Rituals.

Today was a good day for wearing long sleeves. However, it was bad day for wearing sandals and/or walking to the UC to mail a package. Lots of wet rain. Not big globs that make a loud noise and are irritating because you always get hit on the head with them. But rather sheets of long, skinny drops that completely drench everything and for whatever scientific reason, take twice as long to dry.

While I am sometimes bummed that I don't have a guy in my life, as I would really like the companionship, I no longer mind. Because, while there are many, many guys I find good-looking, and even a few I'm attracted to, it is rare (and lately rather unusual) that I find someone I'm actually interested in. But I don't mind. Because I realize that I look for very specific qualities in men. And no, I'm not looking for Mr. Perfect, just a few specific qualities that need to be there. The details of the package are more or less unimportant, but the product has to match certain criteria. And as of yet I have found very few of these people that match the requirements. Any of them. Let alone more than one. One guy came close (and I think you probably know who you are. Unless you're one of my friends, in which case you know who I'm talking about), but in the end, it just didn't work. There were problems, on both sides (though more on his :razzberry:), and it wasn&

I might be a little bummed that they chose to use Wally West instead of Barry Allen. But the Justice League cartoon has done so well with the character that I don't even care anymore. The Flash Rocks. (Wonder Woman still sucks though)

I hurt the people around me, don't I?

It's one of my favorite sites. And I know I have the courage. But I can't seem to narrow the list. And I would just say them. And I'm not afraid of the results. But rather, I know. No matter how many times I explained it. You wouldn't get it. And more importantly. Who would care? Who would even bother to listen? I don't think I would listen if someone told me. So why should you? We all have better things to do.

I feel. Hollow. Like an abandoned puppy who’s been left home alone all day.

You are tracks so unwashable. A reminder of so much pain. But for your existence, I have only myself to blame. Why must you scream so loud the world can hear? Are secrets not secrets? Betrayed by my heart. My fingers. Dancing with the music my ears have heard. Shutting the door in my face. Not letting me return until you are done. Here. Read this now. The next issue in our damning publication. We will tell your secrets. We will stalk your steps. Bidding our time until you make a mistake. Your mocking is more vicious than I thought myself capable of. Your malicious intent to share the truth. My truth. For me and me alone. Mine to chose when it's shared. If it's shared. You think I can't hear you laughing? Always in my head. Circling in the background. Through forgotten hallways. Echoing off the walls. You're just waiting for me to move. You want me to come looking for you. So that when I am gone you can step out again. But I won't. You can't make me. With your bi

I had something I was going to say. But it said too much. And I deleted it.

I got a story for you Girl Scouts. Once upon a time there was a magical land where it never rained. The End.

I think that I get myself into a lot of situations where I am friends with people simply because we work with, or near, each other. And I discover that when I try to be friends with them, in these situations, I tend to try too hard and make mistakes. It is then that I discover, by their reactions, that we aren’t really friends at all. And I tend to really like these people. But the conclusion always seems to be that they don’t really care about me at all. I think that many of these people, the moment they no longer see me or are no longer required to interact, I pass from their thoughts. Generally, I do not mind that I have few friends, for I’d like to think it is quality over quantity. But when someone I want to be my friend, or consider my friend, isn’t: it is times like that: I feel terribly lonely.

And as predicted, I LOVED it. I knew I would. I told people when they asked me if I'd seen it. I would say "no." They would answer "oh it's really good." I'd answer "I know. I know I'll like it, I just haven't gotten the chance to see it." They showed it on campus. So I even got to see it for free. And also as predicted, Miho (the sword-chick) was my favorite. But Kevin was also really freakin' sweet. And he real was a freak, since he was a cannibal. It was nasty. But I'm sorry, his little sneaky, jumpy, martial arts stufff.... Awesome. Really Awesome. So I think I'd have to say Miho, Kevin, then a tie between Dwight and Marv. Looking forward to the sequel. Okay, now, some music recommendations: "Nobody Move, Nobody Gets Hurt" by We Are Scientists. "Tom's Diner" by Suzanne Vega/DNA I rediscovered Fefe Dobson, so her. And finally "Muscle Museum", "Dark Shines", and "Megalomani

It doesn't seem like much. But what it means is that of 2432 words, in one chapter, including the chapter's title, 36 of them are the word "normal." And it probably still doesn't seem like much. But it is. If my book was 1 million words long, nearly 15,000 of them would be just the word "normal." Kind of repetitive. But neat. If you bothered to read the story I posted a few days ago.

but keep in mind my justification. I think I might want children.... If for no other reason than to make sure they're raised correctly, with equal gender opportunities, no parental stereotyping and the proper sexual education and awareness. Not that I wouldn't love them too. Because I would. I really would love them. I'm just not sure I want them. But I might like to try. I don't know. I'm at a weird age, caught between 21 and 22. (little joke) But, the future is the future. We'll see what happens. (oh, and I still want to adopt rather than have my "own")

So, the Den served stuffed mushrooms and seafood casserole. They tasted okay, but I'm still not sure if I'll survive............

A lot of people are ordering pizza. The Hungry Howie's guy has been here twice. Why does he keep talking to me? He's weird, and I suspect he's gay, and I hate when people are on the job and insist on making small talk with the customers/strangers/people around them.

Chapter One: My Not-so-normal Normal Day:      My name is John Smith.      I swear.      I’m not changing it for the sake of amenity (though it would be a good choice), it is actually my name.      My father’s last name is Smith. His first name is Iron (he changed it in the 60s while traveling the continent with a Renaissance festival and never bothered to change it back), so it appears to make some sense. But appearances can be deceiving.      My mother’s name is Erica, so hers is normal, especially considering it used to be Mary D’Toa.      Hand to God.      But you can see why she’d change it. After I was born and my father wanted to name me Black, my mother put her foot down. She changed her name to just “Mary” and moved the three of us to the suburbs.      And while I was barely a year old at the time, I still have dreams about sleeping on a pile of straw with the sounds of horses around me.      But my history is the least important part about me. Mostly because after Iron, Mary,