I read more than twice as fast as an average person! is that not cool? The average person reads 200 words a minute. I read 450!

Haha!

I was reading Glamour today (Because I do that sometimes. Argh. Stop. Laughing.) and it said that 'wild, uncontrolled curly blonde hair' is all the rage. You see, It happens sometimes. When the Big Fashion Gurus Upstairs suddenly decide that, for people like me, there is hope. That perhaps for one fleeting season hair like we are burdened with for eternity is the envy of everyone.

It happened in the 80's, you know. Perms. Incredibly popular. When my head of hair was sought after like Jennifer Anniston's shag. And now, now it seems to be coming back. Miracles can happen.

Anyway, after my Touched By a Hair Angel soliloquey there, I was going to press on the subject of me and the possibility of my New Puppy.

My lovely mother was in a pet shop today where she saw a darling German Shepherd puppy, four months old, purebred with papers, who was practically being abused in a tiny cage and was sick and malnourished. Beautiful creature, she said, if fed and played with a bit. The poor little thing! The pet shop owner said it had been there for two weeks already. We're off to see the little bit tomorrow and discover if we like it or not.

My whole life I've been dreaming of getting a dog, what's more a male German Shepherd to name Charlie (From All Dog's Go to Heaven, my favorite children's movie). This one is, however, female, which brings up the horrendous affair of choosing a name. My mother, one must realize, is infatuated with the silliest names imaginable. Bo-Bo, Foo-Foo, We-Wa, any hyphened name you can think of, she's named an animal by it. I prefer more stately names. Alexandra. Elizabeth. Claire. To that effect.

We, however, have come to a compromise.

To name the dog after a fabric.

Silk. Satin. Velvet. I was pulling for Satine from Moulin Rouge, but one cannot have everything.

Argh.

All alone, alone, and boyfriend-less. I was cool with it until a week ago. I was happy being single. Happy. Confident. A modern, independant girl, who didn't need a man to decide how she felt.

And then Idiot Ryan had to vaguely ask me out and it opened up a whole new scary world of possibilities. Scary, but exciting. And now my sixteenth birthday is the day after tomorrow and I have no one to buy me flowers and kiss me in that lovely special way and whisper 'Happy Birthday'.

That's all.

Alone.

All alone.

Aloonneeeee.

I'm so tired of being here

Buffy kneeled in the graveyard, her fingers tracing over the hard, cold, granite of her mother's tombstone, the shadows making ghosts that hung in the air around her.

Supressed by all my childish fears

She walked home slowly. The sky rumbled and broke open above her, spilling cold rain on her shoulders and face. She stopped, staring at the dark cement dotted with tiny drops, before turning her head towards the clouds and feeling a sob come up in her throat, burning, and her tears mingled with the rain.

And if you have to leave

Angel held her as she buried her face in his neck. The desperate sadness was hot between them as she felt herself running her fingers in his hair. He pulled away, looking into her eyes with a despair that was only hardened by resolution.

I wish that you would just leave

They danced together. He had already whispered what was inevitable, and she knew it was true, but she still clung, because it was the only thing left to do.

'Cause your presence still lingers here

She wandered around the empty mansion, her eyes dead and cold, reaching into her pocket. She looked at the ring one last time, glinting silver, like emptiness, and she set it on the hard floor. And walked away.

And it won't leave me alone

She tossed in bed, her hand clutching the pillow. Angel was kissing her, softly and with the pain only a doomed love can have. Her nails scraped against his back, the skin cold and peeling under her fingers. The passion bloomed in her throat and, with a harsh breath, she woke up.

These wounds won't seem to heal

Her hand strayed to her neck, feeling the tiny puckered mouths that still seemed to ache. She remembered the pull of her blood and the feeling of helplessness. A part of her wanted to feel it again.

This pain is just too real

She watched as he looked at her one last time, then turning away into the night just as he had came. His jacket swept behind him, then a car passed the road and he was gone. She sat on the curb of the sidewalk and stared until the night didn't seem to matter anymore.

There's just too much that time cannot erase

They stood in the hallway together. Awkward. A nervous laugh. Everything was coming back, but she wanted so desperately to hide it. She asked him to leave even though it wasn't what she wanted.

When you cried I'd wipe away all your tears

Behind him was hell, and before her was no choice. He had looked at her, uncomprehending, as she touched his face and kissed his wet cheeks. Close your eyes, she said. He did.

When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears

He stood on the hilltop, staring at the sunset that he could smell. She pleaded, her arm clutching his sleeve, and he pulled away. She could see he pain, always the pain, in his eyes. He bent over her, yelling to mask the fear, the tiredness of trying to be rightous for no reason.

I held your hand for all of these years

His palm was sweaty and cold in hers, but it didn't matter. His eyes were misty as they swung around in his head, and she felt like crying, but didn't. He had rasped out how sorry he was, but they both knew somewhere that it wouldn't change anything.

You still have

Her head was bowed and she could feel the despair strangle her as he touched her, with an unconcealed sadness in passion. He kissed her lips and whispered what was wrong. She said, 'Nothing.'

All of me

I have updated Complete Insanity!

It is a miracle I tell you, a MIRACLE!

Go here to read!

And I have found myself writing a Harry Potter Fanfiction! ::gasp:: I know! It is amazing!

Hurry! Click here to see!

It is lovely to update!

I attended a lovely party on Saturday night, complete with teeming people and loud music. It was a sleep over, and once the rambunctious party goers found themselves ushered out the door, the hardcore friends remained to gorge on pizza and watch movies. We saw 'Phone Booth', which I had quite expected to be hideously awful, but discovered that it was in actuality quite entertaining. We then saw 'Ghost Ship' which was decidedly less so, and Talia and I played chess and, even though I had never played chess before, I beat her ass! Hahahaha. It was a true geek moment of wonderfulness.

Then, half of the people fell asleep at about 1:00 in the morning. Disapppointed, Talia, Tina, and I stayed up until four as I played the guitar and sang for three hours. It was very lovely. The Ones Who Had Fallen Asleep Rediculously Early woke me up at 6:40 which gave me, as you may recall, about 2 hours and 40 minutes sleep. I was not in my happy place. I fell asleep for two more hours on the livingroom floor covered by a large red blanket and, upon awakening, ate doughnuts. With cream in the middle. Mmm.

Today I woke up at twelve thirty after being deprived of sleep the day before, and tottered to Melissa's where we ordered a pizza for lunch and make prank phone calls.

Life is truly wonderful.

The ocelot has finished Hamlet (wonderful, wonderful play it is, yes) and even, yes EVEN COMPLETED a new chapter of 'Complete Insanity' on her beautiful laptop underneath the willow tree and near the river from Huckleberry Finn. But a terrible thing happened, yes terrible, that made the ocelot cry for days and days until the ground around her turned into a lake of tears.

Just as the ocelot was about to load the aformentioned new chapter, her laptop computer CRASHED. Yes, crashed and died. And so it has been lost.

It's the LAST TIME I ever buy a laptop from a man-o-war.

Honestly.

You're Exotic Dancer Barbie. You have some moves,
and will do anything for a few bucks. Take it
off girl, but keep it PG-13 please.


If You Were A Barbie, Which Messed Up Version Would You Be?
brought to you by Quizilla


heeeee!

I was perusing Hamlet (quite good, actually, though sadly no mention of leopards, lions, or lemurs, unfortunately) and I could feel my spotted head lolling from side to side.

To sleep, perchance ::snore:: to dream.

Alas, woe is me
That I sleep beneath this wretched tree

You see how hard being an ocelot is?
I thought so.

Bwaaaa!

I must read Hamlet. "But Ocelots don't read Shakespeare!" I moaned. But my dear Arctic Hare of a mother also known in some circles as Marc Antony, (some strange circles, granted, where they wear peasant blouses and feathered bandanas) said I must prepare for A.P. English. As if she didn't already know that ocelots don't take A.P. English either!

Honestly.

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Eigth Level of Hell - the Malebolge!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Moderate
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Moderate
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Moderate
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Low
Level 7 (Violent)	Moderate
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Moderate

Take the Dante's Inferno Test

Wow, my striped friend! The eighth level of hell! Berry berry interesting. If my dear Dante was alive to this...... :sob:

I was perusing the inside of Bloomingdale's when the local monacled Hooting Monkey postman arrived with a telegram. It read thus :

MS OCELOT STOP YOU ARE IN GRAVE DANGER STOP BLOOMINGDALE'S CAN ERRUPT AT ANYTIME STOP GET OUT NOW STOP OR YOU SHALL DIE THE SAME DEATH AS THE KOOL AID MAN STOP

"What does that mean?" I asked the monocled postman. He shrugged, hooting. "It advises to leave or suffer the same death of the kool aid man, who is my mother's sister's uncle's father's second cousin twice removed." Feeling that leaving may be for the best, I walked away as my spotted tail whipped behind me. In the distance, Bloomingdale's exploded and it rained Hawaiian Punch for three days and three nights.

"The dear monocled Hooting Monkey postman!" I cried. At the moment the monkey sailed past me in the sky and landed in a large carniverous plant who had, fortunately, just converted to vegetarianism, without a scratch on him. I shouted in joy.

"Calooh! Calaay! Come to my arms, my beaminsh boy!" I chortled in my joy.

All's well that ends well.

Hooray!

I was lying in the dank pit of my room, surrounded by gently roaring lions that were eyeing me as if I was a prime bit of ostrich flesh (I know it is common knowledge that lions, and large cats in particular, enjoy giraffe, but these lions were a rare breed of orthocopus leo that, among ostrich flesh, also love the spindly legs of the orthocopus) and I sang them 'Boys of Summer' to keep them at bay when my father, large lemur that he is, trounced in and announced that this sentence has stretched on far beyond the realms of reality.

"Dear father," I said between the hardened beaks of my lips, "I understand." And so he fell upon the window, his long black striped tail waving in the wind from the South American rainforest jungle breeze, as I looked outside at the brothel across the street. A gorilla was leaning on the arm of a leopard as they scate boarded around the parking lot next to a 7-11. "Do you know," I said, "That couple may just work out."

"Don't be silly." He announced in his abundant lemur wisdom, "Everyone knows all gorillas are prostitutes."

Test Results

You think of yourself as being Dark, Dead, Erotic, and Succulent.

Others think of you as being Triumphant, Falacious, Brave, and Proud.

Your relationships can be described as Turbulent, Surrepticious, Undulating, and Rolling.

When stressed, you feel Screwed.

Take this test here

wee! mwahee mwahaa mwahee.

do you love?

BERT AND ERNIE KILLED BY U.S. TROOPS

SESAME, Iraq - Saddam Hussein's sons, Bert and Ernie, were killed during a six-hour gun battle in the northern Iraqi city of Sesame, the U.S. Military said.

"We can now confirm that Bert and Ernie have been killed," Lt. General Louise Sanchez told reporters. "They died in a fierce gun battle. Their bodies have been recovered, along with two others believed to be those of Big Bird and the Cookie Monster."

As word spread of the deaths, citizens of Sesame took to the streets to celebrate.

"ONE evil dictator's son dead," reported the Count as bodies were pulled from the rubble. "TWO evil dictator's sons dead..."

"A Schmeder schmoder, forder feeder fooder," cheered a local chef. "Bork bork bork!"

Bert, the eldest of the two muppets, was a ruthless and brutal playboy who tortured other muppets with bottlecaps and trained killer pigeons. The younger muppet, Ernie, was quieter and had a rubber-ducky fetish. Together, they struck fear in the hearts of Sesame's citizens.

"Not since Snuffleuppagus went nuts and trampled a couple hundred people, have muppets caused so much bloodshed," said Sesame mayor, Kermit D. Frog, who then waved his arms around wildly and shouted, "Waaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!"

This news story was brought to you by the letter 'C', and the numer '8'".

It’s hard to eat this
Crappy food without a spoon.
Oracle, you suck.

My lovely matrix haiku. You likey? = )

You represent... angst.
You have an extremely cynical outlook on just about
everything. It's okay to sulk and be
depressed, but life is short, and you only get
one. It's only what you make it, and only you
can make it improve.


What feeling do you represent?
brought to you by Quizilla

heeeee! Angsty, angsty, me! *bounces*

Art thou yet prepared to hear the dreaded tale of the Dreaded Grandmother?

......Well, are you?

Ok.

We first join our herion, a dazzlingly beautiful girl who, of course, looks equally dazzling when she first wakes up in the morning (no, nothing like a rabid giant squid, thank you) as she totters into the livingroom, quite exhausted, and consequently attempts to fall into a coma on the sofa. She then awakes, opening her large, luminescent eyes thick with black lashes (of course not bloodshot in the least) and with a feral cry of a dying duck, realizes the Grandmother will arrive in no less than ten minutes!

She slides into the shower, throws on a baggy pair of jeans and an oversized shirt (while still looking ravishing. Yes. I'm not listening....) and thickly applies mascara before hearing the ominous croak of the door bell. Throwing wide her arms and stifling a rogue yawn, she stumbles into the shot gun seat of the Grandmother's Lexus at the tender hour of......what, wait, louder.....10:00 a.m.

And so the adventure begins.

She looks in Macy's, dead and empty as all normal people are snoring and lusciously dreaming of something wonderful, like finding an all-you-can-eat Italian retaurant and discovering the bill is already paid for by Orlando Bloom who has mysteriously been waiting at the bar, as she lurches around the racks of clothes, so cold. So cold. Finding nothing and dumbly discouraged, she tramps over to Rampage, hope sprouting in her muddily awake heart. The clothes, rediculously good looking on the rack, somehow swaddle her body in a modern art collage of disgust. Downhearted, she stares into the dust swirling in the pre-noon sunlight, an aching juxtoposition of her recent shopping luck.

Then, she sees a hope, a light! Abercrombie & Fitch! Of course! Whistling a jaunty tune, she skips into the store and immediately finds a lovely shirt, a skirt, and a matching purse in dusky pink. Not pink, of course, because that would be dreadful, but dusky pink. The dusk makes all the difference, you see.

And so it is off to lunch at Burger King where she consumes lovely fatty processed foods, and then home, lovely home, to wallow in fanfiction.

**

Here is a list. A list of things, you see. And not just things, but things that I must do.

Hem hem.

1. Update 'Complete Insanity'. That is a must. A must, must, must.
2. Update 'Legolas Jones' Diary'. Not three-must worthy, but one-must worthy, so I must.
3. Clean my room. Things are piled dangerously high on my bookshelves and chest. I am afraid they will topple over and smother me in my sleep.
4. Finish 'The Scarlet Letter'. But really, who wants to peruse The Scarlet Letter when they can re-read Harry Potter? Honestly.
5. Just try to chill instead of making to-do lists. Oh. Oops. Already messed that one up, didn't I?

Bored, bored, bored.

Must get up early tomorrow to face The Dreaded Grandmother.

And by early I mean 9:00.

Spoke to Ryan.

He was talking in an almost not-just-friends kind of way.

Could be imagining things.

Spoke to Karem.

His best friend.

Said she asked if he liked me.

Answer indecisive.

We are acting like small children.

Why am I speaking in short stanzas?

I do not know.

A thousand times goodnight.

What does this MEAN???

All right. I was talking to Ryan online (You know Ryan, dear Ryan, my Ultimate Unspeakable Crush whom I met at Andy's party and felt a connection with as we both kept TOUCHING one another [but not in a dirty way] for an unexplainable reason other than pure teenage hormonal attraction, and held hands, and, consequently, led to a hug but not a kiss) and he said that we should, and I frusteratedly quote, 'We should go see a movie together someday'. SOMEDAY?? What does SOMEDAY mean??

I analyzed it with Melissa, and she said that it was then MY job to ask, specifically, when to show that I was interested. Instead, I dumbly answered, 'we really should' which could have been interpreted as a vague 'no', and it is now my responsibility to approach him again to re-set it up. Ok. Here are the lines she recommended I use :

"Hey, weren't we going to see a movie?"
"Are we still on for that and, if so, when?"

Urgh. Nervous.

My friends and I saw 'Pirates of the Carribean' yesterday, mainly, of course, because Orlando Bloom was in a starring role. And I must say he did not disappoint! Soft, soulful brown eyes, a gentle accent, an unfailing love for the indescribably lucky heroin, and a long, lean body. Utterly deliscious. Johnny Depp was also v. sexy, but in more of a strange, psychotic, and dangerous way. Mmmm.

As to the movie itself, well, in the snatches where I wasn't staring dumbly into Orlando Bloom's sensuous face, I must unhappily report that I loved it with all my passionate soul. It makes one truly wish to be a pirate!

yo ho!

Some are amazed at my staunch and unfailing love for Moulin Rouge, and are endlessly fascinated with my zeal and fervor. To them, now, I shall explain how the fates of two starcrossed lovers, (Myself, and, of course, the DVD) were united into one glistening body of passion.

It all began in the summer that high school was approaching, a dim and lazy summer, as I recall. My dear friends Jeanette and Jenine, who I must mention are identical twins, gave me a ring on my phone and suggested we see a movie together. I accepted with bountiful enthusiasm, and we set off toward the theatre. Upon arrival we discovered a horrific line, and the movie we had agreed upon seeing beforehand, some wretched Jennifer Lopez movie called Angel Eyes, promptly sold out. Moulin Rouge was also showing and, surprisedly, I was the voice to object most about viewing that particular show. Jeanette and Jenine were adamant, however, and I was dragged, kicking and screaming, into the black bowels of the United Artists theatre. I sulkily sat down as the first strains of tuning violins sounded from the shadow of the screen.

There was a boy, a very strange enchanted boy...... I rolled my eyes as the camera swept over a dirty, grimy, and miserable Monmarte. Boring, boring boring, and, to be honest, a bit creepy with the narcoleptic Argentinean. Then, a most miraculous Thing happened. The lights inside the Moulin Rouge dimmed, glittering specks began to rain from the ceiling, and a pair of smoky blue eyes flickered on the screen. The first husky notes of music floated away. The French are glad to die for love.... I was captivated. Like Christian, my eyes were wide and staring. The eyes of a disbeliever who is just starting to find an epiphany of truth.

I was swept in the blooming tides of a red ocean, in waves of betrayal, joy, despair, song, and love. And then another Thing occured, a Thing that almost snared and dragged away my undying commitment to Moulin Rouge for forever and eternity. Monsiuer Harold Zidler began to sing. And dance. To Like a Virgin.. I was horrified. I desperately sought to cover my eyes, but the sounds, oh the hideous sounds, still rang in my tender ears. I contemplated suicide. Then it was over, as suddenly as it had begun. But, to this day, I dutifully skip over that particular scene, my body transplated back into that theatre in that long-ago time, racked with convulsions of terror.

The movie ended as Christian clutched Satine in his arms, sobbing raggedly, her white dress spread amongst the rose petals in a living irony of love in its darkest beauty. The mill swung away in the graying dawn, and so did the final, hollow notes of the tragic tale.

The greatest thing.....you'll ever learn......is just to love......and be loved.......in return.........

The entire audience dumbly sat as the screen faded away into darkness, just as it had begun. Straggles of tears were heard and echoed coldly around the near silent room. We got up and walked away, our eyes squinting in the sudden light.

Moulin Rouge left theatres to be replaced with other movies, as did my thoughts. Christmas was rapidly approaching, and, with Christmas, the release of Moulin Rouge on DVD. I had told my father, most strongly, that I did not want Moulin Rouge and, instead desired Jurassic Park III. However, the entire time from Thanksgiving to Christmas, I teased my dad that I really DID want Moulin Rouge, oh, so badly, and would, in fact, be terribly disappointed if I didn't get it. Of course, in my heart, I knew that to recieve Moulin Rouge for Christmas was impossible, so when I ripped back the brightly covered paper on Christmas Morning and saw the red and yellow lights that dotted the cover of none other than Moulin Rouge, I was so utterly susprised that a gigantic grin covered my face for the entire duration of Cristmas. In pictures you can see my smiling like an idiot. I watched that DVD over twenty times from beginning to end, and it still sits proudly on top of my monitor with the letters MOULIN ROUGE in yellow bulbs displayed to whoever enters my room.

And so ends my story. A story about a movie, a story about Christmas (Almost) and a story about Me.

But above all things, a story about love. A love that will live forever.

The end.

I must tell you abot my adventures in the City. (Manhattan, of course, you know.)

Well. First, in My Abominale Way, I must share the things I bought. A lovely silver heart necklace from Tiffany's that reads 'Please return to Tiffany & Co., N.Y.' on it, a matching silver heart bracelet for my birthday, (because it is my sweet sixteen, obviously, and my father almost fainted as he weakly wheezed that he would be paying by credit card) two pairs of sexy dark jeans in manner of Nicole Kidman and a white fluttering sheer peasant blouse also in manner of Nicole Kidman at Macy's. Also, in my dear passionate love, Times Square, assorted people were selling fake and stolen purses on the street. They had some fabulous Coach, Prada, and Gucci rip-offs, but my eyes fastened upon a lovely little Kate Spade, pink striped with a tiny bow on the strap, that suspiciously reeked of theft. I felt a moment of overwhelming sorror for the Bloomingdale's dealer it must had been snatched from before quickly recovering, shoving the man a twenty and leaving. Quickly.

I was at the NYU campus as my father (who, by the way, will practically kill himself if I am not accepted to NYU) was flitting about the bookstore and commenting on the architecture, when a dazzlingly attractive NYU guy asked me if I knew where the library was. As if I was a student there! It was a beautiful moment.

We gallavanted off to Central park where the leaves were lightly dappled with sunlight and all that, while a strange looking man dressed in a wizard's outfit, complete with staff, was playing a set of bongo-drums. Another, further down the way, was playing a banjo. We frolicked around and my dear sister rode the carousel. We also visited The Met (The Metropolitan Museum of Art) where we stared at the Impressionist paintings, my personal favourite after the Renaissance, while my sister touched a large Egyptian Statue that happened to be the goddess of war, pestilence, and terrible storms. I told her she would be cursed forevermore. She looked mildly upset for a moment before regaining her composure and a steely glare.

Lovely, hmmm?

I had the strangest dreams last night.

I was going to college in Manhattan and it was Christmas Eve and I hadn't yet bought any Christmas presents for my family. Snow was gently falling and I was walking through the streets with my scarf trailing behind me as I clutched bags trying to hail a cab. I stopped at a chocolate shop because I wanted to buy my mother a bundle of chocolates in an elaborate porcelin box, but the chocolate shop was empty and I realized I didn't have enough money for the chocolates, let alone a plane ticket home. I started to cry to the clerk, telling her my problems, when the clerk suddenly turned into my father. He said not to worry and that we would go to F.A.O. Schwartz to look for a present for my little sister.

Then I woke up.

In the next dream I was on a ship looking for Moby Dick with Ishmael. My sister was there, and we were huddling in the hull of the boat because we saw Moby Dick's enormous shadow and feared he would capsize the ship. Finally the boat docked by an island and we saw mermaids bathing in the sunlight.

No, I don't make these things up.

I was shopping today when I spotted Luis and Amy visciously making out against the picturesque backdrop of a
gracefully flowing fontain and serene presence of Bloomingdale's. I watched them with a pang of envy, at once glad that he and Amy were so strong together, and at the same time dolefully wishing it could be me. (But not with Luis. Obviously.) I saw them go by, hand in hand, Luis smiling at her bashfully as they chattered. I found myself toying with the idea of walking over and perhaps blowing them away with a witty comment, but instead pressed one hand to the glass and, with a tired, sad smile, watched as they faded into the crowd. I thought I was rather like Angel from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, lurking in the shadows, (or, in my case, the fabric and discounted pillows department of The Bombay Store) ruefully staring at those I love while never revealing myself for their own good.

Perhaps I'm exagerating.

And so I walked away into the night alone. Well, mid-afternoon, while swinging a bag that carried my new black clogs.

Goodbye sweet Luis and Amy, we shall meet again some day.

We know we love The Matrix.

We know.