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| Ghad-Dammit.
Ghad-Damn.
.... I need a blog space where nobody reads. Oh wait, I have one of those. I just don't want to wriiiiite in iiiiit. I'd much rather write stuff here, to which Ashlie will text me later when she gets the e-mail subscription that she'll read months if not years from now, asking me or commenting on it.
*sigh*
But very quickly now, since my coworker is waiting outside right now. Went and saw 'Drag Me To Hell' again at 11:45 pm since it wasn't playing ANYWHERE ELSE, at any other else. That goat... is still awesome. | | |
| Of course, it's totally ridiculous how I feel around you. It doesn't help that Ana sent me a clip of your new song that you came out with. Ugh, singing is like the worm hole to my heart, and your light speed sexiness is penetrating hard. I can have you sing me to sleep at the click of a button and it's like some luxury I really shouldn't be allowed to have. I know! I know. I'm just listening, I'm not doing anything wrong, or intimate. But it's too much. It's a reward to be able to hear your voice. I didn't do anything special, how did I get this? Just by being your friend, really?
When I listen, I can hear the strain in your voice. I imagine your muscles pulling up and in, quick like a spasm trying to push that last inch of air out of your chest. I remember a night where I was responsible for such a move. That's really what it comes all back to. But I know I'd feel this way even if I hadn't slept with you. You're just that way. You make me want to gather all the dry leaves in my yard, light them on fire, and inhale the smell of burning earth. You're composed of such a natural feel, like digging my nails into the earth. I dug my nails into you, I guess that counts for something. The odd thing is I don't even want to sleep with you again. It's not about the sex, it's just about... you. This weird vibe you put out, that feels like it has the substance of the riches of life, yet at the same time you appear as empty as the sky on a cloudless day. How can you be a sky and land at once? Trying to figure you out is as disorienting as trying to figure out where exactly my feet are planted with you. It's a tumbling motion that blurs into green and blue as I fall through this inertia I know you're responsible for. Can I plant you in an instruction manual? You'd be composed of fitting Tab A into Box Z. Twists and compositions that make no comprehension but you enjoy the ride anyway, because the effect is euphoric in it's confusion. You are iridescent euphoria, an intangible pleasure that I can feel tickling my fingers, asking me to try and catch it. Your music rides on the wings of butterflies. Can I be your muse? I'll be sweet nectar to drink from as it pulses up your lips with such sweet sucking.
What's wrong with me :P | | |
| I think that has it's own sting. The fact that you know your boundaries, and limits, and so you act like a child because you know you're safe in doing so. I'd never act childish or upset in the face of something I thought was really important, needed my attention.
Being angry, being hurt, being annoyed. They're all such childish emotions.
And yet... necessary. They're are indicators and flashing lights, that something is not going wrong.
There are people who will always be lights. From the day you meet them from the day you die.
I sort of wish things were different. Just not enough to take action and make it so. That's the other indicator too, the will to not act. Or recognizing the lack of will to act. They're subtle differences, but they exist.
Oh Stephanie, your pain and hope hurt me. Can't you see that?
I hate not knowing what will happen now. They say clean cuts are the best way, but I can feel you watching, lurking... just like you always did. Does the other feel me watching, lurking too? I bet THAT one doesn't even care. *surveys* Nope. Well, maybe *heaves a sigh* But there's nothing left to go back to.
Ever went back to something you were altered out of? It feels so weird coming back to it, even if you're expecting the change of your removal. Worse if you're not. There are some things sacred to me that obviously others do not.
I just don't want to start anything... | | |
| Hector.
How I so very do miss you.
:(
Just nobody like you. The banter and wit.
...you remain unchallenged.
And every once in a while, I wish I could call you up and talk to you. You made me laugh like nobody else. I wish I wish I wish. I really really wish... | | |
| He was cute. The way people who knew nothing and showed it through awe usually were. It was April '07, and we were going through one of our full rehearsals, running through the entire production. Being Mama Rose was nooot easy. She was on stage for pretty much %80 of the entire production. I mean, most leading roles are... but this was demanding. The show was about a front center stage woman with enough personality to blow the wazoo off anyone's toupe. So naturally, there were lots of costume changes. I learned reeeeeally fast, that a body was just a body, and so my rack of costumes ended up in the corner of back stage, not far from the stage left headset station. That was were Patrick was. Freshman, funny, and more than slightly picked on for being extra weird. Naturally, he got a warm spot in my heart. The fact that he had a small, trip over my shoes crush on me that expressed itself in weird unexpected ways helped things too.
During the rehearsal, I ran to my station to quickly switch, dropping down to my underclothes, stockings, and shoes. Freshmen, ahh, the exposure. I could feel the quieted eyes looking without trying to. It was funny to me of course, but I could tell he didn't really know what to do. I broke "the ice" of the situation.
"So, seeing as you're going to be getting a lot of this, any way I can make it more enjoyable for you? You know, any colors I can wear as to make this a better looking show?"
He smiled in a funny way, and got it fast.
"Got anything pink?"
I hate pink. "Uhh, sorry. No. I got nothing pink for ya. The closest to that is the light blue bra I'm sporting for you now" I said, pulling at the front strap, and then slipping my next dress over my head.
"Awww..." he said with mild disappointment, and I walked swiftly away to catch my next scene.
As a rule, you wear white clothes underneath anyway. Otherwise, the colors can bleed through your costume under all the intense lights. I disregarded this rule often.
Fast forward! Hell week :) Initiation week formally, a week of dramatic themes such as Shakespeare and Mime day. Each day of the week something new. The new initiates were called Neophites, and a few days before Hell Week actually started, there was the "Auction". Ooooh the Auction. What fun those were. This was were all the Thespians got to bring their bucks up to the table, and purchase at auction, our living, breathing devotees for the next week. We would command, groom, coddle, and bond with our Neophites. Sometimes positively, sometimes negatively. I'd won best female Neophite my year. Heh heh. I'm sure it's the full commitment to Toga day that caught some attention. Noooo, I'm NOT wearing anything underneath this except underwear. Why not a bra? The greeks didn't wear bras. Duuuuhhhh. Not to mention Toga Day was on the day of my English AP exam, which is a rigorous 3 hour exam with one break. The school held the tests in the auditorium. One of the big things about Hell Week, is, Neophites, when spotting a Thespian, must clasp themselves to the floor and bow, "Oooooh mighty such and so!" And so, when the AP exam break had come up, I went to get a drink of water and ran into Katie, in my year. I said hello enthusiastically. Don't you like my toga? Oh of course, yes. But she tapped her foot impatiently.
"What?" I said sort of scared.
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
Ah! I'd forgotten!!!
"OOOOHHHH MIGHTY THESPIAN KATIE!!! I am not woooorthy of your presence!" My break was spent trying to escape the now crowded break area. Left and right, they were there. But I was happy to oblige. "Oooooh Gabi, Kelly, Caitlin and others!!!" I shouted. Knees down, hands wafting up and down.
I'd had a good week :) Now, this year, I would be purchasing Neophites of my own, and that I did. Patrick, naturally, was one of them. Oh joy! Now, as tradition, on the first monday, Neophites were entitled to have seeked out a gift for their master.
At the end of the week, in a black little bag, I would pull out a see-through, pink little number, complete with lace and everything. It was the best gift I got out of all three of my Neophites, with that little extra something that let me know he cared. And, might I add, the most expensive gift any Thespian received from any Neophite that year. | | |
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