originally i was going to post the videos of my newest love in life, the eyes on fire choreography and the love lockdown choreography, but i decided against it. for now.

my time is certainly running out. i have 2 solid weeks of getting final things prepared for my departure to my southern comfort. i still have about 8lbs to lose. i need jewellery and a mask for this stupid masquerade ball i'm attending.
it's not stupid, but the request for masks is. if i am to find a gorgeous, perhaps southern boy down there, how's he going to know what i look like if i'm wearing a godforsaken mask?! granted i could take it off, but that's violating the rules. albeit the violation is a sweet deceit that makes me happy... perhaps enthralled in the chance to act dangerously. but still, masks? maybe i should just throw on a pair of marco grouch glasses, complete with moustache and fuzzy eyebrows. sexy, non?

i also have as of this moment in time exactly 23 hours and fifty-seven minutes until i'm sitting, hyperventilating to harry potter and the half blood prince. this is a precursor to the day time showing where i will be truly overstimulated at that point. i will bawl. i will laugh. i will feel the powerful sexual energy between harry and ginny while my cohort firmly disbelieves it, all because she's still holding a grudge over a book that came out almost three years ago. IT'S NOT THAT BAD. it was just a cop out is all... 19 years later my saggy left ball sack. that's not how you finish the most popular book series ever published. especially when your fans are somewhat hormonal still, or not yet. we're a scary demographic.
i'd be shaking in my expensive riding boots, ms rowling. your legions of fans are getting more and more distraught with your work. it's not aging like a fine wine, it's becoming bothersome.
i want to know what happened following the battle of hogwarts. i want to know how harry progressed through the ministry-- how lives were started or rebuilt. how did the weasley's fair without fred?
so many unanswered questions... two more movies to go. i think come the final installment of the deathly hallows, i will weep for the sadness that i don't really have any other excuse to be nerdy whilst feeling relatively good about myself in the process.

oh wait. my other addiction/obsession/pathetic-ness.
november 20, 2009 is seared into my brain. i must purchase my tickets soon. like, tomorrow? yes? are they on sale? can i see a preview!? only because i want to quel my fears that he in fact, does say the words that i know will break my heart, even though he is a fictional character and he is by no means saying those words to me.
it will be as if i never existed?!
can we just take a sweet minute to digest how earth shatteringly painful those words are, even just written down? said with some emotion towards a costar and i'm putty in your proverbial hands. not to mention i will be blubbering uncontrolably, muttering incoherent words faintly echoing in the words 'no, rob, don't say it, i'm not ready'.

breathe. breathe. breathe.

to keep from twiperventilating in my room alone, i'm trying to focus on something else. namely the hour at which i've decided to write this. i always find i'm much more creative, thusly being better with words when i'm tired. has anyone else noticed this about themselves? i find myself sitting up on sleepless nights, writing scads of (occasionally) liquid, flowing and often emotionally deep passages, mostly of past encounters or fictional tales woven to make real life seem not so bad. my current project is in irons, at the moment. the wind has been blown out of my sails for the time being, only because the characters aren't flowing as well as they once did. the diaglogue is plaguing me, mostly because it's real life and the characters are so hard to write properly to keep in time with canon.
well, actually it's incredibly difficult because it's what i want to happen, but the occurance isn't something either character would ever allow to happen. they seem to be stubborn individuals set on extremely different paths. one day, i'm sure they'll cross, but for the purpose of my story, i doubt it'll ever be the way i imagined. hence my writers block-- i'm trying to create a future that, should the events leading up to said future be the way i've envisioned, this instance would never happen. it just can't.
they should offer classes of straight character development, or rather 'finding a happy balance between torturing yourself trying to sort out the characters emotional climates and writing the story that makes you happiest'.
i think this is why, if you were to write an autobiography of yourself, you always get a ghost writer. you can't write your past, nor your future on paper without writing something completely fictional. i see that now.

enough of my bitter contemplation of things i can't grasp right now. i have bigger fish to fry... like attempting to get a few hours of sleep before the buzz of my alarm wakes me up for another wonderful day of work. at least tomorrow i get to chill in the back of the truck rather than having to drive it. don't get me wrong, i love the authority being a driver comes with... i just don't like driving. not right now, anyways.
but i do love my boys incredibly much. such a motely crew of interesting individuals.

haaaa i have this sneaking sensation i'm going to read this post at a later date and find it awfully pretentious. fuck mondays...

b; old enough to know better; attached.
college student of historical events, future educator. canadienne. i like to read, but i don't do it enough. i run. i like zombies. i'm obsessed with all things batman, except not batfleck. i'm a terrible video game player, but i'm getting better through attrition. i can play piano pretty good, though. the sound of city streets soothes me, but i love the silence of the forest. curious stargazer.

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lainey | tfln | afp
chubs |

originally i was going to post the videos of my newest love in life, the eyes on fire choreography and the love lockdown choreography, but i decided against it. for now.

my time is certainly running out. i have 2 solid weeks of getting final things prepared for my departure to my southern comfort. i still have about 8lbs to lose. i need jewellery and a mask for this stupid masquerade ball i'm attending.
it's not stupid, but the request for masks is. if i am to find a gorgeous, perhaps southern boy down there, how's he going to know what i look like if i'm wearing a godforsaken mask?! granted i could take it off, but that's violating the rules. albeit the violation is a sweet deceit that makes me happy... perhaps enthralled in the chance to act dangerously. but still, masks? maybe i should just throw on a pair of marco grouch glasses, complete with moustache and fuzzy eyebrows. sexy, non?

i also have as of this moment in time exactly 23 hours and fifty-seven minutes until i'm sitting, hyperventilating to harry potter and the half blood prince. this is a precursor to the day time showing where i will be truly overstimulated at that point. i will bawl. i will laugh. i will feel the powerful sexual energy between harry and ginny while my cohort firmly disbelieves it, all because she's still holding a grudge over a book that came out almost three years ago. IT'S NOT THAT BAD. it was just a cop out is all... 19 years later my saggy left ball sack. that's not how you finish the most popular book series ever published. especially when your fans are somewhat hormonal still, or not yet. we're a scary demographic.
i'd be shaking in my expensive riding boots, ms rowling. your legions of fans are getting more and more distraught with your work. it's not aging like a fine wine, it's becoming bothersome.
i want to know what happened following the battle of hogwarts. i want to know how harry progressed through the ministry-- how lives were started or rebuilt. how did the weasley's fair without fred?
so many unanswered questions... two more movies to go. i think come the final installment of the deathly hallows, i will weep for the sadness that i don't really have any other excuse to be nerdy whilst feeling relatively good about myself in the process.

oh wait. my other addiction/obsession/pathetic-ness.
november 20, 2009 is seared into my brain. i must purchase my tickets soon. like, tomorrow? yes? are they on sale? can i see a preview!? only because i want to quel my fears that he in fact, does say the words that i know will break my heart, even though he is a fictional character and he is by no means saying those words to me.
it will be as if i never existed?!
can we just take a sweet minute to digest how earth shatteringly painful those words are, even just written down? said with some emotion towards a costar and i'm putty in your proverbial hands. not to mention i will be blubbering uncontrolably, muttering incoherent words faintly echoing in the words 'no, rob, don't say it, i'm not ready'.

breathe. breathe. breathe.

to keep from twiperventilating in my room alone, i'm trying to focus on something else. namely the hour at which i've decided to write this. i always find i'm much more creative, thusly being better with words when i'm tired. has anyone else noticed this about themselves? i find myself sitting up on sleepless nights, writing scads of (occasionally) liquid, flowing and often emotionally deep passages, mostly of past encounters or fictional tales woven to make real life seem not so bad. my current project is in irons, at the moment. the wind has been blown out of my sails for the time being, only because the characters aren't flowing as well as they once did. the diaglogue is plaguing me, mostly because it's real life and the characters are so hard to write properly to keep in time with canon.
well, actually it's incredibly difficult because it's what i want to happen, but the occurance isn't something either character would ever allow to happen. they seem to be stubborn individuals set on extremely different paths. one day, i'm sure they'll cross, but for the purpose of my story, i doubt it'll ever be the way i imagined. hence my writers block-- i'm trying to create a future that, should the events leading up to said future be the way i've envisioned, this instance would never happen. it just can't.
they should offer classes of straight character development, or rather 'finding a happy balance between torturing yourself trying to sort out the characters emotional climates and writing the story that makes you happiest'.
i think this is why, if you were to write an autobiography of yourself, you always get a ghost writer. you can't write your past, nor your future on paper without writing something completely fictional. i see that now.

enough of my bitter contemplation of things i can't grasp right now. i have bigger fish to fry... like attempting to get a few hours of sleep before the buzz of my alarm wakes me up for another wonderful day of work. at least tomorrow i get to chill in the back of the truck rather than having to drive it. don't get me wrong, i love the authority being a driver comes with... i just don't like driving. not right now, anyways.
but i do love my boys incredibly much. such a motely crew of interesting individuals.

haaaa i have this sneaking sensation i'm going to read this post at a later date and find it awfully pretentious. fuck mondays...