My Stories Don't Feel Like Being Told

So the class I have been looking forward to the most has now become my worst enemy: Fundamentals of Screenwriting. I love this class. I have so much fun in it. We talk about anything and everything. My prof is currently making a documentary about zombies called "Doc of the Dead" which I think is going to be awesome and might be one of the few documentaries I voluntarily see. Please everybody watch the link.
Anywhich, for my final in this class I have to write a script for a short film. I adapted my story that I wrote earlier so that it could be a short film, but I can't really get the idea out of my head and onto paper. I think I might have to be heartbroken to write, because right now every time I go to write about this chick's terrible girlfriend I think about my girlfriend and I forget to write anything worth complaining about.
I came to this conclusion while I was sitting with my friend waiting for a ride. I had my notebook open to a blank page, my pencil poised over the lined paper, and I couldn't write. The most I could do was write her name in my crazy Celtic letters, which annoyed my friend who is taking a Typography class, but I still can't write without a broken heart. The only thing I could think to do was remember a time like the one I was writing about. It didn't work. I just wrote down a bunch of random shit from my past, but I couldn't focus. I'm not used to happy. I shall blame it all on her, then everything will be even more confusing, but she'll laugh and apologize, and I will renounce my claim to be a writer.

So I've Finally Found The Walking Dead Season 3 Premire

And I'm letting it buffer.
I'm also kind of realizing why people love to think about the zombie apocalypse (I'm glad I finally learned how to spell that word without spell check). I used to think people were afraid of zombies because of the fear of being hunted, but then people were scared of werewolves, but legend had it that true love could remind a werewolf of their humanity or something like that. And then you had the Remus and Tonks thing. People also used to read stories about vampires which were supposed to be horror stories, but then a little thing called Twilight came out and now everybody loves vampires. Oi, even in Harry Potter, vampires were scary enough to give Quirrell a pretend stutter. So maybe the whole "predator" thing isn't as big a deal with the human audience as it used to be because everyone is adapting it and giving everything its own story, its own chance at happiness and love, its own lifetime original movie.
So what is it that makes zombies so profitable for so many years? Well Tim Burton kind of tried to make a zombie appealing, but I don't think Emily the corpse bride was what people would call a zombie. She was just dead, though apart from acting like a human and not wanting to eat her husband she was pretty much a zombie.
I think that zombies are such good monsters because of one good reason: they are completely unnatural. Even back in the early days of Voodoo it warned humans not to mess with things they couldn't understand or control. But the fact is that zombies are so grotesque, so horrifying, so terrible still is because they are so unnatural. They were humans, but have died, and when the infection spread to their brain, the only part that was turned back on were controlling the body and some primal instincts. The only problem is that there only seems to be one instinct: eating. Zombies do nothing but eat, they have even been portrayed to eat something they have found dead, but they only eat meat. Never have I noticed any information about how the food is processed once the zombie has eaten, or if anything happens to it at all except for it rotting inside its intestines. Also the fact that they can only die from destroying their brain, is completely unnatural. The first thing most people think about when they wonder about dying is starvation. Zombies don't starve, it seems like they just slow down. Their not starving to death, or their lack of death from the loss of important bodily functions, or how they are portrayed as not being killed by being shot anywhere but the brain is just terrifying to anyone who knows how hard a head shot actually is to achieve. The other unnatural thing that has been racking around my brain is that they have no other instincts than to eat. Most people will say that a zombie has lost its humanity, but I will argue that is has lost everything. Even animals get old, die, and try to keep their species alive. Zombies don't even try to procreate. They can create more zombies by biting or scratching someone, sure, but they don't. If they bite someone, they sure as hell don't care if they become a zombie, they just want some food.
Really, zombies are what humans will always be afraid of, because they are so unnatural, so far from humanity that they've even left nature in the dark. Because there is no answer to the ever-present question "Why?"

First Journal

For my screenwriting class we are supposed to keep a journal. The first assignment is to write about a conflict in our lives for 15 minutes (less than 5 pages). We have to talk about it with the class. Now this class gets pretty personal, and my prof has told us that what we write about reflects ourselves, and that he tries to psychoanalyze his students from their works.
So I sat here for 10 minutes trying to think of something to write about. This was always easy when I had to write in my daybook. I could just write and not have to worry about how people saw me, so I was free to say anything. However, we also were not usually given boundaries, and when we were, they weren't so vague. So I was stumped for what I had to write. I thought about the conflicts that I could remember: my dad not approving of my going to an art school, trying to come out in high school, being on the academic team, running an anime club with my best friend, having 2 guys fighting over me, there seeming to be an odd number of lesbians at my school... Eventually this just became a list of things that have happened in my life.
Then it hit me. The one thing that has haunted me for years, the one conflict I that has traumatized me: my sister.
My hand was shaking just planning out my rant. The things she put me through is enough to set my nerves on edge, and she is 3,000 miles away on the other side of the continent.
I'm a little worried to write this because of what people will think, but I also know that if I write something it doesn't worry me as much. So here I go onto my pages.

And The Pilot Dies

The bell rang all too soon for Les. She was happy. Her friends didn’t murder her. Dick didn’t even flinch. She couldn’t help but laugh every time she thought of Donald’s commentary. She hung back talking to her friends, and yes she could really call them her friends now, while Dick had slinked off to Latin. She slid through the door just as the bell was ringing. The teacher didn’t even look up from his screen to register that Les had just slid through the doorway and scampered to her seat by the window.

                Dick sat stoically next to her. She looked up at his face for signs of emotion before turning to her book, empty-handed. “You seem awfully stoic,” she remarked dryly as she turned pages.

                Dick seemed to be busy taking notes, for the first time in his life. He had a sheet of paper that he was frantically scribbling words on in blue ink. “We didn’t have homework last night, did we?” Les asked worriedly as she leaned over to look at his paper.

                “No,” Dick shrugged her off his arm that she was leaning on. He slid the paper under his notebook and returned to looking stoic.

                At the end of class, Les and Dick stood up together. She looked way up at him to ask him to move out of her way, but he looked as though he had something to say. “Hold on,” she said to him as she put a hand inside his elbow to support herself as she climbed onto a chair. She measured herself against him and said, “Continue.”

                Dick reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He started to give it to Les when Mr. Bowserman noticed Les’s unusual height. “Miss Williams, what do you think you’re doing?”

                “Well if you haven’t noticed, sir, I’m a bit too short to talk to the Big Dick over here.”

                “Get off of there and go to class.”

                Les reluctantly dropped to the floor and Dick had pulled the piece of paper behind his back. As they left with their classmates Leslie tried to deduce the contents of the note. “What is that?”

                “It’s nothing.”

                “No. If it was nothing then you wouldn’t be hiding it from me.”

                “I’m not hiding anything.”

                “Then why don’t you give me the note?”

                “Who said it was a note?”
                “Who said it wasn’t?”

                “Well there is nothing now.” Dick took the paper and crumpled it into a ball before throwing it in Mr. Bowserman’s trash can just as they had left through the doorway.

                “You don’t have to be so childish about it,” Les remarked as they pulled away from class.

                Dick stopped in the hallway before Les noticed, but she quickly turned around and came back to him. He looked down at her and merely asked, “Do you have practice today?”

                “Yes, I usually do.”

                “Okay, well I’ll see you then.”

                Les walked out to the parking lot to not find Dick waiting for her. That wasn’t much of a surprise, but she wondered if he would come at all. She leaned against his little Mazda and waited for him.

                Dick appeared moments later and Les waved to him from her place. He waved as he approached the cars and stood awkwardly in front of her. After a few moments he merely said, “I guess that’s what you meant by ‘not my type.’”

                Les was downtrodden, but then she looked up at him trying and failing to conceal a grin. “Yeah, you’re a bit too tall for me,” she said, concealing her knowledge of the joke.

                “What? No I meant—“

                “You worked on that one all day, didn’t you?” she asked as she laughed at his poorly constructed joke, though she had to appreciate his memory. She went to punch him in the arm, when he hit her first in his friendliest way. She gave off an overdramatic look of shock before hugging him tightly around the waist.

                Dick gasped for breath, “You can let go anytime now.”

Magic

Fifteen years ago today, something magical happened. The first book in the Harry Potter series was published. The childhood of my generation was presented in a story that will last for years to come. I want to thank J.K. Rowling, and if I ever meet her I have a lot of questions I would like to ask if I don't burst into tears worshiping the ground upon which she stands. This brilliant woman gave me a childhood, helped me to believe in magic for the rest of my life, and taught me to not have boundaries on my imagination.
Yeah, I'm a huge Potterhead.
J.K. Rowling is a Goddess in her own right, just like everyone else with an imagination. She created a world with people and love and hate and magic and laws that so many people got lost in and became the home of one emotionally homeless girl that waited until midnight at bookstores and cinemas for one more view of home.
Words cannot express how much each of the characters meant to me. I desperately re-read about Sirius's death, hoping for a bit of confusion on my part. I cried out when Cedric was murdered. I cursed at Rowling when Hedwig was killed. My eyes welled at the engraving on Dobby's headstone: "Here lies Dobby, a free elf." I openly cried when Fred died with the ghost of his last laugh etched on his face. Most of all, I sobbed at Snape's memories of him and Lily, and still do.
On a completely related note: I chose today, completely at random to watch Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2, and to re-read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's [Philosopher's] Stone. I didn't realize until a little before midnight here that it was the anniversary of what might be the most important day of my life so far.
Thank you J.K. Rowling, for giving me Harry to believe in, Hermione to teach me, Ron to cheer on, Neville to surprise me, Dobby to cry for, Fred and George to laugh with, Draco to pity, Snape to utterly confuse me, Luna to fall in love with, Dumbledore to trust, Ginny to inspire me, Hagrid to love forever, Seamus to remember, dragons and Thestrals for my dreams to fly on, Quidditch to play, Hogwarts to dream about, and most of all yourself for giving me a magical childhood that will never end.

Coming Out

Lunch came around on one of these days. Les arrived later than usual, but her usual seat was still waiting for her. Dick was unsuspectingly eating his lunch when she appeared beside him, startling him slightly, but not enough for anyone to notice. He was gladder to see her.

                “Look who decided to show up,” David announced.

                Les glared at him as she pulled out a notebook. She opened to her Latin Vocabulary, but Dick moved his textbook over her page. She moved it aside, but he placed it right back on top. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

                “You don’t need to study. Give it a break.”

                “Maybe I do, and you’re going to be the cause of my failure in life.”

                “I don’t think that one quiz will kill you.”               

                “Oh really? I have a pretty impressive combo streak going. You want to break it?”

                “And there’s why you don’t have to study. Now give me that.” He reached for her notebook, but she pulled it out of his way. She moved it as far away from him as possible and turned her back to him to study in peace.

                “Oh come on, don’t be like that.”

                “I think I know why you don’t want me to study. You didn’t at all.”

                “That is not true!”

                “Do you want my notes?”

                Dick paused for a moment, as if uncertain of what to make of her offer. After a moment he reluctantly answered, “Yes.”

                She handed him her notes and pulled out a different notebook. “Oh, come on!” Dick announced as she turned to a fresh page for Italian.

                “You can’t judge me!” was all she said, and all she usually said on such things.

                Dick sighed in exasperation and returned to his borrowed notebook. Dick and Les returned to their individual studies while lunch wore on, but all the while Les was thinking. I’ve got a secret. Every once in a while a second voice would pop up. “Why are you keeping it?”

                This is a bit much to think about.

                “Why are you bothering to think about it?”

                I don’t want them to know. That’s kind of the point of a secret.

                “Who is ‘them’? Why can’t they know? What’s wrong with you?”

                What’s wrong with me is that I am. Why can’t you leave me alone?

                “Maybe I don’t want to leave you alone. Maybe I can’t until you feel better.”

                No, actually what is wrong with me is that I’m talking to you.

                “Ooh, harsh. But come on. Why don’t you tell them your dirty little secret?”

                “I like girls.”

                Only one head turned at this announcement. Wouldn’t you know it had to be David. He smirked and looked at Les with an eyebrow cocked. “What was that? I don’t think we heard you.”

                “I don’t need them to hear me. I said it; that was enough.” Wasn’t it?

                “Hey guys! Leslie wants to share something.”

                All the people at the table turned expectantly towards Les. David tried to coax her to repeat herself. Dick looked on in confusion.

                After a slight hesitation on Les’s behalf, she piped up once more: “I like girls. Okay?”

                There was something of a variety in their response. David leered still. Dick looked on in utter confusion. Jessica was the first to speak, “oh? Since when?”

                Catherine looked on in disgust, “Oh dear Jesus. Why would you do such a thing?”

                Renée and Donald were the only ones who didn’t seem to hear, but after the questioning and the impaling died down, Donald looked in confusion and asked, “You mean you weren't out of the closet?”

                Les couldn’t think of what else to do at this moment, but merely smiled at Donald’s remark. Dick sat stunned into silence and remained there after the bell had rung for lunch to end. He was the last one in the cafeteria when the security guard had to coax him into moving on to class.

This Is Hard and I Am Lazy

I really don't like this anymore. What started out as a simple little 5 minute thing in my head has turned into 10 pages of who-fucking-knows-what-I'll-tell-you-who-bullfrog-god-that's-who. I mean what happened? Why is this taking so long? So I may just end it the idea soon. Details can be filled in. Things can be adjusted and edited. Or new things can just pop up like deleted scenes!
Yeah, I'm a little bit not myself at the moment. My painkillers, since I'm allergic to painkillers, have an effect on my brain. I'm not thinking straight, well I never really think straight *pause for expected lol'ing* but you know what I mean. I'm crazy...er than usual.
But Leslie might just decide to end it, since neither she nor Richard has talked to me in a while. I'm getting the silent treatment from them. It's like I'm God for creating them, and I'm too lazy to watch them every second of every day, and they've disappeared on me. Okay, that sounds more like bad parenting than godly powers, but you get it. I created them (yes they are fiction for that one person who asked me if this is based on my life). This is my world. A world that only exists inside my head.
Writers are gods. We create our own universe with things in it. We basically create life inside our imagination. We are Isolus (in a way). I'm not saying that we branched off from God and live as the billions and billions of siblings travelling the galaxy together creating worlds to play in, though that does sound like fun. Where was I? Oh yes, I'm lazy.
So y'all (yes I use "y'all" since almost every language in the world has a 2nd person plural and most "civilized" English speakers refuse to accept it and make a proper one) can expect an end to "Big Dick, Little Dyke" soon. Well at least an end to this chapter of it. The whole thing might take a while. I'll just have to write something else to meet this goal and amuse the (what is it now 7?) readers who are actually interested in, or have nothing else to do but read my insane little stories.

Things I Learned from Disney Films:

• Never trust fat guys
• Harems are everywhere
• Never trust ugly people
• Facial hair=evil (except for dads)
• Accents=evil
• Always have an animal sidekick/servant
• There will always be bras for people to fall into
• All men wear boxers with hearts/polka dots
• A hood is enough cover to hide an identity
• The Bro Code applies to monkeys
• Don't trust people with bad teeth
• No one really dies
• Innocence comes with long lashes
• Only humans and sidekicks have names, everything else has titles
• Hypnosis is broken by ADD
• Drag Queens=Perfectly acceptable
• FEMINISM!
• Mispronouncing someone's name is the biggest offense
• Always beg
• You can tell the protagonist by how much of their face consists of their eyes
• Song lyrics
• You can hug clouds
• Blame disasters of magical things that make people fall in love so no one gets in trouble
• Always go overboard on rescues
• Guilt is enough to get people to confess
• People always mistreat their friends before they realize what is wrong
• Impersonations are always funny
• You have to be crazy to be evil
• No such thing as frost bite
• Villains wish for "love" from the gorgeous chick
• Look at shiny objects for the answers
• PUNS!
• Slavery is bad
• Everybody has an ugly shirt
• Disney memorabilia
• SPARKLY
• Shameless self-advertising

This might be similar to JennaMarbles video, but this is just me listing somethings while watching Aladdin.

Leslie's Escape

The next day, Les pulled up in her elderly vehicle. She parked in her usual spot, next to Dick’s car. He was leaning against the passenger door, waiting for her.  He dangled her iPod in front of her by the headphones. She went to grab it, but he raised his hand so it was out of her reach. She jumped, but his hand went higher. That was one of their games. Dick always picked on Les for her height, but it was only play until she climbed up something or him, or attacked him in some way. She got her iPod back.

                Les blazed through the day, waiting for something, anything to happen. Mostly she was waiting for the end. She self-consciously pulled her sleeves down further whenever someone passed her. When she and Dick were together for Lunch and Latin, she bunched her hands into fists and would not release the hems of her sleeves. She couldn’t let him see what she had done again. He didn’t understand; he would only worry.

                Of course he noticed, but he wouldn’t say anything. He would pretend that he didn’t see anything. He knew her signs, and she knew that. Nothing was said between them at lunch or Latin, and Les sped out of the classroom before Dick could rise to his full height out of the seat.

                Once she had made her way to French, Les claimed her seat in the back near the window. She always liked to sit near a window. They provided a means of escape, if she ever needed one. She never had the need, but she liked to think there was always a way out. She sometimes daydreamed about how she would make her daring escape if someone entered the building, she daydreamed about anything and everything, but sometimes she thought too much.

                The sun is bright today. It’s almost as if I can feel the power of the sun in its light. What else could have that power? Is love that powerful? What is love? How would I know what it is? How does anyone?  It really seems like everyone falls in love, but then they fall out of it. I thought it was supposed to last forever. Maybe it doesn’t; maybe I’m just crazy. What’s that over there? Oh, someone just dropped their book. What about Dick? I don’t love him, right? I can’t. He’s my best friend. No, he’s more than that. He’s like a brother, but he’s not. He’s me. Could I love him? I do, but I don’t. He is me, and I don’t even know who I am. I don’t love myself, that’s for sure.

                “Pardon?” a voice pulled Les out of her mental wanderings. A sentence was written on the board, and the teacher stood at the front of the room looking impatiently.

                “Um… La biblioteca dispone di quel libro nella parte posteriore.”

                “That’s probably impressive Spanish Leslie, but this is French class.”

                “Excusez-moi, madame, mais je parlais italien.”

                “Don’t be so smart. I know you’re taking all those classes, but that does not give you an excuse to not pay attention in my class.”

                “I was merely confused. I was distracted.”

                “Are you confused about where the door is?”

                “No, it’s right over there. Why?”

                “Because you are going through to the door, and to the office.”

                “What did I do?”

                “I’ve had enough with your attitude. Leave now?”
                “What did I fucking do?”

                “Just leave.”

                “Merde!” Leslie rose out of her seat, and started to gather her things.

                “Get up now and get out of my class.”

                “I AM STANDING UP!” With that remark, Les, stormed out of the class.

                Going down the hallways, Les made her way in the direction of the principal’s office. At the last minute, Les turned around and strutted toward the math hall. She stopped in front of Mr. Quasar’s class. She looked in the open window in the door. She spotted Dick, and, without hesitation, called out, “Hey, Big Dick!” Not surprisingly, everyone turned around. She shot Dick a smile and hand-heart, before bolting out the faculty exit at the end of the hall.

Reasons I Love Shane (L Word)

Shane McCutchceon is a fictional character on The L Word, which to put in simple terms is a lesbian sex show. It is more than that, but that is the easiest way to say it, because the show itself is sex with the viewers. Watching each episode makes you realize things about yourself that you never realized, makes things happen inside you without you realizing it until it's too late. This show leaves the viewer fucked, high and dry. Few people can watch it without connecting to something. For me, it's Dana, but this is about Shane, the crazy mother-fucker who...well here's a list.

• Unconditional love for her friends
• Has anyone's back
• Gay, but doesn't need to be proud because the world fucking loves her
• Can sit there doing nothing, but still looks fucking endearing
• Doesn't try, but succeeds in making EVERYONE fall in love with her
• Makes all of her friends look beautiful
• A philosopher that anyone can understand
• Is the only person who can pull off driving a truck
• Will listen to anyone's problems without judgement
• Completely bad ass
• She will not stand for anyone fucking up their life, even if she doesn't always take her own advice
• Genuinely cares about people
• Can be the most entertaining person only by placing glow-stick jewelry while seeming to be daydreaming, but actually listening to everything that is being said to her and processing it like a genius
• Loves people forever
• I need a life because the most perfect person in my opinion exists only in a television show that was ended in 2009
• Always looks amazing
• The only honest person in the world
• I wish I was more like her (not the extreme drug thing, but the confidence things along with others)
• Seems to understand everything
• Tries to make people understand others
• Extremely cool no matter what
• Tells the most adorable stories
• Does whatever she can to help

Yeah, I'm in love with a fictional character. Well not really. I just really love Shane, and The L Word, and everything about it even though it is nothing but drama. I guess fictional drama is livable because I only have to deal with it inside my head where it doesn't survive for long/consecutive periods of time. So this is just too much to deal with for a long time. You can probably tell that my list got a little bit...meh...halfway through. I can't remember what I was talking about, and the title is just distracting me. Oh androgyny.

Fairy Tale (With No Fairies...That I Originally Planned To, But Who Knows With My Brain)

To start off: When I trip on my heels, this is what I see: the lamp is spinning and it's staring at me. I got a CAT Scan of my head and I ain't afraid to show, it show, it show it, show it. I'm crazy and I know it.
Okay, enough of that crap.

Once upon a time there was a kingdom. This kingdom was ruled by a family: a king, a queen, and two princesses. The king and queen reigned for years, but when the eldest princess came of age, their power faded.  As the two princesses vied for power, the eldest reigned supreme.
The older princess ruled the kingdom with no cares about how she was viewed. She tried her best to be fair, but her punishments were swift. She was studious and strong. She worked hard for herself, trying not to rely on others.
The younger princess was shallow. She went to the public events. She was always dressed in the finest of gowns when in the eyes of the citizens. Her many servants feared her temper, which was always short and ended in fits of violence, but no one ever dared lay a hand on one of the royalty.
The older princess knew she was lacking in knowledge and skill to rule the country as well as she could. So she traveled far and wide to all the neighboring countries and as many distant countries as she could, to learn about others, and spread welcome from her kingdom. She traveled for over a year, and while she was gone, the younger princess reigned over in a year of terror.
When the older princess returned, peace had been made with the kingdoms of far and near, all except for hers. The kingdom was in shambles. The younger princess refused the older princess access to the castle, and when the older princess broke in at night, she ordered her to be exiled from the kingdom. The older princess snuck over the border, and gathered a group of followers. These followers scaled the palace walls and stole the crown and the rest of the belongings of the older princess.
The next morning, a caravan of wagons was circled in front of the palace. The older princess stood in the middle and called forth all who would follow her. One hundred and twelve people pledged their loyalty to her in hopes of peace and order. The younger princess was awoken just before noon by a chambermaid who warned her of the gathering. After a fit of temper at being awoken too early, she realized that only her sister could have caused a gathering such as the one outside her window. The younger princess rushed down the stairs and out the door, screaming for guards all the way. As she emerged from the palace doors the older princess had flipped up the hood of her cloak, climbed aboard a wagon, and rode off toward the border. The younger princess ordered the guards to follow them, and they did, until they reached the border. The older princess escaped to build her own kingdom, and hopefully to one day unite all the other kingdoms in peace, or at least to overthrow the younger princess. But for now, the older princess had to reign over her newly claimed kingdom.
She and her followers named in Queensland, for the newly crowned queen of the older princess.

Be Prepared!

Yeah, I think I'm just about the best procrastinator in the world, but this time I had (sort of) an excuse. You know with the whole, graduating from high school (officially) thing. Yeah that's not a very good excuse to not write about Leslie and Richard. Maybe this will redeem me: I have been interacting with humans! Mostly just my friends, but some of them are the people I'm forced to interact with because of a stupid thing called "alphabetical order." I don't mind order, I just don't like the people I'm forced to be around from my school. BUT I DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT THAT ANYMORE! So like I said, I've been around people. Actually the majority of people I was with (by number of people, not amount of time with each person) were my inspiration for Richard. I've been subconsciously observing them. Richard (yeah the name, and the fact that he's really tall and athletic and his nickname "Big Dick"), David (there is not a single drop of fiction in that character, he is real), Mark (the guy with hair), Braxton (the rich bastard), and Matt (the sweet one who will be the last to know). Yeah, they all get credit for inspiring the character of Dick.
So yeah. I'm going to write you guys a story! I won't give up on my deadline, I just have to actually research for the rest of "Big Dick, Little Dyke" and I am just way too lazy to do it right now. I'll write you guys a bit of a fairy tale (honestly I'm thinking of Moriarty right now and Sir Boastalot). Anywhich, I won't be writing it until after my CT scan today. Want to know about that? I'm sure you don't, but I'm going to write about it anyway. I'm getting a CT scan (or CAT scan, I don't know the difference, but they said both so I'm just confuzzled) of my skull today to see if I've grown enough bone from my bone grafting in December to do the second surgery. Surgery on what? My skull of course. Well my jaw-ish area. I'm missing two teeth (my upper lateral incisors), but they just never grew in so my dentist pulled my baby-teeth when I was 10 and said I could deal with it with when I was 18. Well I've been 18 for a while, and apparently I didn't have enough bone for the TITANIUM ROOT THEY HAVE TO SCREW INTO MY SKULL, so they had to do a bone grafting. So to recap, I had to get a portion of my skull separated, then a growth stimulant was stuck in there, 6 months later I get to have them DRILL INTO THE BONE I SPENT ALL THAT TIME GROWING, and then 4-6 months after that I get a tooth slapped on there. I didn't even include the heavy pain medications they have to put me on for that. Wow this is going on forever. Little information about me: I'm allergic to pain killers, well Acetaminophen actually, but I have a low tolerance for Ibuprofen, and I have to take arthritis medicine for pain, but for things like sugery...I get narcotics! Yeah, this shit will be fun to read when I'm recuperating.
Anywhich, expect some kind of heart-something fairy tale after I get my CT scan. It might be a little crazy, any kind of scan of my skull seems to affect my brain. I can't walk a straight line after X-Rays, not since my orthodontist apparently used me to learn how her new X-Ray machine worked.
RAWR! I NEED TO STOP RANTING ON AND ON!
But readers, I would like to leave you with one thing: Don't you forget about me!

I'M SO PROUD OF MY BEST FRIEND!!!

My best friend-no-my Best Est Ever Friend (my BEEF) has started watching Sherlock. Now, if you don't know what that is...I'm sorry, but I'm going to fangirl out over here.
Sherlock is this Ah-freaking-mazing British television show staring Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch (insert high-pitched squealing from everyone on the planet at his beauty). This is a modern adaptation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's famous works. Sherlock is gay. John served in Afghanistan. Sherlock does drugs, but occasionally uses nicotine patches when he needs to think. John writes a blog throughout the show about his adventures with Sherlock. Sherlock writes a blog to, filled with amazingly true things, such as you can tell a pilot by their left thumb, anti-social people blink considerably less than normal people, there are 243 different types of tobacco ash, and the list is endless and constantly referred to, but apparently it's too boring for most of the fictional internet, so Sherlock and John get most of their customers through John's blog. Microft Holmes is a successful politician. Now, there is a villain. JIM MORIARTY! An amazingly wonderful evil-doer, played by Andrew Scott, who stole the BAFTA for Best Supporting Actor from under the nose of Martin Freeman (John Watson).
Side story, since I don't want to give too much away, and if you don't need things to be given away and you are squealing while reading every word that is in some way related to Benedict Cumberbatch, Martin Freeman, Andrew Scott, or Sherlock, then you might just enjoy this. I know I freak out over it every time. I also don't want to talk more about it because I'm afraid of embarrassing myself because I have yet to finish watching series two.
My middle name is Murtagh. This is also my mother's last name. During her generation the name was shortened  from Mhuircheartaigh by the British. I'm not sure why, but my mother always says something about school and evil nuns not being able to pronounce her name. Anywhich it was pronounced two different ways. The Southerners pronounced it "Muh-Ker-Tea" while the Northerners pronounced it "Moriarty." That just made me fangirl out so much when I heard about it. So way way way back in the day, when the English had complete control and ownership of Ireland, some of my mother's ancestors moved to England, most of them from the north. Those that moved had to change their name to fit the pronunciation by the English-speakers. So those Northerner Mhuircheartiaghs became the Moriarty family. I HAVE  BEEN DRIVEN COMPLETELY MAD BY THAT PIECE OF KNOWLEDGE! I COULD BE RELATED TO SOMEONE WHO (depending on how long ago they moved over there, my source didn't tell me exact dates before she died, and I learned this story before Sherlock came out...haha...was released) MIGHT HAVE INSPIRED THE CHARACTER OF MORIARTY FOR SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE! THAT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE SUCH A BAMF!
But yes. I am really really really really (did I mention really?) really proud of my BEEF for finally watching Sherlock after I kept telling her about it's awesomeness and dragging her to the Sherlock photoshoot at Otakon, and getting into a battle with the Doctor (that is an entirely different fangirl-ism), and the amazing people I made her hang out with while we were at the photoshoot, though I will say that I left as they started to pull up the Johnlock. I mean it's cute, but Sherlock is married to his work. He doesn't have time for dating.

Inside Leslie

You know like her brain and stuff. What did you think I meant? Pervert.

Small disclaimer: THIS IS NOT A PERSONAL EXPERIENCE! THIS IS FICTIONAL! LESLIE IS AN EXTREMELY MESSED UP CHARACTER! SHE CAN GET THROUGH THIS! YOU JUST HAVE TO BELIEVE IN HER! IF YOU DON’T SHE WILL KNOW! IF YOU DON’T TELL THREE PEOPLE TO CUT A HOLE IN ONE OUT OF EVERY THREE SOCKS SHE WON’T PULL OUT OF THIS! SHE WILL HAUNT YOU WHILE SHE IS STILL ALIVE! THIS IS JUST TO MAKE IT LOOK LIKE I WROTE MORE THAN I DID WHILE IN REALITY I SPENT MY WRITING TIME TALKING TO MYSELF WHILE I FILMED MYSELF WRITING SO I COULD…I DON’T KNOW WHY I DID THAT! I JUST DID! YOU CAN’T JUDGE ME!

                Leslie is sitting on a sink in her bathroom. Her fist is clenched around something small. She is crying. Who would ever understand? This was something that no one would understand. Not Dick, not Jim, not David, not Donald, and not Renée.

                There was something in her. Something that needed to come out. Something that needed to be free. But if that came out of her, would she survive? Would she be able to handle that? Where was this coming from? How could this be her? No one was really like this. No one actually felt this way, correct? There had to be something wrong. No one could know. She didn’t even know. There had to be something worth thinking about other than the ever-present self-doubt.

                She lowered her fist to her exposed right arm. The mirror reflects a shine of something jutting out the corner of her hand. Biting her lip, she brought it across her soft flesh. A crimson line appeared rapidly and diagonally across her forearm from the inside of her elbow to the middle of her inner-muscle. (I will look up that muscle later if this ever becomes a sitcom like I plan for it to MWAHAHAHA). She looked down at the streak; she saw the crimson liquid flowing out. In that liquid she saw the darkness in her mind flowing out of her. In the pain she felt the fear subsiding and escaping, but as the blood clotted, she knew parts of it were trapped inside her. She would just keep going until she was cleansed.

She closed her eyes, and felt the pain and confusion ebb from her open wound. This was working. Tomorrow was another day. Another day to live, another day to be with them, another day to work with the world, another day to cleanse.

                There was a jangle as the doorknob turned. Jim walked into the bathroom to see Leslie quickly pulling her right arm out of sight. He knew instantly what had happened. He had been in her situation before. “Give it to me,” he said.

                “Give you what?”

                “The blade, I can see your arm.”

                “I don’t want to.”

                “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

                “You don’t have to watch.”

                “Leslie, please.”

                “For the last time, no. This is has nothing to do with you. Just leave me be.”

                “I don’t want you to do this.”

                “You don’t know what I go through.”

                “Maybe I would if you would tell me.”

                Leslie slid off the sink, the blood had dripped down her arm and stopped at her wrist, forming bulbous red bubbles at the end of matching lines. She wouldn’t move toward him or away from him. She merely stood there, still. He moved toward her, but she remained still. He put his arms around her, but she remained still. He said, “I love you Leslie.” She remained still. “I don’t want you to be hurt. Talk to me.”

                “Get the fuck out of my way.” Leslie pushed out of him embrace and past him to the door. “And get out of my house.”

This Could Be A Public Service Announcement

Hello friends, Romans, followers, victims of shameless advertising, email receivers, and random viewers. I really don't feel like writing anything this week or ever, but don't worry; I won't break the chain. I'm actually kind of hungry while I'm writing this and if it breaks off and makes no sense for a bit, that means I probably got up to eat some brownies and came back to write later. Or I'm just playing a game of phone-tag with my parents, like I just was. But there is now a promise of food in my VERY near future! That makes me happy.
Back to the point I was ORIGINALLY going to make. I don't feel like writing. It's like how JennaMarbles doesn't feel like cleaning her room, and I will say that I have tried a great number of things instead of both writing and cleaning my room. My room is quite a bit of a hot mess. Almost as hot as this mess. Yeah, I'm just spamming you guys. That's the main thing I like to do instead of cleaning my room and writing. I've been baking, eating, finding out that I subconsciously horde food, learning that I dislike people more than I thought I did, using the servants entrance at work, sleeping in a closet, playing with shoes, and graduating high school yet again. I don't like high school.
Got off-track again. I don't think I can write the next part of "Big Dick Little Dyke" yet. This is because the next part is going to be the continuation of Richard going through the music on Leslie's iPod. I haven't been doing my research. I just don't listen to that much lesbian music. Well I do, but it's not for her character. I'm not talking about my taste in music right now.
So anywhich, you guys might get something from Leslie's point of view. I'm kind of tired of writing from a guy's perspective. I thought it would be easy, you know: sex, women, how to combine them. Damn it, I had to make him difficult. Oh well, maybe I'll just throw some random stuff at the all powerful Steve and tell you to be happy with it. I'm hungry. BROWNIES!
Okay then, it is settled. I'll do my musical research later, and have Richard's part ready next week.
Say, "BYE SPIDERMAN!"
Well actually Batman is the one in my room.

BYE BATMAN!

Musical Exposure (Part 1)

                The final bell rang at 3:40. Les escaped Latin earlier, fleeing to French class, but Dick was trapped on a different pathway: he was headed for Calculus. The day wore on like this. He knew her schedule, and how their paths only crossed for lunch and Latin. She practically lived in the language hall, except for her intense biology course. He wore on through an ordinary day, English, Physics, Latin, Calculus, and Gym, all before running off to some sort of athletics practice. His days never changed, whereas she stockpiled up on everything so that her last year could be spent in tolerable stress.

                Around 4:30, Dick emerged from the school to find his shiny little Mazda. Les’s Ford  Fairmont had left the grounds as she normally took off the second she was released from school. He climbed into his car, after unlocking his door by remote, to sit almost comfortably inside with his legs stretched as far as was possible in the car. Maneuvering out the parking lot Dick left the campus too.

                A few minutes after he entered the world of moving cars, he noticed Les’s iPod was still plugged into his radio. He sighed in exasperation at her usual forgetfulness, but he pressed play to relieve his frustration. Immediately he was greeted by a loud beat and shouting. “What the-“ was all he could manage to say before the lyrics covered his words.

                “Stomp, stomp, I’ve arrived. Drop the beat, nasty face, why you looking at me?”**

                Dick was confused. How was this what Les was listening to? Why was she listening to it so loudly? What did she just say?

                “You think I can’t get hurt like you, you motherfucker. I can do it like a brother, do it like a dude. Grab my crotch, wear my hat low like you.”**

                This kind of music went on, scaring the mild-mannered Dick of his lifelong friend’s taste in music. He quickly pressed the next button on his radio. He was slightly comforted by the familiar sound of a beat from some kind of Hip Hop. This was what he was used to when it came to Les. She usually could sing along to any rap, it was just a bit weird when she would in his car. This song seemed friendly.

                “I’m captivated, mesmerized by your eyes. I saw you glance at me and look kind of shy. I think you’re sexy and you got a nice swagger.”***

                That seemed more like Les. Something fast paced, but listener friendly. He let it play for a while. Before long he was singing along to the repetitive chorus:

                “Hey sexy baby want to make you mine

                If it’s not for forever than at least tonight

                I’m a sucker for your energy come over to my house

                And feel my love machine”***

That was, until he wondered about the singer. Was that a girl’s voice? What was he listening to? He quickly turned it off as he pulled into his driveway.

                Dick climbed out of his car and unfolded himself next to the open door. He gathered his things and decided at the last minute to take Les’s iPod in with him. What types of things could he find out about her from this one little window to her life?

*I do not own any of these songs! These are merely songs that I know and thought would fit Leslie's character well.

**"Do It Like a Dude" by Jessie J

***"Love Machine" by God-Des and She

Red Ones Bring You Up, Blue Ones Bring You Down

Are they fucking kidding me? Seriously? Here is a rant. I am not writing. Well I am writing, but this shit is real. Holy Fucking Shit is it real.
So my whole purpose for going to New York all that time ago was to work for the Coen Brothers on their new film, but that didn't work out. Then I got a job working on The Corrections and Notorious. The Corrections is not going to air.
Seriously, I spent six weeks working on that pilot. I worked for the most awesome people I have ever known. I drove around New York City for that show. I got paid to work on that show. And now they are not going to show it because HBO thinks the viewers would not be able to handle the jumping back and forth between the decades that goes on through the plot. Seriously? IT WAS BEAUTIFUL! There was rain, and a set, they were going to buy a house for the rest of the shots in Gary's house, they paid me over $2500 in the six weeks I worked there. Why did this happen? Why are they putting out yet another cop drama? WHY? Notorious had better make it, or heads will roll. Probably mine. Well actually more like implode from the disappointments of my life.

To explain the title, you need to watch St. Trinian's. I've had awesomeness today: getting my hair dyed the colour of a TARDIS (accidentally, it was supposed to be purple), I watched Bernadette and Howard get married on The Big Bang Theory and getting my car resurrected from an exploded 18-year-old fuel pump. Sadly it had to be followed by this tragedy as I decided to Google any possible preview for the show I worked on. I fornicating hate this.

Aftermath...Afterlatin

                Back at the table, Renée and Donald, or as they called each other Soulflight and Riverhaze, had joined David. Les and Dick reclaimed their seats next to them as they were in mid-conversation with David.

                “What did that turkey ever do to the antelope?” Renée inquired of David.

                “What could it do?” David annoyingly responded, “Absolutely nothing. Thus why it-“

                “Flies away before this gets any weirder.” Donald piped in.

                Les waves her hands between her face and the others, “Once again, I don’t want to know what you freaks are talking about.”

                They all continue their lunch. When Dick had finished, he stood up to return his tray. “Hey babes, would you take this up for me? Please?” Les batted her eyelashes as she asked him.

                “Sure,” was all he could say.

                “Thanks Dick!”

                After he had walked far enough away, Les gathered her books and stood up. “Hey,” she said to Renée, “Tell him I went to Latin already.”

                “Why? Is something wrong?”

                “Nothing is wrong. I just have to go before you freaks stuff tofu in my face.” Les stood up, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and left though the doors to head to Latin.

                Dick returned to two empty seats.  Renée chimes in, “Leslie’s headed to Latin.”

                “Why? We still have fifteen minutes left.”

                “She just left, rather suddenly, and a little rudely.”

                Donald adds, “What Soulflight is trying to say is that she seemed to have a lot on her mind.”

                “What could she possibly have on her mind?” Dick inquires.

                “Well, have you ever noticed her taste in partners? You know; their generally not very masculine.”

                “The emo gays you mean?” David interjects.

                Donald, being the lover of mankind that he is, protests, “We shouldn’t call them that. They’re people, just like us. Although, he does have a point, they aren’t exactly perfect for her.”

                “Riverhaze, she probably just wants to be by herself. You know she’s not the most sociable of creatures.”

                “Okay, you guys are talking about her like she’s from another planet. She just went to Latin. Maybe I should join her. You guys just don’t know her at all.”

                “What a bitch,” David remarks as he follows Leslie’s path to the language hall.

*In Latin class*

                Les is sitting in her usual place, a desk near the window in the back corner. Her textbook is opened to the vocabulary list for the chapter, and an open notebook is overlapping the page. However, instead of diligently translating, she is facing the window. Her eyes are closed and her chin is resting on a fist, as the sunlight is just beginning to stream in over her fingertips stretched over the edge of the desk.

                “Don’t leave me with those freaks again,” Dick says as he slides into the seat next to her.

                “They had fake bacon,” was all Les said through lazy lips. She acted as though she were asleep and too exhausted to be angry that she was being woken too early.

                Dick sighs in exasperation at her excuses. It was always like this. She always had some crazed reason for doing anything, and they often made sense less than her actions did. “I see you’re working diligently as always.”

                “Four syllables, wooh. That’s a new record.”

                “You know that insulting me isn’t a good idea.”

                “And you know that I’ve already translated this chapter and I know how Sextus gets out of the ditch.”

                “And how does that explain your sleeping in class?”

                “Little hint: Sextus does absolutely nothing. He just sits there and watches the carriage transform into Optimus Primus.”

                “You’re insane.”

                “YOU’RE insane.”

                “Are you going to wake up any time soon?”

                Les doesn’t respond, but she overdramatizes her response with fake snores and letting her head fall off of her fist. She ‘startles’ awake.

                “Why do I talk to you?”

                “Because you love me.”

                Luckily for Dick, Mr. Bowserman entered the classroom at that time, following the students who had wandered in while Dick was talking to the sleeping Les. “Salvete class!” He was answered by some incomprehensible gibber that the students hoped could pass for Latin. “Miss Birch, is there a reason you’re resting? Are you deeply thinking about your opening remark?”

                Les sits up to look at Mr. Bowserman and says matter-of-factly, “Noli illegitimi carborundum, Magister,” before returning to her preferred sleeping position of resting her face on the desk with her forehead resting on the backs of her hands.

Well This Is Awkward

Later at lunch

                Dick is sitting at his usual table, waiting next to an empty seat for Les. He plans to make his move as soon as she breaks up with her newest boyfriend, Jim. This one seems even more messed up to him than she is. He is sure he can help Les. As he’s waiting for her to show up, she walks up behind him. “Guys are dicks.” She punches him in the back.

                “What did you do that for?”
                “Because guys are fucking jerks,” She massages her knuckles.

                “Is Jim in one piece?”

                “Oh that’s very mature. Just go make fun of the cutters.”

                “No, no. I meant did you kill him for being such a fucking jerk?”

                “No. He just can’t seem to understand me.”

                “Well what did you say to him?”

                “I told him that this just didn’t feel right.”

                “Fourth guy in two months. How long did this one last?” David appears across the table from Dick and Les.

                “We only went out twice.”

                “That has to be some new slut record.” Dick is appalled at David’s comment, and Les kicks him under the table. David cries out slightly.

                “Wow Dick, if looks could kill…” Les winks at him.

                David’s face has scrunched up as he mutters, “More like if heels could kill.”

                Les kicks him again. “Oh, they can.”

                These strange three continue their lunch in what could never pass for quiet. David badgers Les about Jim and the other boys. Dick defends Les. Les eats her fries as she accuses Dick of patronizing her and prattles on to David about the difference between being a slut and experimenting.

                “How is it experimenting if you always pick the same type of guys?” David asks.

                “They are not the same,” Les argues.

                “They’re always this creepy, emo type, which maybe is what turns you on, since you’ve got that whole-“ he looks at Dick trying not to upset him, “you know-thing going on. And just for the record, I always thought Jim was gay.”

                “He is not gay. He’s bi.”

                “Like there’s a difference. He likes dick.”

                Dick perks up, “Excuse me?”

                “No, no. He had no interest in you. I told him you were straight.”

                Dick isn’t consoled by this latest comment. He looks awkwardly down at his lunch as he swirls a French fry in ketchup. Les and David continue to debate the sexuality of poor Jim until he decides to leave. “Excuse me.”

                “Where are you going?” Les inquires.

                “To the bathroom?” Dick answers in a voice that seems unsure how to answer.

                “Oh. Have fun then!”

                After Dick has walked off David continues his tormenting of Les. “You know, you might get better guys if you grew your hair a little, or at least stopped dating guys that look like girls.”

                “I like my hair short. And they do not look like girls!”

                “Oh, come on! They all have longer hair than you and wear more makeup even.”

                “David, even you wear more makeup than me.”

                “I don’t wear any.”

                “Exactly.”

                “You do wear makeup.”

                “Yes, but it doesn’t look like I’m wearing makeup.”

                “But you’re still wearing makeup.”

                “It doesn’t count if you can’t see it.”

                “It does, especially to guys.”

                “Well I don’t wear it every day.”

                “Whatever. You still wear makeup.”

                “I’m tired of hearing that word.”

                “Fine then.” The conversation drops between David and Les for a minute. She continues her lunch before he strikes again. “You know, there are some guys who like you, even though you look a little butchy.”

                “None of them were gay!”

                “No, I mean guys you haven’t fucked around with yet.”

                “What?”

                “I believe you mean to say ‘who?’”

                “What are you talking about?”
                “Leslie, just go ask Richard. He’ll tell you. He should have by now anyway.”

                Les sits in front of him, a little confused. She decides to wait for Dick, not to talk to him, but just to get away from the confusion emanating from David. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She walks between the tables and leans against the wall by the entrance to the boys’ bathroom.

                Dick emerges to her calling, “What’s up, Big Dick?” His face reddens a little, but he turns around. He sees her waiting for him, and he has the urge to lean over her, to be close to her, to not care who was watching like her and kiss her. He puts his hands in his pockets and resists as he stands before her. “Hey,” he manages to get out.

                “Do I look like a girl?”

                Dick is taken by surprise by this inquisition. “You’re beautiful.”

                “Yes, but guys can be beautiful too. In many species, the male is the more visually appealing one and the females are often quite plain. But that’s not what I asked.”

                “Why are you even asking?”

                “I have no idea. David was talking about something, and then he mentioned you and something about us talking, or maybe you talking. Should I be talking? No you should have said something by now.”

                Dick is confused, as normal when she gets going on things that involve David. She doesn’t quite seem to understand his way of saying things. “What?”

                “That’s what he said: That you should have said something by now. What was he talking about? Do you want to tell me something? Or should you be the one to point out something obvious like half of my hair has fallen out because you’ve known me the longest? Or am I just confusing myself?”

                “You’re confusing me.”

                “Alrightie then…how about you just tell me something. Anything.”

                “Anything?”
                “Anything.”

                “Well I was just thinking, now that you and Jim aren’t you and Jim, maybe you would—or you don’t have to—unless you would like to go out with me—or we could just stay friends, I’m cool with being friends, but maybe you wouldn’t, or you would if I wasn’t. What I’m trying to say is—“

                “Will you go out with me?”

                “Yes. Well, I mean yes that was what I was going to say, unless you’re asking me. Are you?”

                “You were in the process of asking me.”

                “Oh right, so—“

                “Sorry.”

                “What?”

                “Look, you’re my best friend. You’re my oldest friend. You’re my biggest friend. It would just be awkward. I mean I like you, but what if it didn’t work out? We couldn’t be each other’s best friends anymore. Remember what happened with Mark?”

                “Yes, but I would never do that.”

                “No matter how much I hurt you? No. I’m sorry. You’re my friend. I am consciously putting you in the Friend-Zone because I don’t want to lose you.”

                “Tell me the truth.”

                “You’re just not my type.”

                “Oh.” Dick was crushed by this. He wished he could pull off a comical “ouch” like she could, but all he could do was stand in shame and embarrassment.

                “Oh come on you big pussy.” Les embraced Dick tightly before dragging him back to their table by his elbow.

Introducing Leslie and Richard

                There was Leslie, and there was Richard: two friends who had grown up together, two good friends who shared memories, two best friends who didn’t really know each other.

                “Hey Dick, can I charge my iPod in your car for a minute?”

                “You really should get an adapter for USBs.”

                “But why should I buy one when I can just use yours for free?”

                “So you don’t come off as a bum? And school starts soon; you won’t be able to use it anyway.”

                “…So can I charge it through the day?”

                “Do you know what that could do to my car battery?”

                “You were the one that told me about leaving your iPod charging in your car for a week while you were on vacation and nothing happened. So what is seven hours going to do to it?”

                Dick sighs irritated, “Fine Les, go ahead.”

                Les shouts a quick, “Thanks babe! I love you!” as she slips into his Mazda. Dick has heard this from her before, and he is getting tired of it not having any meaning.

                “You know, maybe the whole ‘I love you’ thing is what makes you come off as a slut.” Dick and Les walk at their usual pace out of the parking lot, him trying to take his enormous strides slowly, and her practically jogging to keep up.

                She kicks him in the calf at this remark. “I’m not a slut. I’m just affectionate! I don’t believe in hiding my emotions behind subtleties and innuendos.”

                “You know, maybe the old fashioned way of going about things works because it’s safer. You know, people don’t reject you so easily if you don’t let them.”

                “You sound like a whiny little bitch. Just grow a pair and talk to this imaginary chick you have been obsessing about for years.”

                “Will you please stop saying she’s fake?”

                “Oh come on, no girl is smart, pretty, and fun to be with. The closest thing I can come up with is a prostitute working her way through law school.”

                “Well you’re pretty.”

                “Oh really? Which is my better quality: my scars or my long nose?”

                “You’re smart.”

                “As every one of these pretentious bastards will agree with you as they call me ‘Nerd Girl.’ Can’t they at least come up with a more suitable or original insult?”

                “I like being with you.”

                “And that’s why we’re best friends, baby.”

                Dick and Les are entirely different. While Dick is introverted, Les is rather extroverted and tends to express her opinions more than she should. Dick quite the athlete: tennis, golf, and most importantly for a guy of his height basketball. Les is more content to stay home with her books. He’s a rich bastard, according to her. He can barely see her without tilting his head downward. His shiny silver 2011 Mazda 6 is always ironically parked next to her faded blue 1981 Ford Fairmont. She works on a farm; he’s only ever worked out. It’s weird how they’re best friends through all of this. They do share some qualities. They’re both seventeen. They share a short haircut for their curly hair, though hers is a soft brown while his is white-blonde. And they have something else in common Dick can’t quite see.

                They get through the front doors, and she’s still teasing him about his “imaginary” girlfriend. “Well I can’t tell if you really exist. I can’t see you half the time.” His usual comebacks to her insults involve her height.

                “Ooh! That hurts!” she exclaims, dramatically holding her abdomen over a invisible stab-wound. She sees a smiling face across the hall. “There’s Jim! Gotta go! Love ya!” She gives him one last punch in the arm before running off to grab the arm of a different guy.

                “Welcome to the friend-zone, my good man,” a sleazy David says as he appears next to a dumbfounded Dick. “Get over the bitch, Richard. She obviously prefers the emo freaks. And I mean ALL of the emo freaks.”

                “Shut up man. She’s not really a slut.”

                “Look all I’m saying is that you’re probably not going to tap that anytime soon.”

                “Oh yeah? I’ll ask her out if you don’t think I can.”

                “Go ahead. What’s stopping you?”

                “Well, I can’t now. She’s with her boyfriend.”

                “Give it a few days. She’ll dump him soon. Then he’ll have more things to be emo about. Is that why she picks them? Do they compare scars? Is that what emos do? Or does she just like to fuck with their heads like she does with yours?”

                “Look, she and I are friends—“

                “Hence, the ‘Friend-Zone.’”

                “I don’t want to hurt her. I just keep thinking that maybe I can help her with the whole-you know-thing.”

                “You can’t help her. She is the worst type to help. She has no reason to cut, so there is no reason for her to stop. It’s probably just for attention.”

Ghangsters (No That Is Not a Typo)

                As Amelia, Richard, and Braxton lived in their triumph over the G, a shadow fell across the parking lot. It was too late for kids to be hanging around a school, though it wasn’t yet dark. Braxton looked up at the clouds like a turkey in the rain.

Braxton: It’s getting dark.

Richard: Oh really? What does the weather girl have to say about this data you have collected?

Amelia: The term is “meteorologist.”

Richard: Excuse me!

Braxton: Guys! I’m just saying that the clouds are blocking the sun rather suddenly. No need to get sarcastic about it.

Amelia: I wasn’t being sarcastic.

Richard [grinning slyly and making a steeple from his fingers]: But I was.

                The Three bickered for a bit, continuing to argue about the clouds, Braxton’s definition of sarcasm, Braxton’s femininity, and whether or not Richard and Amelia were secretly plotting to kill Braxton over the weekend.

Braxton: I’m metro-sexual! Except I couldn’t care less about clothes and shit, so I’m not. But I am! I’M NOT GAY!

Amelia: You are just one flaming-hetero.

                Up on the hill overlooking the parking lot, their arguments were carried to the ears of listeners. These listeners had seen the G go down to mess with the Three, and be pushed down the hill pants-less.  As the Three continue to bicker, they creep down the side of the hill, and advance upon the Three.

Amelia: What good would a fucking turtle do?

Braxton: Just don’t bring turtles into this!

Richard: Dude seriously. They aren’t ninjas.

                The listeners, also G’s, were now upon the Three as this argument increased in volume and decreased in sense. Braxton was the first to point out the mass of G’s surrounding the Three.

G1: What’d you bitches stop fo’?

Braxton: Uh…she’s the bitch, we’re dudes.

Amelia [slaps Braxton’s shoulder]: What do you want?

G2: That’s our bitch down thur, what did you have to go and push him down thur fo’?

Richard: Wait, I thought we were the bitches?

G3: Shut up!

Braxton: Why don’t you make me?

G2: Fine then.

                The second G moved toward Braxton with an arm raised. Braxton retreated a step, but not enough to entirely avoid the punch that landed on his collarbone. “God damn it!” he screamed into the air.

                Richard moved forward and grabbed the second G before he could land another punch on Braxton, but another came from behind him and reached up to grab his neck. As Richard and Braxton scrambled with the numerous little G’s, Amelia was batting away at the G around Richard’s neck with her ice scraper. Or at least she was until she noticed something.

                “Hey guys look! That loser’s still trying to put his pants back on!” Amelia laughed, and Braxton…made some sound resembling a laugh and chipmunk choking.

                In this momentary confusion, Richard managed to get out of the dangling G’s grip. Amelia shoved him toward his truck and pulled Braxton away, slamming him into the door of his boarder-jumper. Braxton got away first, then Richard pulled out of his parking spot. Amelia’s SHO, though was having trouble starting. She quickly locked all the doors and tried again with the key. The engine roared to life. “Thank whatever god there isn’t!” she exclaimed as she backed out of her parking space in time to see Braxton turn into the road with Richard waiting behind him. Amelia pulled in behind him and saw two of the unruly G’s climb into the back of Richard’s car in the way that only rude jerks could consider stealthily. Luckily for them Richard couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his ancient truck’s engine running. Amelia honked her car horn, and the G’s ducked. Richard waved in ignorance and drove off. Amelia groaned in exasperation and followed Richard.

                The Three were all travelling the same way, and Richard passed Braxton as soon as a second lane was available. As Richard drove by Braxton, one of the G’s popped up, and Braxton, startled, swerved and jumped the curb into someone’s yard. Richard stopped at a red light and the G’s jumped out of the truck bed and ran for Braxton. Richard saw the commotion in his mirrors, and turned right at the light and up the hill. Amelia followed, and they came in almost a full circle to meet at the top of the hill to see Braxton being chased by the two G’s. Amelia and Richard parked their cars and ran out to see the chase.

Richard: He’s a cross-country runner, he should be fine.

Amelia: He’s not that good though.

Richard: Well all he has to do is run until those guys get tired.

Amelia: Good point.

                Amelia and Richard watched from above, laughing at Braxton when they weren’t cheering him on.

Richard: So about that whole, gangster thing:  it seems like the times are a-changing.

Amelia: Yep, there’s just no respect for the classics anymore.  These guys are a ruthless swarm of crazed hooligans. Kind of like…who was that one crazy dude with the army? You know the guy in Asia? He had the cool beard.

Richard: You mean Genghis Khan?

Amelia: Yes! These guys are just Ghangsters.

Richard: Hey look! Braxton tripped!

Amelia: Ah fuck. Does this mean we have to go get him?