under the influence

My first list thing.

Tue, 27 Sep 2005 05:23:34 GMT

.1. My hug_a_harry fic is coming along, but it's going to take a while. Partly because it's H/D, which is just asdsajka;a and hard, and then there's some Ron and Ginny interrupting them, so I need to figure out exactly where I'm going with it. If you have any ideas, OMGPLEASE feel free to comment or something.

.2. I was talking to Karen (last night, I think?) and stumbled on this Wealseycest idea, and so, yeah. I haven't gotten started on it, but I have a basic idea of what I want from it.

.3. Laundry Day looms ahead tomorrow.

.4. If I can collect the words Cheesy, Crispy, Fast, and Easy from Hot Pocket boxes, I can get a million dollars over a 40-year time period. So, that's like $25,000 a year. Which is probably better, because if I had a million dollars all at once, I would probably do something stupid and blow it.

.5. One of the boys I kept today (seeing as how school's off today and tomorrow, he's older than I usually get to keep), got like a zilla-cut on his forehead. I told him not to run around like that, but seven-year-olds just never, ever listen to anybody.

.6. My brother called me the other day, and he was talking about fuel and gas prices and all that shit, and then he was talking to me about some new thing where people can use corn as fuel. Is he bullshitting me? I mean, that'd be great if that was true, even though people probably wouldn't be eating that much corn anymore, but you could never really run out, could you? But I just don't think it's the truth, and Nash is such a liar sometimes!

.7. Oh, yeah. Nash is my brother's name. It's my mama's maiden name, so, yeah, I know you probably have never heard of it, but it's true. It's actually his middle name, his first being Tommy, which I've never really gotten used to.

.8. Trip to Zonko's GO SEE IT NOW, OMFG. *asks nicely* It's by linnpuzzle, who I beginning to love. Her art is gorgeous. This one is all autumn-y, and it has Sirius/James a bit and jealous!Remus and Peter and chocolate and OMG, I'm incoherant about it. Just. OMFG.

.9. It is so fucking messy in here. I shoudl totally clean this desk and throw away all these usless doodles and crappy people drawings, but. I am so lazy, and such a procrastinor, so if it isn't like a total emergency, it probably isn't going to get done soon. I know, it's horrible but, there you have it.

.10. I got the All-American Reject's CD the other day, and I've been listening to it obsessively ever since. Their lyrics just KILL me! They've awakened my muse and given her new ideas, and I love them now, and OMG, the LYRICS! Night Drive makes me think of Sirius, and now I want to write some "Sirius-leaves-his-house-on-his-motorbike-then-shags-James" fic. Is that wrong?

.11. Just because I can:

I know you
so better than the city in the rear view
I drive to
eliminate the ball that I'm chained to

Take me break me
every mile further there's a part of me that slips away
One day you’ll see
Even if you got down on your knees you couldn’t make me stay

Drive all night
Never gonna get me
Night by night
To get away from it all<
Fight fight fight
All you wanna do is hurt me
You wrecked my life
So I’m gonna have to drive all night

Pulse stays strong
I’m pushing on the pedal til I break dawn
So I’m gone, go find another shoulder you can cry on

Take me break me
every mile further there’s a part of me that slips away
One day you’ll see
Even if you got down on your knees you couldn’t make me stay

Drive all night
Never gonna get me
Night by night
To get away from it all
Fight fight fight
All you wanna do is hurt me
You wrecked my life
So I'm gonna have to drive all night
You wrecked my life
So I'm gonna have to drive all night
You wrecked my life
So I'm gonna have to drive all night
You wrecked my life
So I'm gonna have to drive all night

All of the things that you knew that I’d try
All of the things that I held inside
All I gotta do is drive

Drive all night
Never gonna get me
Night by night
To get away from it all
Fight fight fight
All you wanna do is hurt me
You wrecked my life
So I'm gonna have to drive all night
You wrecked my life
So I'm gonna have to drive all night
You wrecked my life
So I'm gonna have to drive all night
You wrecked my life
So I'm gonna have to drive all night
you wrecked my life
so I'm gonna have to drive all night

Fri, 23 Sep 2005 00:27:36 GMT

Title: Warning Sign
Rating: R
Warnings: some angst, nongraphic sex
Summary/challenge: "Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing." --- Anais Nin
Author's Notes: Thanks to Karen (periazhad) for betaing, and ladyblack888 for looking over it. I appreciate it loads! The LJ cut text is from Warning Sign by Coldplay. I would love feedback on this!

Warning Sign

As I did on the community, I honor Remus/Sirius with my Gryffindor boykissing icon, which I got from happiestwhen a while back.

Tue, 20 Sep 2005 00:18:37 GMT

OMG! I am done with my sirius_loving challenge! I just have to ship it off to be beta'ed (though, if anyone is willing, I'd like to send it to a couple of you and get some different opinions and critique and stuff).

Kaaaaareeeen. Oh, Kaaaaarrreeen!

Mon, 19 Sep 2005 21:00:43 GMT

I want an icon that has Snow White being kisses and says something about necro.

But I'm ass at making icons.

Queeditch Drabbles

Mon, 19 Sep 2005 03:24:27 GMT

Remus looks at his reflection in the train window, trying to get his Prefect badge stay in just the right spot. He can see Sirius and James making fun of him behind him, and when he turns around, they are all laughing.

“Moony, our ickle Prefect!” Sirius croons in a sing-song voice.

“We’ll have to be more careful now, Padfoot. He could turn is in to McGonagal.”

Remus just smiles. “I think James is just jealous because Lily is the other Gryffindor Prefect and he would like to think he’d be able to woo her in the corridors at night.”

Sirius does that bark of a laugh, and gives Remus a pat on the back. “Well-said, Moony! Well-said.”

And somewhere in the pit of his stomach, Remus feels something indescribable stirring, and he smiles back.

*

Luna is dressed in nothing but socks.</p>

Mismatched socks.

One is in rainbow stripes and the other is stitched falling stars, and Ginny is about to ask her why when Luna kisses her, soft and wet and familiar.

Later, in the afterglow of sex, Ginny remembers to ask.

Luna’s eyes grow wide and solemn. “Now they smell like you,” she says, and it doesn’t really make sense.

But it does

*

Cho looks so pretty in pink.

She looks paler than you remember, but you are sure that no matter what they do with her, she will always, always be pretty.

Her eyes are closed, and you liked them so much more open or reading. She has brown eyes. Pretty brown eyes that are like hot cocoa and you faintly remember drowning in them.

You kiss her and her lips are freezing, ice-cold, and you always think of her kisses in warmth and sunshine days.

You are so glad they are going to bury her.

Six feet really isn’t enough space to separate the two of you.

*

Regulas has seen him following his brother like Sirius is a fucking saint, and he remembers a time when he was the same. But this boy is pudgy and round and he doesn’t look like someone Sirius’s other friends would consider including.

He scurries behind them, throwing things into his bag so he won’t miss them, and it isn’t very hard to catch him off-guard. Regulas pins him to a wall and watches as the boy grows wide-eyed and afraid, and stutters something about his friends.

Regulas laughs, because he knows Sirius better than anyone else, and he knows that Sirius isn’t going to come back for this boy, this fat, chubby boy who means nothing to him.

He tells the boy things Regulas is sure he doesn’t want to know, like how his school uniform pulls at the buttons and his face is soft and blobby and undefined. He whispers horrible, childish things, and the boy stains his uniform with salty tears he is much too old for.

Regulas leaves him there, and realizes he doesn’t know his name.

On other news, I am going to sleep.

Sun, 18 Sep 2005 02:49:17 GMT

Ooh! My sirius_loving fic is starting to sprout! I've been stuck with it for a while. So maybe my muse has come back from her vacation, that lazy bitch.

Also, I recommend Warning Sign by Coldplay, which I have been listening to obsessively all day. Every time that drum breaks in my eyes get watery. The emotion in the song is just that powerful, you know? It just hits me, like a wave or something. Then again, it could just be because the month of October is rolling around and that is like my fucking emotional month.

God I need some Tylenol. Something about fall just gives me headaches. Then again, it could be the crazy kids.

It's sad when Dora the Explorer is teaching me Spanish.

Tue, 13 Sep 2005 02:45:25 GMT

Fuck! I need to get to writing.

Lists: akjlsda

Thu, 08 Sep 2005 02:10:33 GMT

Things I need to write:
*inell's Girls Just Wanna Have Fun (With Each Other) challenge.
*~~Fem Fall Challenge~~ getting beta'ed!
*sirius_loving challenge

I think that's all. It's not that much, I am just lazy.

Stupid things done today:
*cut my fingers on glass.
*let the kids eat chocolate (BIG mistake)

Also, if you know of anywhere I can find some information on deafness and how it progresses, I would thank you like woah. I need it for a Luna-gen plotbunny I had.

Um.

Thu, 01 Sep 2005 01:01:38 GMT

Observation #1: Sam's Choice Twist Up definately should not be makings noises.

Observation #2: my cat is trying to eat my bed again, so I must need to feed him. I wonder if nachos will make him constipated.

Observation #3: I should get to gettin' on my sirius_loving challenge fic.

Observation #4: I am currenly addicted to Keane and posting on this LJ

Observation #5: I should definately go do something constructive.

Thu, 01 Sep 2005 00:29:35 GMT

Here is a Ginny/Luna ficlet. Yay!

Title: The After
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): unhappy, post-war fic.
Summary: It's hard, in the after, to remember the before, but you do, and it helps you love her.
A/N: Thanks to periazhad because she beta-ed, and is, likeOMGwoah nice to me.

Please read it!

Wed, 31 Aug 2005 23:54:18 GMT

sugarandginger is looking for writing and art betas, so if you're availiable or want to beta some fic/art, then head on out there and help them out. The community's dealing with the relationship of Ron and Hermione post HBP with writers doing novel length fics that are due by January for beta-ing, I think (don't quote me on it). So, writing or betaing, offer youreslves. Or reading, I s'pose.

I'm halfway considering doing it, but I'd hate to sign up and then just unmotivate myself (as I oftentimes do). I would need lots of encouragement, because I usually just stick to short fics.

Anyway. ^^Go!

Sun, 28 Aug 2005 03:06:28 GMT

I should be getting a 2 month paid account sooon. Much yay.

There is a mystery black substance on my leg. It must be from cleaning. When I take a shower in a second, I will scrub it off, but still...black?

Gah. I am much bored. But, I volunteered for the Girls Just Wanna Have Fun challenge, and am working on trying to come up with something other than a Christmas Ginny/Luna drabble, which I have done.

Ngguh! Unexplained Mysteries is on! Am I such a lamo-old-lady type if I watch this show?

Also: Today has been Headache day, which MUST go away, before I go fucking crazy.

Tue, 23 Aug 2005 02:17:32 GMT

The Lily/Marlene thing is going very nicely. When I say very nicely, I mean super nicely. I'm going to try and finish it up.

Until then, there is un-betaed Sirius goodness. Well, what I hope it goodness.

Title: Smell
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): People die. Bit o' incest. The word cock (OMGWTF?)

Lavender

Bellatrix has found her way into her mother’s perfume. It’s heavy and surrounds her like an aura, and Sirius is sick of the smell. It’s too light and sweet for Bella, who is inky eyes and heavy eyelids, darkness that should (but doesn’t) shine through her pale skin. Sirius isn’t very old, but somehow is sees it, smells it through the thickness of the purple scent.

She beckons Sirius with a finger, smiling, and he is reminded of cats. He can’t trust Bella, even as he wraps his hands around her waist and he holds her hand. Her fingernails are red (blood, he thinks, stained with blood), and it clashes with her green dress and the cologne on her wrists and neck.

She invites him to the garden and kisses him with pink lips amidst the night and fountains, and all he can think about is the lavender that wafts up to his nose.

Citrus

Lily always smells like she’s eaten oranges or tangerines, and Sirius doesn’t see how. It’s present in the hallways and in the Great Hall, all around her and as much a part of her as the green eyes and red hair that James can’t get enough of. It’s foreign, and new, and exciting, but above everything, it’s so very Lily in a way Sirius can’t possibly explain.

Sirius wonders, underneath the Gryffindor sheets with a hand wrapped around his cock, if she tastes like that, if he fucks her will he still be able to smell the citrus. He dreams about it now, and everything is orange, red, and green.

He wakes up and takes a cold shower.

He doesn’t tell James, and James doesn’t see the need to ask.

Rose

Girls whose names Sirius doesn’t remember always wear rose perfume. They are pure and whole, and he tears them to pieces with careful persuasion and nonsense words that they believe as he takes them somewhere (anywhere) and stains them red.

There are too many red roses; the white ones are so few, so rare.

Sirius has taken them all.

Spearmint

Somehow, James always manages to smell like spearmint, strong and fresh, alive.

It’s seems odd to Sirius now, when everyone else just manages to smell stale and broken, like they haven’t add a bath in days (and maybe they haven’t), but James is always clean, always sparkling and Sirius revels in it because it’s the best thing he’s smelt in weeks.

When James catches him sniffing his hair, he asks Sirius if he’s a poof or just off his rocker.

Sirius kisses him, and it tastes like a huge mistake.

Ink

Remus’s fingers are stained with writing too many letters that he doesn’t know where to send, no addresses on envelopes, only names that are nearly unfamiliar.

Sirius asks him why he keeps writing, why he doesn’t give up. He asks him a lot of things.

Remus says it’s the only thing he knows to do. And Sirius understands perfectly.

Death

Godric’s Hollow is rubble on a dark street, and Lily and James are whispers of redemption, of was and were and had been. Wide-eyed and pale and afraid, and Sirius catches a glimpse of them before it’s too much and not enough. It leaves him empty.

The air smells stiff and heavy, black. Dead. Everything is dead.

The little boy is sleeping in Hagrid’s arms. Sirius wants to take the boy with him, keep James’s hair and Lily’s eyes with him so he won’t forget them, so he won’t forget anything. But Hagrid refuses, says something about Dumbledore.

Sirius gives him his motorbike, and goes to find Peter.

Peter, who betrayed them all.

Azkaban

Azkaban smells like stones and dirt and old things, like rotting prisoners and screams of the insane. It smells like home now, and that Sirius will never leave. Sometimes he closes his eyes and breathes, because somehow, it keeps him saner, more in touch with who he is (was). </p>

He thinks of Pettigrew, always Pettigrew, who took something away from him, something important.

But Sirius can’t remember what exactly that is, and when the word James flits across his mind, it doesn’t connect with anything at all.</p>

Sometimes Azkaban smells like citrus or spearmint, but Sirius doesn’t quite know why. He has forgotten.

Lavendar

Bellatrix still smells like she did so long ago, like lavender, and Sirius is laughing at her, dodging a curse and loving the sickly sweet smell and how ironic it all is for her, how ironic it has always been.

He is surprised when she manages to hit him, and he catches triumph in her face before he is surrounded by black curtains.

Spearmint

He can smell spearmint and he knows James is somewhere inside, and all he has to do is find him.

Begging you all

Sun, 21 Aug 2005 01:07:50 GMT

There is a guy.

His name is Dakota.

He gave me a good tip, and then waited until my shift was over to talk to me.

Is a riot, makes me laugh, and doesn't look half-bad either.

Problem? My fuck-guys-they-can-kiss-my-ass attitude that is slowly shattering into pieces!

[/melodramatic]

Anyway. I need a beta for a slightly Sirius/Regulas piece...It's just a kiss, though. No squicks. PG at best (worst?).

Marlene/Lily bunny is failing me, and scent bunny needs serious work.

Scent Bunny

Wed, 17 Aug 2005 01:28:29 GMT

^Explain later.

Gilmore Girls in on, all the re-runs, and I am marvelling at the amount of clothes these people have! They never wear the same thing twice!

Gah. I wear pants two days in a row!

I love margaritas. Kathleen makes fantabulous magaritas.

I must write. Mustmustmust before the scent bunny leaves me.

Inspired, sadly, by the Frebreeze Scent Stories commerical.

OMGLIEK...WOAH!!1!!eleventy!!1!

Tue, 16 Aug 2005 01:21:24 GMT

I have a femmeslash bunny.

...

Lily/Marlene.

...0.o

No Pervman today.

Little kids have me hating the Disney channel. And Nickilodeon. And that motherfucking Sponge-Bob Squarepants.

The keyboard is begging me to play it. Therefore--wedding music. Because wedding music, in general, is very...wedding-a-licious.

And such.

...And then I shall sit and writewritewrite.

Mebbe.

Scattered in the Wind

Sun, 14 Aug 2005 21:15:05 GMT

Title: Scattered in the Wind
Word Count: 900 words (it's nine drabbles, nine is the number of Weasleys. Yeah.)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None. Oh, except for prostitution, but it's not graphic or anything.
Summary: The Weasleys are scattered like dandelion seeds.
A/N: Unbeta-ed because I do not have one...:( But I am pleased with this anyway.

I.

Hermione is much too smart, and much too old, for fairy tales. She doesn’t believe in once upon a time or happily ever after, in handsome princes who slay dragons and damsels in distress, in sugar-coated castles and kindly queen and kings.

Even when she wants to.

Even when the world is a tumult of black and gray, and she feels dead and drained and old, when it seems like the war isn’t going to end. Even when life is hell, and they’re all on fire.

Hermione wants to believe. She wants to believe more than anything.

But she can’t.

II

Ron is tired. He plans, and he plans, and he hasn’t seen Hermione is such a long time that he barely remembers her face. He imagines that she is happy, that she’s going to be alright, that she is alright

He prefers to make things up instead of facing reality.

It’s much, much easier that way.

There are jets of light flying over his head, and Ron has just killed someone. He doesn’t know whose side they’re on.

Harry is with him, but he is so quiet that he might as well be a million miles away.

Ron is alone.

III.

The Burrow is silent and empty, but Molly cooks like the whole family is here, and Arthur calmly eats and says nothing. He pecks her on the cheek and leaves for work.

She sits at the food-laden table, silent.

The children are out risking their lives. All of their names are permanently pointing to Mortal Peril, and Molly has never been so afraid for them.

She thinks of how she should be sitting around with grandchildren right now, telling redheads stories and spoiling them rotten.

One of her best china plates crashes to the floor, and Molly begins to cry.

IV.

The dragons are restless because they know something is wrong, and the population is declining. The camp needs more funds, but the Ministry is spending too much on the war to spare gold for anything else. Charlie sees homeless people everywhere, and he doesn’t have anything to give them.

Charlie wonders if it’s worse to be without a home, or to have one and not be able to go.

He doesn’t know if his family is still alive or if the Burrow is still standing, but he dreams of food and red hair, and that will have to be enough.

V.

Percy is afraid. Everything he’s ever read about wars in books does him no good now, in the middle of one, with the Ministry falling apart. He fills out paperwork and ignores the owls that ask for money, that beg for something, because he doesn’t have the heart or the time to read them.

He saw Ginny’s writing the other day, or maybe it was his imagination. It’s hard to decide what is fact and what is fiction these days, even though the lines had always been inescapably clear.

He wants to go home, but he can’t swallow his pride.

VI.

Fleur demanded that she and Bill go to France to visit her family. The house looks big and grand, and it has an ocean view. Fleur is excited next to him, beaming until she walks through the front door.

Her mother and father are dead on the couch, and there are flies buzzing around them. It smells awful, and Bill doesn’t know what to say.

Fleur cries and hugs them, even though they stink and she’s getting blood on her robes.

She stands up and runs into his arms, and Bill holds her and tries to say the right things.

VII.

George is off somewhere, doing something, and the shop is quiet. No one comes to Diagon Alley, and he and George have taken to eating their stock, so it won’t go bad and so they won’t starve. Fred is sick of candy and chocolate, and he wants for this to all be over soon.

When Fred hears the doorbell ring, he sees people in masks and hoods, and then he hears Bellatrix Lestrange’s voice.

“Identical, just like you said, MacNair. I do so love having the complete package.”

With a flash of green light, Fred’s life vanishes before his eyes.

VIII.

Arthur goes to work every day, but he doesn’t know why. There is nothing for him to do—there is no sense trying to regulate protection charms and identifying fakes because no one who’d need it has the money.

Outside, there is mayhem, but there is always mayhem, so he doesn’t pay it any notice.

He always wonders if he doesn’t make it home tonight, what would happen. If he leaves a minute early or a minute late, will it end his life?

It always leads to a headache, and Arthur has enough to worry over without adding anything else.

IX.

Ginny stands on street corners in short skirts and skimpy tops because it’s what she has to do to survive. She names a price, and rich men in shiny cars give her money. She isn’t as dirty as everyone else; she tires to stay clean.

She tries not to think about what her mother would say, what Harry would say. It makes her worry, it makes her think about unwanted, frightening things.

Sometimes, Ginny wonders where the rest of her family is, but the Weasleys are scattered like dandelion seeds, and she doesn’t have the time to find them all.

Skip this. Seriously. Skippit!

Sun, 14 Aug 2005 05:23:50 GMT

This computer is batshit crazy.

I have some people-watching planned for tomorrow, before more kids come and there is waitressing with Pervman. And crazy old people. And that weirdo cook who talks about UFOs and such. But there is Kathleen, nice friend of mine. Coming over Tuesday, after job. Yay.

Shit. I need sleep.

Tomorrow--Today's--Sunday. That means no kids. Major yay.

I'm enthusiastic. Really. I am.

I need to write. I need to bad.

Maybe...tomorrow.

Recs? Yes. Me thinks I will scrunge around and rec things.

Again: tomrrow.

...

There are bubbles in my melted ice cream.

Must wash dishes.

zzzzzzzzz

*bore*

Sun, 14 Aug 2005 01:51:27 GMT

Outside the Parenthetical

Read. Now. Because it's breathtaking Pansy/Ginny femmeslash, and I have a soft spot for Pansy. And, just, fuck.

Sun, 14 Aug 2005 01:30:41 GMT

Drabbles, anyone?

*forces*

There is blood everywhere she looks, and she can’t escape the stale stench of death or the coppery taste of fear on her tongue. She blinks, and slithering snakes of fire leap from nowhere and swallow the world whole. She can’t see and she can’t hear, and when the smoke finally clears, she is alone with a gray sky that reminds her Draco’s eyes. Somewhere, someone is screaming.

Blaise soothes her hair, kisses her temple, holds her and whispers it’s only a nightmare.

It’s like being in hell, she says.

He only laughs at her. Isn’t that where we’re headed?

***

Silk is such lovely fabric, and it feels so good on her skin, slippery and smooth, and she’s always had a thing for blue dresses. It twirls as she dances, and Narcissa enjoys being young and alive, being beautiful, and she forgets about everything else.

A gray-eyed man whispers sweet things in her ear that she believes in the silvery moonlight and the music that fills her ears. Narcissa laughs, and spins around in his arms.

He offers her champagne, but she is too young to drink. When she tells him this, he laughs and tells her no one need ever know, and it’s only just one.

It’s sweet and Narcissa wants more, but she doesn’t dare to ask. But like magic, he produces more of the golden liquid, until she feels bubbly and giddy.

“There, there,” he says, his eyes glittering, and for a fleeting instant, Narcissa is afraid. “You rather had enough, don’t you think?”

Narcissa nods her head, then giggles behind a gloved hand. She doesn’t trust herself to speak.

“I think we need to get you home, my dear,” he says, and Narcissa stands up, leaning pitifully against his arm.

He leads her to the doorway, and she turns around to ask him his name. There is a wand pointed at her, and he is smiling, only it's not so charming any more.

Narcissa doesn’t have the time to find her voice, even though she searches in the calm gray eyes.

“Obliviate.”

In the morning, her parents find her on the doorstep, and her father asks her why she didn't come home.

But she can’t remember.

Sat, 13 Aug 2005 15:25:25 GMT

I really do hope I get 63. I've been wanting something to inspire me to write Sirius/James for a very long time.

KIDS ARE EVERYWHERE!

Also: Pervy man sits at table A6 every Friday night. Likes to spill water to watch you clean it up. Stares at chest. Did I mention he was supernaturally pervy?

Ack! The kids want lunch, and I, being such a wnoderful cook, am going to fix them ham sandwiches. Chips if they're lucky.

Wait! Has anyone heard that song that came on the radio the radio the other night? Breathe by Anna Nalick? I've been trying like hell to download it, but damn, every g.d. file is corrupted.

And yes. G.d. is from the Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. Which I am rereading and then buying Ya-Ya's in Bloom. There is not enough of Genevieve Whitman in the Divine Secrets.

Hot-cha-cha!

Oh. Right. Sandwiches. Coming, kids!

Serious post--be warned

Wed, 10 Aug 2005 23:46:28 GMT

Sometimes, when I take the chance to drive back home, I remember what it's like to live with trees and grass and flowers around ever corner, ponds with moss in them and cluttered with water lilies. And then I think about how beautiful it all is, the smell of rain in the air and the chirp of crickets at night, the simplicity of just everything, and I just feel so fucking priviledged to even be visiting a place like this.

I hate it when people take the South for a bunch of rednecks and idiots who marry their sisters and brothers and live in trailer trash parks. It's that kind of bullshit predjudice that just gets under my skin and eats me, because you just don't find this sort of pure, untamed beauty just anywhere and people who will care for it. Some places, you don't find people that care.

I'm not saying there are ignorant people in the South. There are ignorant people everywhere.

I remember my mama always had a predjudice against blacks. She'd always talk about ignorant blacks who are to sorry to do anything and who have children who they raise to be just as ignorant, and I'd always want to remind here there were sorry whites and sorry everybodys, not just blacks. It doesn't matter what color your skin is or where you're from or your sexual preference or whatever the hell! It doesn't matter at all, and people who can't see that are the people who are truly ignorant.

It's just...sometimes, it bothers me that some people just can't see that and take it for what it is.

*

Anyway, the gourmet meal of Hot Pockets and iced tea is done. Oh, how I have slaved!

Wed, 10 Aug 2005 01:08:51 GMT

I've been so busy lately, I hadn't had any time to post. There was babysitting like five kids at one time, supper, breakfast, diner job, plus I've been walking around trying to stumble upon some good stores with my clothes fund in tow, and...

Well. It's been busy is all. Babysitting is doubly hard since I get little kids who aren't in school yet, which means under 5 (A.K.A WILD). Most of them, anyway. Especially the two year old from a couple rooms down and the four-year old from my neighbor. I dread them. I really, really dread them.

Sadly, there is no Paid Livejournal fund. The big bad School Fund is hogging all my spare change!

The Mom called today. Wanted to fuss to me about I was destined for great things and how my intelligence was being squandered and I was wasting my life away. She just had to remind me how my brother was running his resteraunt flawlessly, and making good money, and living at home. Needless to say, chocolate was eaten immediately afterwards, as well as the urge to start smoking.

By how would I support such a habit? >_< There isn't any Cigarette fund, and I'm really running out of Mason jars.

I've been wanting to work on some little ideas in my head (as well as a novel idea I've been playing around with), but fuck it, and fuck it all while I'm at it, because I really just can't concentrate. At all.

I've decided I don't like it when my mom calls, and that her birthday present is either going to be really cheap or forgotten.

pimping

Mon, 08 Aug 2005 00:54:51 GMT

Oh, I forgot: sirius_loving

Celebrate Sirius the way we never did before. Remember this is a celebration, so remember we don't want Sirius to be the total bad guy. Like, as they said on the community, him raping and killing someone is out of the question. Or being a cannibal. Or something like that.

Yeah, so. You have until August 12 to come up with challenges, prompts and the like. Then you can start claiming.

I'm totally claiming. I have a big smoking fetish. There will be a Sirius Black with a cigarette in his mouth. Even if someone else writes it first.

n00b!

Sun, 07 Aug 2005 23:11:36 GMT

Yes. I'm a super n00b to the LJ world.

Just in case you haven't read my info, my name's Annabell, I'm nineteen, and I live in Atlanta, Georgia.

I'm looking for some nice communities to visit, working on some little HP ficlets and drabbles and such. If you have anywhere you think I need to go, join, whatever, I'd appreciate you posting them here.

I work as a babysitter, so today was a day of rest. Tomorrow I'm babysitting this little girl named Ashley who lives next door for like three hours and then I've got to get ready for my waitressing job. Gah.

I'll probably get back on and post some random shit either early this morning or around...five's when my shift is over. Sometimes the other people are late, though, so give or take thirty minutes.