KTHXBAI

ooops sorry for not blogging/being under a rock for a looong time.

So, school. yeah. what can i say? i'm drowning in it? i'm suffocating? i'm being pulled so far apart by it that the molecules inside my body are broken up, causing my body to degenerate? well yes, all of the above.

also, I'M GOING TO IDAHO TOMORROW, BITCHES.

Waking up at 5:30 in the morn', getting dressed for intense, cold weather, sitting on a bus for 7 hours! with other music geeks! i'll be sure to post vids of my vocal jazz group singing for you eager readers out there haha. i'm so excited. my mom packed me 5 oranges and 2 bananas and i told her that i'm not going to eat that many oranges... and she said, strictly, "You have to". So I secretly sneaked two oranges back into the basket and stole some beef jerky and granola bars from the cupboard... MUAHAHA i'm an evil child.

I feel a lot better mentally these days... The schoolwork keeps piling up, but I think I've gotten immune to the stress. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/International_Baccalaureate <- All about IB, and what us IB students have to live up to... and ultimately, die for. I hear this quote a lot: "I wanna die" on Facebook, in msgs, in the hallways. Even I say it, albeit unconciously, maybe about 28 times a day.

"I think... Therefore, IB."

x o x o

STORYUNTITLED.doc

Here is the first chapter of what I'm writing as of late:

1
Today is my sister’s wedding. Conveniently, it is also her 21st birthday.

All I can smell is the rank scent of exhilaration in the air. That, and the disgusting steaks my grandmother has been preparing all morning, just for the reception.

The comb slides easily through my hair, and my reflection in the mirror shows that my dark eyes are fearful. I feel dead strong inside, and yet, my eyes, they are always scared. People tell me that I appear exactly like my mother, and all I can think of asking is, “Was she always scared?” An awkward silence imminently ensues.

And that’s why I’d rather not talk to people at all.

My dress has already been laid out for me, resting quietly upon my bed, its frills and ruffles fluttering from the wind coming through my opened window. Today, my pillows and cushions are neatly gathered together, and my blanket is smoothed out immaculately. Today, my eyes still hold that haunted expression, even though there is excitement and – oh, God – happiness everywhere I see. In fact, specks of happiness are floating around the room, bouncing off mirrors, off countertops, and off me.

My sister, Emma, asked me to attend her wedding, which was really nice of her.

But I won’t be a bridesmaid, no, not even the flower girl. I will be sitting five pews from the front, in a cluster of people I won’t know, and people I know but don’t want to talk to. My sister asked her coworker to be her Maid of Honour. How nice, how sweet…

My father refused to pay for separate parties, see. His exact words were, “If you’re going to have a wedding just one week after your birthday, I’m not giving you any money for either.” (My father is one of those people who speaks as if in constant iambic pentameter; this frequently gets on my nerves.) Emma, of course, burst into tears, her round blue eyes squeezing together, and her nose scrunched up in mid-wail. My father ignored her, as usual, and stepped out to “take a breath of air”, which really means “inhale a few breaths of toxic fumes”. I can spot the pack of cigarettes in his pocket from five feet away, although he had promised my grandmother that he’d quit.

Yeah, bullshit.

In the end, having one party for the two biggest events of my sister’s life was the answer.

“Fucking cheapskate,” I mutter under my breath as I slathered on some lip-gloss. By the time I turned 21, he’ll probably suggest that I not have a party at all but, instead, save my money to buy myself a car. There, killing two birds with one stone: he won’t have to buy me a car or pay for my party either! I almost laugh at this prospect, me having enough money to go buy a car. It might have to be used. And it might not be perfect – but my own car…

“Annabelle?” a stern voice asks from outside my door. “Are you ready?”

“Almost, Grams!” I answer loudly, and then stand up to slip on my dress: basically a top most like a corset, with a long skirt billowing out from underneath it, splattered with ruffles and flowers here and there. It is a dress of evil.

The top pinches deeply into my waist, and I wonder if Emma deliberately told the seamstress to make it a size too small, just out of spite. Then I shake my head and finish zipping my dress up. I look into my full-length mirror, but all I can see are rays of sunshine that fall on my desk behind me. It is almost as if I am invisible today – that nobody can see me.

 - - -

My sister and Pighead are exchanging vows right now. Words of poetry flow out of Pighead’s mouth, and I cannot help but retch. He must’ve gotten his mother to write the whole thing. Emma, however, is grinning, her smile shining brilliantly through her sheer veil, not distracted at all by this sudden change of her husband-to-be’s personality. Her golden hair is curled, and flows down her neck teasingly. Her porcelain skin radiates all goodness and beauty, and seems to be so translucent that even I can see the pure joy clogging her arteries.
Pighead and I met a long time ago, in summer camp – bible summer camp, to be precise. He was an experienced camp counselor, having been one since he was sixteen. He believed in God, and honest faith, and all that shit.

He was tall and thin, his face hidden in the black hair that used to be shaggy and long. That was what attracted me, the first time I saw him: the fact that I couldn’t see him at all! His expressions were enigmatic, our gazes fleeting, and sometimes I couldn’t even find his eyes among his messy strands of thick hair.

His lips were thin and dry, and his kissing was less than amazing. But whenever I leaned in towards him, and his head was tilted back, I could see that his eyes were dark green, rimmed with coal black. When I felt how those eyes pierced through my soul, I knew he needed me.

Poor Emma. She didn’t even realize…When she had met Richard, he was already mine.

(the tips of my hair are orange, but only because I dyed my hair red last year. though i guess it's the new "in" thing to do now, so hooray?)

you can probably guess what I'm wearing. so go ahead, guess!

hints:

- i've worn this highwaisted skirt in many outfits before

- this tee is mass-produced by a store that could be named "Canadian Beaver" if it was Canadian.

- nothing I wear is high-end. D: boooohooooo.

- don't bother guessing where my cardigan is from. they all look the same anyway.

X O X O

sleep.

Well.. I feel like saying "there goes another one" but just thinking those words makes me feel disrespectful and ashamed.

Hearing about deaths of people I don't know personally know makes me think, makes me burst out of my bubble. Somehow, we all fit into this world, each one of us, one, one, one, one.

I'm not saying I have a right to say anything. But people are dropping like flies.

And that makes me really upset.

Some days, it's so easy to just move. Move on, move this way, move your mouth, move your tongue, speak.

Other days, it's so hard to get up.

Life is so easy, you see? If you don't get up, you don't have to move at all.

RIP.
RIP to her, him, her, and her as well because I didn't say it before.

bawayan

X O X O

"2009/06/12: say hi to my ex is perfect

so my ex is kind of like my best friend
 he is soooo amazing!
we met for lunch and he got a new girl in his life
 and this is what he says

"you are classy AND fucked up,

but shes classy and NICE...."

hahahahahahahhahahhahahahahahahahhahahahahhahaha

how elegant." -iliketoforkmyself.blogspot.com

everyone wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die.

forever 21 shorts, army and navy shirt

Army and Navy actually has some nice stuff there, although it comes with bad quality.

Watch these videos. The first one is from Ukraine's Got Talent, where a 24-yr-old depicted World War II with her hands, using sand. The second one is the first part of Ladies and Gentlemen, the Fabulous Stains. I searched forever to find it on Youtube. The third is a nice trance-y song.

Enjoy.

x

black & white.

lace top: thrifted. liquid leggings: sirens. tank: old navy.

suspenders: american apparel, ruffle top and gold belt: joe fresh, pants: thrifted

I realize I don't take pictures of my shoes anymore... Probably because I'm too lazy to go outside and grab my shoes, put it on, and snap another picture. I'll describe them to you, however: black work boots with the first outfit, and lowtop converse with the second.

Day Two of Week #21, blogging at 1900 hours:
Starting une Carte Mentale for le classe Francais, et je suis pushing aside all other homework until after 9 pm. Erm, I mean, 2100 hours.




...

Look here! Haha, made you look. (:


No really, look here:

Taylor Momsen is so gorgeous, n'est pas? Good luck to her! She's got many more years ahead of her, and I'm sure she's taking in everything she can.

(Oh, these pics remind me that I still need to go buy: a leather jacket, studded heels, baggy stripped shirt, proper thigh highs, a peplum dress [a lil mesh would be nice], and cool lennon sunnies ... or aviators since I lost mine.)

Lot's of love, and love lots,

x.