Being Alex Bradley

Blow the dust away.

2006-02-03T20:01:24Z

Yeah, I haven't been here in a while, and I thought I'd just wipe this thing off and see what's beneath all the dust. Not much, as it turns out. I only even thought of logging in here because I've been thinking about writing lately.
I need to do some writing, but all my files are on my computer, and it's still in the shop.

Bogus.

katchoo_sip @ 2005-12-07T18:37:00

2005-12-08T00:37:53Z

Dear Santa...

Dear Santa,

This year I've been busy!

In January I stole mysedai's purse (-30 points). In August I ruled Canada as a cruel and heartless dictator (-700 points). In February I put money in triggur's expired parking meter (14 points). Last Wednesday I pulled over and changed capndrseuss's flat tire (15 points). Last Tuesday I bought porn for goatboy94 (-10 points).

Overall, I've been naughty (-711 points). For Christmas I deserve a lump of coal!

Sincerely,
katchoo_sip

I'm feeling like a refugee, so where's my aid?

2005-09-28T20:24:42Z

Here I am, coming at you live from the fourth floor of Johnson Hall, on scenic Tennessee Tech. Why, you may be asking is that? Why are you using a computer lab to update when you could be using your own perfectly good computer. Or doing any of the other things you'd planned for the afternoon, like eating?
Because the elevator is broken again. And, until they fix it, I'm stranded.
Ooh, update within an update.
The Dean's secretary just informed me that the Tech maintanance guys can'f ix here (by show of hands, who's suprised?) so, they've had to call their elevator repair guy who's in LEBANON! We're looking at at least an hour now before I go anywhere. That's assuming that he can fix it, and I don't have to camp out here or something.
I wouldn't be quite so upset about this if the secretary hadn't just told me that they were supposed to get a new elevator last May, then in December, and now the University is saying that it will be next May before they get it. According to her, the University told them they'd just have to "hold it together with Band-Aids until then". Band-Aids my ass. I've missed class because of this thing, and now I'm sitting here stuck because of it.
Yeah, I'm a bit angry here.

Mrs. Purkapile.

2005-09-27T20:24:19Z

I have my first assigned monologue for my acting class. It's from The Spoon River Anthology, and the character is Mrs. Purkapile. I'm using this entry to lay out some of my character's traits. And, a lot of this is my interpretation. Hey, they can't spell it out for you in fourteen lines!

Anyway, this is my part:

He ran away and was gone for a year.
When he came home he told me the silly story
Of being kidnapped by pirates on Lake Michigan
And kept in chains so he could not write me.
I pretended to believe it, though I knew very well
What he was doing, and that he met
The milliner, Mrs. Williams, now and then
When she went to the city to buy goods, as she said.
But a promise is a promise
And marriage is marriage,
And out of respect for my own character
I refused to be drawn into a divorce
By the scheme of a hisband who had merely grown tired
Or his marital vow and duty.

So, in my mind this is a stout, stubborn, plain-faced woman; stubborn, but not neccisarily strong.
I also wonder about Mrs. Williams and Mr. Purkapile. Were they in love? Did Mr Purkapile finally come back to try and get his wife to divorce him so he could be with Mrs. Williams? What about Mr. Williams? Maybe he's dead, since this story takes place around the 1900's and no man would let his wife go into the city (probably Chicago or Peoria, as Spoon River is in Illinois) alone. And, if she wasn't alone, what was Mr. Williams doing while that tart made it with my husband? That tawdry, hourse-wrecking, hat-making tramp!
I think it's likely that Mr.P left Mrs. P because she had no life, and probably wasn't much fun at a square dance, if you know what I mean. On the other hand, there's Mrs. W, who is like a sororitute, circa 1916. She certianly didn't honor the concept of marriage, and there's no mention made of a Mr. Williams at all, so he's probably dead. Well, they're all dead, but maybe he's REALLY dead. Anyway, she does make a bit of a point, "The stealers of husbands/ Wear powder and trinkets,/ And fashionable hats./ Wives, wear them yourselves./ Hats may make divorces-/ They also prevent them.". So, I guess from her viewpoint, if your aren't gonna give the menfolk what they want, don't be pissed when I do.
Roscoe Pukapile, on the other hand, is just plain delusional. And selfish. Here's his bit...

She loved me. Oh! how she loved me!
I never had a chance to escape
From the day she first saw me.
But then after we were married I thought
She might prove her mortality and let me out,
Or she might divorce me.
But few die, none resign.
Then I ran away and was gone a year on a lark.
But she never complained. She said all would be well,
That I would return. And I didn return.
I told her that while taking a row in a boat
I had been captured near Van Buren Street
By priates on Lake Michigan,
And kept in chains so I could not write her.
She cried and kissed me, and said it was cruel,
Outrageous, inhuman!
I then concluded our marriage
Was a divine dispensation
And could not be dissolved,
Except by death.
I was right.

Maybe they're both delusional, and they deserve each other. Roscoe obviously didn't think the whole marriage thing through. He was just enchanted at the idea of this young thing so obviously in love with him. Then, when the new wore off, and it was time to stop playing grown-up and actually be one, he bolted. Then, he actually believed that his wife was still that oblivious girl after he'd lft for a year.
And her! She just can't admit that she still loves him. But, for all her talk of character I think that the reasons she didn't divorce him were 1) she still loved him, 2) she found strength in her role as the wronged woman doing the right thing, and 3) she wants to punish him. If she divorced him he would leave and never think twice about her again. But, if she keeps him around, he can't help but think of her every day. At least until one of them dies. Maybe elsewhere in the play, we'll find out he killed her. Sounds like the sort of thing he'd do.

On the lighter side, I just got back from Western Civ. We didn't have class today and our test has been postponed until the 4th, giving me more time to study Economics. Hurrah!

*Author's note* I wrote this over three sittings, so it may be slightly redundant of contradictory at times. I'm still working this out.

katchoo_sip @ 2005-09-04T21:42:00

2005-09-05T03:09:31Z

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MOst of you know about my waning obsession with the band Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers. Today, I went to check out the bulletin board on the Peacemakers' site, and found some distressing news.
The woman who's been the site admin, and generally in charge of all things RCPM is no longer in charge of those things. That in and of itself isn't terribly upsetting, I suppose. I guess it's a bit hard to explain why I feel deflated about this, so bear with me whilst I ramble a bit. Eventually, I'll come around to it.

The first time I saw the Peacemakers live was one of the seredipidous moments that marked a turning point in my life; from that point on in my mind their music became the soundtrack of rebuilding my crumbling world. I don't need it for that anymore, but I still hold a special fondness for those three albums.

While I was in the middle of that wild ride, I found the Waterin' Hole; the Peacemaker's bb. On the board, I made some amazing friends. I had some pretty amazing adventures with those people, too. Those road trips and weekends to Mexico kept me sane and gave me something to look forward to. I don't need that particular crutch anymore, either.

Slowly now, Roger and the boys are building up the recognition they deserve. More and more people are coming to those shows, and Roger's attention has shifted from the old faces to wooing the new ones. He's moving away from that friendly family-type atmosphere to something more marketable, and I can't blame him.

But, I do resent it.

This is a copy of my post on the Waterin' Hole from Kathleen's goodbye thread. Kathleen has been the driving force behind the band's progress (stage talent aside, of course). She's the one who organized Mexico shows, and ran the merch booth, moderated a VERY active bb, and still had time to include hand-written thank you notes with on line orders. Over the past days, there have been seven pages worth of goodbyes for her, and she has personally responded to each one.

<b>I've been gone awhile, and I come back to find this? I'm terribly sad that you're moving on, and hope the future has many bright, shiny things in store for you.

There was a time when I used to look forward to my purchases from this site for more than the merch... I'd tear open the wrapper and know that the awesome stuff I'd bought was accompanied by a purple, sparkley thank you that I didn't pay for. Finding your little notes and the stickers and stuff you'd occasionaly toss in always made my day.

Somewhere, I still have the clay bead RCPM necklace you conned me into paying waaaaay to much for one drunken trip to the merch booth in Mexico. But, hey, it was a handmade origional, right?

<user=goatboy94> asked me the other day if I was outgrowing my fandom; I've been gone from the board a while, I didn't bend heaven and earth to make it to a show within driving distance, and I STILL don't own L@BB. The honest truth is no, I haven't outgrown my fandom; the band seems to have outgrown me. I guess it's true: Nothing gold can stay.

~Mysti

Mysti ~ your name is perfect as to how it makes my eyes feel. I did make those necklaces while driving in the car down to Mexico so I can personally attest that it was a handmade original from myself! Thank you from the bottom of my purple sparkly heart. I will miss you and I will be around still - just in a different way.

Thank you for the sweet smiles and love and light! You mean a lot to me! Hope you are feeling well these days too. Drop me a line or PM anytime you want. My door is ALWAYS open. </b>

Anyway, I'm a bit melancholy right now. This feels like the end of an era. Or maybe a painful, if inevitable, breakup. You know the ones where both people walk sadly away, each better for the experience.

Anyway, moving ever on...

Well, I don't have much to say, actually. But, rest assured, I will soon.

In Youe Eyes

2005-09-03T08:47:47Z

Accepting all I’ve done and said
I want to stand and stare again
Til there’s nothing left out, oh
It remains there in your eyes
Whatever comes and goes
I will hear your silent call
I will touch this tender wall
Til I know I’m home again
Ooh

In your eyes (in your eyes)
In your eyes (in your eyes)
In your eyes (in your eyes)
In your eyes

Love I get so lost, sometimes
Days pass and this emptiness fills my heart
When I want to run away
I drive off in my car
But whichever way I go
I come back to the place you are

And all my instincts, they return
And the grand facade, so soon will burn
Without a noise, without my pride
I reach out from the inside

In your eyes
The light the heat
In your eyes
I am complete
In your eyes
I see the doorway (in your eyes) to a thousand churches
In your eyes
The resolution (in your eyes) of all the fruitless searches
In your eyes
I see the light and the heat
In your eyes
Oh, I want to be that complete
I want to touch the light
The heat I see in your eyes

In your eyes
In your eyes

Love, I don’t like to see so much pain
So much wasted and this moment keeps slipping away
I get so tired of working so hard for our survival
I look to the time with you to keep me awake and alive

And all my instincts, they return
And the grand facade, so soon will burn
Without a noise, without my pride
I reach out from the inside

In your eyes
The light the heat
In your eyes
I am complete
In your eyes
I see the doorway (in your eyes) to a thousand churches
In your eyes
The resolution (in your eyes) of all the fruitless searches
In your eyes
I see the light and the heat
In your eyes
Oh, I want to be that complete
I want to touch the light
The heat I see in your eyes

In your eyes
In your eyes
In your eyes

Accepting all I’ve done and said
I want to stand and stare again
Til there’s nothing left out, oh
It remains there in your eyes
Whatever comes and goes
Oh it’s in your eyes

In your eyes
In your eyes
In your eyes
In your eyes
In your eyes
In your eyes
In your eyes
In your eyes

I want to stand and stare again
Oh, it’s in your eyes.

Cough Cough

2005-08-10T21:07:28Z

I woke up yesterday morning convinced I was coming down with strep throat. Went back to sleeep, despite my best intentions to go to the doctore. My brother called be just before five pm, and I spoke for the first time that day. It wasn't pleasant.
Finally, after suffering all evening, it dawned on me that there might be something in the cabinet that used to hold all the random medications that accumulate in a household.
All the way in the back, I found a Tupperwaresque (because let's be honest, there's Tupperware, and there's stuff that's vaguely like Tupperware. I think it's called Sterilite) container markd "medications". Jackpot.
Eagerly, I tore into the container and came up with three packs of beef buillion, some generic Pepto Bismal, a bottle of asprin that looked like it was manufactured in 1965, some tablets to help control canine mouth odor, and at the very bottom beneath the boullion and the pink crap was...
An ancient bottle of the night-time-sniffling-sneezing-coughing-aching-head-sore-throat-fever-so-how-the-hell-did-I-wind-up-on-my-kitchen-floor medicine. It was even in Green Death Flavor. Dennis Leary would be proud. I tossed back a couple shots of the magic green gooze (hey, it's 10% alchohol [20 proof for those of you who aren't accomplished drinkers] so you can shoot it with a straight face) and...
I didn't fall asleep. Hell, I talked on the phone wiht Richie for about 2 hours after that and then read some Harry Potter before I passed out. That stuff must mellow out as it ages.
But, the upside is that I felt pretty great once I got something into my system, which means I do not have strep. Fuckin' A. It's just my allergies going bat shit crazy again, probably from living with a pair of chain smokers. Nothing a little Claritin can't fix.
So, next I spend some time on the phone with Res Life at Tech trying to explain to them why I'm unhappy that my housing assignment has changed to a second floor room. Believe me, six months ago I'd have been ecstatic about a second floor room, but as there are stairs involved it's no dice...
I had to send an email to somebody or another today, and I'm supposed to call back tomorrow afternoon. They said they'll "try to accomodate me". I'm not sure if they're aware of this, but a ground floor assignment is not an option. Unless they want to squeeze me into the New Residence Hall, of course. But they'd better not charge me for it, since it's their cock-up, and I've already paid my housing for the semester. Anyway, nothing to get upset about. So far they've been pretty cool about everything. I can't imagine that they won't get it all sorted out.
So, early this morning, Shanin text messages me that Melanie's siter had her baby. Yeah, I care. I take the opportuninty to text her back that she'd better call finaincial aid today and see what's going on there. I dont' know why I bothered. I knew I was wasting my breath from the start.
So, we end up talking on the phone, and lo and behold, she tells me she's getting 4k Pell money and 5k student loans this sememster. Holy shit, that's a lot of money. Just as I'm mentally chastising myself for not giving Shanin enough credit she texts me back that she screwed up, and she's getting that for the year, so she can't go back to school.
Whoah. Back the fuck up. 4.5k for his semester, and she CAN'T go to school?
No, she can't affor the $500 extra it would cost her to have her tuition and housing paid for, plus books, plus "all her other bills", plus the car payment she's going to have to pay her father ($100/ month), plus her insurance, plus her cell phone. And she doesn't know what they're going to do about her loan from year before last that she's paying on right now...
I try to reason with her. "Shanin," I says, "You can some up with $500, you only have four classes, one of which is vocal lessons, and one of which I've alredy bought the book for. You can't have more than two books to buy. Don't get the car, your other one will last you a few more years. All you have to do is save everything you make over the next three weeks or so, and you're golden. If you've got 4.5k in already, surely you can get them to defer $500."
The excuses she offers me in no particular order are:
I don't have the money.
My dad won't help me get it (no, she hasn't asked, but is positive about this anyway).
I have too many bills.
I just got this car, so I can't live without my job. There's just no way I can make enough money.
(Shanin, you work for basically minimum wage.)
No, I make $6.00 an hour.
(Shanin, that is basically minimum wage. You can find a job making that in Cookeville)
I have to pay for my car insurance.

This pisses me off fora number of reasons. All she had to pay was $500 + books, and she pussed out. All the time I've spent over the past two months trying to get her off her ass to do something useful has been wasted. And, I am now without a roommate.
If I get stuck with some 17 year-old cheerleader, I'm going to kill Shanin. Probably using the corpse of said cheerleader.
OK. Enough ranting for one day. Maybe I'll take it up again later.

The Countdown is On...

2005-08-09T02:21:06Z

I called today and gave my resignation. I have less than two weeks left here at el theatro. I teared up when I talked to Ronney about it. He told me that he understood why I was leaving, but that he really wished I wasn't.
That was a great compliment. I respect Ronney more than any boss I've ever had before, and likely more than any I'll come across.
I also went to Wally-world to buy some things for my dorm room that I'll need. Matress pads (I don't know who's been in my bed before, and I don't want to be rubbing round somebody else's gunk. Eww. Gross just to think about), sheets, a comforter, some largish bath towels, wash clothes, a shower caddy, and a back brush. You can never go wrong with a good back brush. All my stuff is green, except my towel, which are white and edged in a khaki color that'll match the green stuff. I'm kind of sad that they didn't have anything in a blue I liked, but green's my second favorite color, so it'll be ok. Besides, my cusions are khaki and dark green, so they'll match that mossy green stuff I just bought really nicely.
I have two buy two more books, a handful of t-shirts, some decent trainers, and a bath robe, then I have everything I can think of that I'll need. Nice to be a bit ahead of schedule for a change.
I miss my boyfriend. Less because I want to see him right now than because I can't see him right now. How very bratty of me. Still, it's the truth... Were he at home right now playing video games I wouldn't even be thinking about it. I just sort of wish he'd call. Every since that dream I had last week I feel very nervous... Christ, that was one of the worst nightmares I've ever had in my life. I'd lop my right hand off at the wrist if it meant I'd never have that dream or experience it in reality. I still get cold and clammy just thinking about it. Eventually I'll settle the fuck down about it...
I can't think what else to write. I've always felt like I could write more candidly in the journal, because nobody reads it, but now that a few people know about it, I have to sort of push myself to really write here.
Anyway, I'm off to purchase my German text, and then to work on my story a bit.

Compliments of Dylan.

2005-08-09T01:43:41Z

1. Reply with your name and I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie/book/fictional character/SOMETHING reminds me of you.
3. I'll pick a flavor of pudding to wrestle with you in.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me. Well, maybe just me.
5. I'll tell you my favorite memory of you, should I have one yet.
6. I'll tell you what animal or plant you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
8. If I do this for you, you must post this on your journal. No cutting corners

Fuck gimphood.

2005-07-24T03:52:59Z

The next person who calls me gimpy, or some clever varation thereof will be the grand prize winner of the Gimpy McGimpsalot one millionth snide comment endured sweepstakes. The person after that will probably get a whacked in the head by my crutch. Completely accidental, you understand.
I know it's all in good fun, but people, my sense of humor is wearing thin. I'm more than a bit depressed, and if you see me it's a pretty fair assumption that I'm in pain and just doing my best to get through the day. You are not really helping.
I'm fucked tonight, ladies and gents. That's all. I'm not going to enjoy it, either. I have to drive out to dad's so he can unload the trailer from my truck (he borrowed it this afternoon to do some mowing), then drive back into town, and over to my mom's. My knee if fucking killing me, and my leg won't stop spasming. And, I have a tension headache from hell. And, my sinuses are draining into my throat, making it sore. And...
It's enough to make a girl want to cry, I tell you. Or, get pissed off and beat the next person to call my gimpy senseless. Wait, the next person wins a get out of beating free card, don't they? Well, the person after that, then. Whoever you are: your ass is mine.

Been a long time again, this time because I've decided LJ and everybody on it mostly sucks.

2005-07-15T04:24:31Z

But, I'm in the mood to write, and my journal isn't at hand. Not that I care about pissing people off at this point, but I've decided to use this journal because nobody even knows about the damn thing; I've abandoned my other one.
So, what do I have to write about? Truth is, I don't know. I know I'm feeling a bit down right now, but I think it's mostly just feeling worn out about my knee hurting fairly continually for the past month and a half, and also being unable to do anything for myself. I hate being dependant on other people. It's starting to affect my dreams by this point. Lots of 'em lately about being held hostage, or trapped down a well, or similar. I also had one last night where I was at an amusement park, chaperoning a bunch of kids. Things were going mostly ok, except for the cows, the rusted out VWs, miniature weiner dogs, palomino-colored thestrals, and this loco bitch that was putting us onto the roller coaster forgetting to fasten my safty harness. I was pretty goddamn pissed when the damn thing hit this slow series of barrel rolls and I flipped out of the car I was on and barely managed to hold onto the car with my hands.
Anyway, so my dreams are fucking crazy these days. So's the rest of me. Fucking crazy of being penned up all the goddamn time, at least.
Grrrrr. I'm allowed to start driving a little next week. It'll be good to be able to go and do something without having to ask permission first. Well, not permission, per se; asking for a ride, but it's almost the same anyway.
I'm full of negativity right now. I think I hate just about everybody. THe longer I'm reined in, the more violent my temper seems to become. I think it might not be long before I start limping around beating people with my crutches.
On the bright side, well, screw that, I couldn't think of a bright side. Unless you count the bright purple gashes that are healing on my knee. I don't, truth be told.
So, let's see... I hate everybody, I hate coming back to work, as it's nothing but 12 hours of my knee throbbing since I'm not lying flat on my back, PT is a fucking costly pain in the ass, and somebody thought it would be clever to program the banner on my phone to say Viva la gimp, with a picture of my crutch as the wallpaper.
Yeah, that about sums up my world at the moment.

Mysterious maze...

2005-03-08T19:34:13Z

I've no real clue where or how my heart works. I just know that right now it's in overdrive.
I think I'm falling in love. No, let's not puss out here. I know I am.
And, I'm very nearly certain he cares about me, too.
I just don't know how much, and it's maddening.
My single biggest downfall in life is that I want everything, right now. I don't want to wait; I'm just too damn impatient.
So, I'm really good at getting what I want. Or, at least getting it started. Then, if it goes too quickly, I don't want it anymore. If it goes not quickly enough, I'm afraid or unwilling to put out the effort.
But, here I am in a position where neither of my normal modus operandus are options. And, the ball is so far out of my court I may never see it again.
This is painful, and frightening, and has the potential to be wither amazingly rewarding, or equally devastating.
And, I wouldn't trade this ride for anything I can think of at the moment.

I guess someday, I have to grow up and stop being afraid of the emotional side of life.
Might as well start today.

Well, here we go. I'ma do it...

2005-02-24T06:13:08Z

Here is the first draft of the Prologue section of a story I'm working on. This is not at all edited, and as such is rough. Please, no comments about typos; they'll be fixed in time. What I'd like, if anybody reads this, is ideas, and a bit on my weaknesses, strengths, and general writing style. Which may or may not be a weakness ;)

This story doesn't have a name, and I've no clue what it's final length will be. I'm figuring about a 50 page story, but it may end up being much shorter than that. I'm not even sure where this is going. Every time I look at it, it changes a bit. Once I feel like a have a good handle on the characters and the situation, I'll probably do an outline, and hash out the particulars.

What I'm saying is: Right now, I'm rambling. Give me ideas, trash talk me a bit if need be, but please be patient enough to realize that anything you see here is subject to change as I get closer towards a first draft. And, this isn't supposed to be fabulous writing, just a bit of infrastructer.

Last thing I'd like to point out. For those of you who know me: You are not a character in this story. So far, most of the characters are amalgams of people I know. One character may have traits of two or three people, and one person may have traits represented in three or four characters. If something seems unfalttering, and you think it's about you, please, please read this paragraph again. Most of the people I know are amsrt enough to catch on after a couple repetitions.

Without further ado:

My name is Alex Hale. Technically, it’s Margarita Alexis Hale, but nobody’s called me anything but Alex since I socked Teddy Campbell in the nose in second grade for calling me Margarita. Actually, I think I beat up most of the boys in my second grade class for a variety of reasons. Either I was a bit of a bully, or a feminist in training. I tend to wear bras today, though, so I think it must have been the former. That’s how Charlie and I became friends. Me beating up boys, I mean. Not Charlie wearing bras.

He was this skinny kid who paid me two Oreos a day not to beat him up, and we kept that arrangement until junior high, when he hit a growth spurt and could easily have bench pressed me. I hated that the tables turned, until a couple of the boys tried to corner me after class one day and Charlie came to my rescue. When I asked him why he did it, he just shrugged and said that if I was going to be beating up any boys, it’d better be him.

That day, I developed my first crush, and Charlie became my best friend.

Charlie and I could not possibly be more different. He’s the all-American athlete stereotype; tall and broad-shouldered, with wavy blond hair and baby blue eyes. He isn’t overly-gifted in the brains department, I guess; he pulled mostly C’s with a smattering of B’s in school, but he is damn likeable.

I, on the other hand, was a skinny tomboy, who became a skinny Goth in high school. In college, I filled out a bit, returned to the land of the living, and became a mostly skinny punk. My mother was glad to see the facial piercings go when I made the switch, although she wasn’t crazy about the pink dread locks that took their place. I was always what the thearapists my mother sent me to liked to call “difficult”. Difficult, my ass. I was a terror.

In eighth grade, Charlie and I formed a band. More accurately, I told him we were starting a band, and he shrugged. I took that as a yes, found a guy who could sing and play the guitar at the same time, and the ‘Droids were born.

The high point of our career as the ‘Droids, was being allowed to play three songs in between the sets of the band hired to play at the eighth grade formal. I’d really like to say that we were awesome, and that I was a natural, even at twelve. If I did, I’d be lying. We played a few pop songs (for the life of me, I can’t remember which ones) and four girls who had crushes on Charlie were our audience. Everybody else was sorted, by sex, into two opposing groups that alternated between eyeing each other distastefully and pretending the other didn’t exist.

In high school, Charlie and I tried it again. By then, Charlie was listening to the Refreshments and the Gin Blossoms, while I was listening to Type O Negative, and lighting candles to Kurt Cobain. We compromised by playing original tunes and the occasional cover. This time, we decided our band would be called Counterproductive Icon, and we would try a fuller sound by adding more than a guitar to our pre-existing rhythm section It took us a month to find a singer, but Seth was worth the wait. The boy could sing like James Taylor and scream like Henry Rollins and as an added bonus; he wasn’t a bad rhythm guitar, either. Next came Taylor, who was blessed with perfect pitch and a natural ear. I almost felt bad, making Taylor show up at practices when we were learning new tunes. While it might take the rest of the band an evening to learn a song, and a week to make it tight, Tay could hear a song once and would not only be able to play it perfectly, but have it memorized, as well. To this day, I’ve never met his equal.

Counterproductive Icon played garage gigs almost every weekend at Charlie’s place. His parents split up our freshman year of high school, so his dad was never around, and his mother took enough sedatives to fell a horse. So, we’d set up early, tap the keg Charlie somehow always managed to charm off the woman at the liquor store, and charge ten dollars a head with a three beer limit. The garage was always full those Friday nights, and we liked to pretend it was full of people who wanted to hear us, but in retrospect, I think it was mostly the beer they were interested in.

Still, even if they were buzzed, those people showed up and cheered after every song. They sang along with the choruses, and told us we should have a record deal after the show. In short, they fed our egos and made us hope that we were good enough for something bigger.

Things were going great, and after two years of our garage gigs, we’d been approached about a string of shows for the summer after our senior year. We’d be playing a few clubs in Jenson, the college town about half a hour away from Our Town.

All of us were even planning on going to the same college later in the fall; Charlie, was on a football scholarship, planning to major in Phys. Ed., Seth majoring in computer technology, and Taylor and I both majoring in music.

College was a good time for us, and, I think it’s a good time to start my story. Don’t be surprised if I interrupt myself to bring us back to the subject at hand. This little interlude is what they call background.

Baby Steps

2005-02-23T07:16:48Z

So, I finally did a new layout. Don't know how long it'll last, so enjoy it while you can. That's a side note to me, really, as nobody reads this page.
Maybe some story tomorrow. Right now, I'm sleepy.

I'm writing, and anybody who's reading this bloody journal has to deal with being a test audience.

2005-01-05T07:44:01Z

Not that I think there are many of you, mind you. Still, here we go.
Well, maybe not tonight. Tonight, I'm tired, as I just spent a lot of time making new thumbnails for this monster. Tomorrow, a new look (maybe) and part of the introduction of my story (probably).
Ciao.

Why don't I ever write in this thing when I'm in a good mood.

2004-02-24T04:41:04Z

Yes, it's true. I only update my journal when I'm irritable, grouchy, or depressed. Tonight, I think, I'm all three. I'll write more in a few hours or so. I have some thinking to do, I guess.

Wow, has it really been this long?

2004-01-14T08:23:40Z

I still feel out of sorts, but now it's for a whole 'nother set of reasons. I just wish I could put a finger on it. I worry too much, I think. I worry that I'll never really do anything with my life. I worry that people will think I'm a looser that has no potential beyond what I'm doing now. Not that it's a bad thing, it's jsut not glamerous or important, and I always thought I'd be one of those things. It just seems like everytime I make plans to do anything something comes out of left field and obliverates them. I'm afraid to mention them to anybody anymore, because I know that if I do people will just brush me off.
"I'm going to do _____."
Yeah, right. Wolf.
I'm just so depressed these days. Not that anybody could tell, but I am. I just don't know what to do anymore. It would help if I could settle on a plan long enought to realize it, but there are just too damn many interesting things to be done. How can I settle on one? And how do I know it's the right one?
I just don't get it most days.

So a guy walks into a bar...

2003-11-11T19:48:54Z

And he walks right toward me. He's my ideal of male perfection. He's tall, oh-so-dark, and handsom. I know this man. I've known him for years, and I realize that I've loved him all that time. I don't think about the future, I forget about the past. The only thing that matters is this moment, because, oh my god, he's kissing me. There is no room for thought, only his kiss. This kiss. THE kiss. I live a lifetime on those lips, and die when they leave mine.
My sight returns, and I see eyes. Dark, hungry eyes. Gentle, caring eyes. Eyes so dark they are nearly black. I fall into them, and then...

I wake up.

Why is life so gaddamned cruel?

katchoo_sip @ 2003-10-16T13:05:00

2003-10-16T18:09:32Z

I need to make some money. I'm not poor, or broke, but I am fucking bored. I need to pull some extra cash, so I can go somewhere. I'm thinking that I need to save enough to take an extended trip to Europe. How much is enough? I mean, I don't mind working for cash once I get there. I guess I need to make a list.
1) Find out who I have to call to get info for living and working abroad
2) Actually get said info
3) Save $3,000 for living expenses
4) Get visas and crap in order
5) Get a blleding passport
6) Join a hostel group
7) Book airfare
8) Get a job
9) Get laid
10) Is there really a 10? I can't think of anything else.
Well, I'll start a second savings account after Christmas. If I do this I'll be so cool.

Well, imagine that.

2003-10-09T04:25:41Z

<td bgcolor="#000000">Name:</td><td bgcolor="#DDDDAA"></td></tr><td bgcolor="#000000">God/Goddess of</td><td bgcolor="#DDDDAA">The Sun</td></tr><td bgcolor="#000000">Element:</td><td bgcolor="#DDDDAA">Ice</td></tr><td bgcolor="#000000">Animal Companion:</td><td bgcolor="#DDDDAA">White tiger</td></tr><td bgcolor="#000000">Weak against</td><td bgcolor="#DDDDAA">Acid</td></tr><td bgcolor="#000000">Weapon:</td><td bgcolor="#DDDDAA">AK-47</td></tr>

Become a God or Goddess. by zerogirl

Created with quill18's MemeGen!

I hate it when I see a quiz and feel compelled to take it.

katchoo_sip @ 2003-09-26T03:59:00

2003-09-26T09:00:31Z

I think my head is exploding, and I don't like that.

katchoo_sip @ 2003-09-24T18:15:00

2003-09-24T23:20:46Z

I usually don't go in for melodramatic quotes like this one, but... Well, I still like it.

"Art is innate in the artist, like an instinct that seizes and makes a tool out of the human being."
-Carl Jung

Tattoos vs piercings

2003-09-21T02:41:36Z

I've been thinking about getting a tattoo. If I do it will be something small and discreet, probably on my hip. I'm trying to find a really great designs, though. It'll have to be something stellar for me to actually do it.
I used to have my tongue pierced. I wish it was still, and have considered doing it again. I have no problem with the piercing process; it doesn't actually hurt or anything. I'm not too keen on the thought of dealing with all the swelling again. The swelling sucked a lot. Maybe I can do it and take a bunch of NyQuil and sleep the next coupla days. I'll wake up with green teeth and a normal size tongue. I wonder how much it'll cost me to have it done, since I already have my stud. Maybe I can catch them on 2 for 1 day and get my nose pierced, too. I've alway wanted a tiny little stud on my nose. I saw one I really liked once. It was this little enamel flower that was really detailed. I don't think I'd want a hoop though. That would look really butch dyke on me. A small one might, too, but what the hell. Piercings heal if you take them out. NPD (No Permanent Damage. See "Penn and Teller's How to Play With Your Food". It's a great book, and maybe they'll notice the free advertising I've given them and send me tickets to their show or an autographed copy of "Penn and Teller get Killed").

Another Day, Another Dollar, Pt II

2003-09-20T04:53:07Z

Gas to the next town to pay off a bad check you wrote to your vet: $10.00
Total fees for bounced check: $55.00
A vet who is cool enough to give you a ton of samples of really expensive dog food for your 90 lb wolf: Priceless
Having a wolf who shuns reasonable priced dog food in favor of said really expensive brand: Chapter 11 Bankruptcy

Another Day, Another Dollar

2003-09-18T20:54:30Z

Incompetence pisses me off. Doubly so when it is my own. I have to go to the next town over (two town from where I live, for chrissakes) to give my vet money. Why? I apparently never grasped second grade math and over drew my checking account. Tis pisses me off mostly because I have to give my bank $30 for the inconvenience, the vet $20 for the inconvenience, plus the amount of the check. Don't get me wrong, I deserve it for not keeping a better handle on my check register, but it still pisses me off. $50 because I can't add.
Why, though, do most places charge upward of $20 dollars, when most banks only charge them $5? Ah well, I guess everybody can use the extra income, and this isn't likely taxable. So, I'm off, and I don't even have my dog to keep me company. I didn't want to bring him, since I didn't know where I'd be today, or what I'd be doing. Well, I'm off, and hopefully traffic won't be too bad, so I get back at a decent time.
On top of all that my spell check indicates that I forgot how to spell, too. Shoot me, please...