill.
Amya was a freedom fighter. She didn't live in the government built neighborhoods. She lived with people like herself. She was a sinner, but so were they. She lived in a field, in Australia, where the summer never ends. They had trailers, run down campers, but not nearly enough. When it rained, the stronger and wiser ones gave the shelter to the children, while they slept in the surprisingly durable cardboard boxes. Rarely did it rain though, because the summer never ended.
The government knew about these sinners, everytime a child went missing or everytime an expectant mother fled before her scheduled birth, it was recorded. They were hunted, many of them never made it to Australia, because He got to them before they could.
These sinners had an Underground Railroad all their own. He knew of some of the parts and had taken away many flames this way. Sometimes they got a head start though. Women who had a child before didn't need to purchase the government issued and tracked test, because they had a way of just knowing. They'd run away, taking their previous child with them. No one would notice, unless their husband, a government approved partner, stayed behind and told. No one notice until Sunday, when they weren't at church, a law punishable by death if they missed even one day for anything other than the utmost emergency. Then it would be too late and even He couldn't find them.
Her name was Amya, her candle was crimson red. She was the leader of the sinners, the first to run away.
He was undeniably and unbelievably in love with her, her, the one he swore an oath to kill.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Amaranth
There is a dark room, full of millions of candles, it might be behind that coat in your closet. It might be under your basement floor. It might be in a field in Australia, where the summer never ends, a door, to a dark room full of candles, in the middle of a beautiful field where the summer never ends.
Every candle suspended in the air, floating all on its own. Every few seconds or so, a candle goes out, and every half second, another small one falls from the black hole of a cieling that isn't there.
There is one candle imparticular, one that you can't draw your eyes away from, it is a brilliant royal blue, but that's not what draws your eye. Its the flame. It keeps fighting an invisible wind, flickering and flickering hard. You watch in amazement until water is dumped on the candle. A man, a handsome man, he stands there holding the cup that erased that brilliant flame. The man sighs, "Another cancer patient, gone."
He sets his cup down and takes the now lightless candle and puts it in a bin in the corner of the dark room full of candles, but before he does he looks at the bottom of the candle and smiles sadly, "Her name was Elizabeth." He looks at the size of the candle and sighs again. "She was three."
So now you look around this room of candles, frantically looking for your own. But there are too many, too many to look through and constantly, they are going out.
There is one candle, in a glass. The flame never flickers, not once. The man puts his hand on the glass. "That's mine. It never dies."
Every candle suspended in the air, floating all on its own. Every few seconds or so, a candle goes out, and every half second, another small one falls from the black hole of a cieling that isn't there.
There is one candle imparticular, one that you can't draw your eyes away from, it is a brilliant royal blue, but that's not what draws your eye. Its the flame. It keeps fighting an invisible wind, flickering and flickering hard. You watch in amazement until water is dumped on the candle. A man, a handsome man, he stands there holding the cup that erased that brilliant flame. The man sighs, "Another cancer patient, gone."
He sets his cup down and takes the now lightless candle and puts it in a bin in the corner of the dark room full of candles, but before he does he looks at the bottom of the candle and smiles sadly, "Her name was Elizabeth." He looks at the size of the candle and sighs again. "She was three."
So now you look around this room of candles, frantically looking for your own. But there are too many, too many to look through and constantly, they are going out.
There is one candle, in a glass. The flame never flickers, not once. The man puts his hand on the glass. "That's mine. It never dies."
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