Name Tags and Addictions

"Like the fading moon
Ruining the darkness,
That paleness of my lips

Of what do I sing?
Of what do I sing?

You are my setting sun."

Once upon a time, there was a foolish little girl who expected her senior year of high school to be a breeze.

She was sadly mistaken.

It has only been the first week of school (and not even a full week at that), and I am already exhausted. Because for some idiotic reason, Advanced Journalism does not count as an art, I am taking 3-D Sculpture during zero period at 7 am. Furthermore, because the first two weeks of school require the editors in chief to stay for seventh period to teach the new staff writers, I spend about eight hours at school each day, functioning on approximately five hours of sleep.

Frankly, I liked my teachers from my junior year better than the ones I have now. Particularly my second period teacher -- although I will only have her for one semester, I get the feeling it will not be a pleasant one. How do I not-love thee? Let me count the ways:

1. We have to make name tags for our desks --- and she expects them to be decorated and colored. Honestly woman, I am operating on five hours of sleep. I don't need to waste any more time drawing my life's story on a stupid name tag.

2. Apparently, if she could have had any career she wanted, she would have been an opera singer. I absolutely agree, ma'am. Then I would have had a blast sitting at home NOT drawing a name tag while watching you mangle Puccini's Nessun Dorma on "America's Got Talent."

3. I don't know why she says "That's hot" all the time, but it annoys me to no end. I can only imagine how much money Paris Hilton could gobble up from lawsuits if she decides to sue.

Why am I wasting time writing about this? I should be spending this time to redo my name tag, which apparently has no character. Uh, hello? My name tag, which is the one I use in AP Stats, is completely brimming with character. It says: I am practical, I save trees, and I don't waste my fucking time.

.........
Okay, I lied. I waste a lot of time.

Now that my parents allow me to keep one of our many laptops (which I have claimed for myself) in my room, I have been wasting plenty of time. Ah, but I don't sign on to AIM or browse around Facebook. And as you are aware of, I haven't been blogging much either. So where the hell have I been?

Since my idyllic days at Stanford, I have picked up a nasty habit of reading manga online. Yes, I have been reading manga since fourth grade; but now I am just simply so tech-savvy that I read everything online.

Seriously though, if I ever need inspiration for a story, I go and read manga. And I don't read the stupid shojou ones where some shy girl with glasses always turns into some bombshell when her glasses come off. Those piss me off -- if I wanted to read that kind of story, I could just go to fictionpress. No, the last two I got hooked on may have been labeled shoujo, but none of them were the same stupid high school romance stories -- one was a supernatural mystery, the other was an action comedy.

Kagen no Tsuki (Last Quarter) is by Ai Yazawa. I have to say, Yazawa is probably my favorite mangaka, since she's the same person who wrote Nana and Paradise Kiss and because all her stories are done in my kind of style -- dark and bittersweet. Kagen no Tsuki has a lot of supernatural elements to it -- ghosts, reincarnation, etc. -- stuff that have helped me rethink about how I plan to write EP's ending. I have to say, even though Yazawa gets a lot of crap for how she ended Paradise Kiss (which I thought was brilliant), once again I loved the last chapter of Kagen no Tsuki. Yes, I am sucker for bittersweet endings.

Kagen no Tsuki gave me a lot of ideas for how to write EP, but unfortunately, I have not been able to write due to homework. But at least in my head, I know how it's going to end... if I ever manage to get that far.

Tokyo Crazy Paradise by Yoshiki Nakamura is done by the same author who created Skip Beat. She really needs to find somebody to give her stories better titles, because they do no justice to how cool these stories actually are. Tokyo Crazy Paradise is set in 2020 and involves feuding Yakuza gangs, centering on a daughter of two murdered police officers who has lived her entire life pretending to be a guy. She ends up getting tangled with the Kumichou (Gang Head) of one of the most powerful gangs -- a guy her age who has been her classmate since kindergarten.

Obviously, it's a violent story, but you all know how morbid I am. Plus, Yoshiki Nakamura's stories can get really hilarious at times. Both Skip Beat and Tokyo Crazy Paradise provided a lot of inspiration for the tentative story I have been plotting in my head, How to Slay a Heartthrob. I really hope to write it someday, but since I never write anything until I have the entire storyline all planned out, I don't expect to start anything until after I graduate from high school.

GAH I REALLY WANT TO WRITE DAMN IT. Stupid school.

"Like the fading moon,
Ruining the darkness,
Paling,
These lips...

I sing for something
I pray for something,
As I lose the sun that is you."

-- Last Quarter

A Very Real Story

Lookbook ici

It happened that a young woman walked out of the clothing store with a face rosy with post-shopping euphoria, only to discover that the rain clouds had crept in sometime during her indoor self-indulgence. As she pulled her scarf tighter around her neck and shivered, wondering how wet she would be if she attempted to return to her car parked somewhere down the distant street, the young man standing beside her offered to walk her to her car under his umbrella. He was a tall attractive fellow, with a crown of golden curls tucked under his cap and deep poignant eyes. Obligingly, she accepted his chivalrous offer and the two walked side by side along the wet concrete sidewalk.

Somehow, she felt deeply at ease around this young man. As they filled what could have potentially been an uncomfortable silence with light-hearted chatter, the young woman caught herself stealing multiple glances at the charming stranger. His good-natured expression let her feel trusting and amiable towards this man, and the mysterious smile on his face -- as if there was a private joke he was having with himself -- caused her to feel like a curious child wanting to be let in on a secret. When a blast of wind hurled a barrage of frigid rain into her body, he automatically pulled her closer to him so that his body shielded her from the cold. The arm around her shoulders felt warm and protective, and she thought idly, "How wonderful this all is!"

At last, when they had arrived at her car, she felt strangely sorry as the warmth around her shoulders receded. Thanking him profusely, she asked if there was anything she could do for him, to which he replied that it had been his pleasure to accompany her. She would have loved to ask him to meet again sometime, but he had already turned and stalked off in the other direction. As she sat in the driver's seat waiting for her car to heat up, she suddenly thought to phone her friend about the handsome fairytale stranger she had just encountered. But alas, as the young woman burrowed through the pile of shopping bags he had helped her load into the car, she soon discovered that her purse, along with its invaluable contents, had all but vanished along with her excitement of encountering a real Prince Charming.

La Chanteuse

I'm not her fan, but I have to credit her for being the one who got me into popular music. I liked this video though -- it's raw.

I actually idolized her when I was younger. After I learned about her, my fashion taste started to change. I wanted to wear black. I liked sporty, punk, grunge styles. In short, I wanted to dress like her. Her first CD, Let Go, was the first I ever bought by myself, for myself, and although I don't listen to it much anymore, each song has a meaning or a memory behind it. Doesn't that happen to you too? When songs remind you of someone or something?

Track 1, "Losing Grip," reminds me of Storm. I followed him blindly for years, even when I knew the effort would amount to nowhere. But that is a long story I'd rather bury.

Track 3, "Sk8er Boi," reminds of the first story I outlined. The heroine was a tough-as-nails girl named Avril with a crush on the older, smarter, handsome, athletic Wes. Purely living out a fantasy through fiction. In the end, the story was scrapped, but the basics were introduced when I began drafting EP.

Track 4, "I'm With You," reminds me of E. Some of my worst idiotic moments are tied to this person who I have not seen in many years.

Track 6, "Unwanted," reminds me of Iris. That was the song I had been listening to when I found out she died. For a long time, I couldn't listen to that song anymore. Iris' death struck me hard, not only because I was still very young, but because it was the first time I understood the permanent nature of death.

Track 8, "Anything but Ordinary," reminds me of CP. We wrote a silly song parody for this one summer. I have always felt guilty about how our friendship disappeared -- I threw the rock at her suggestion, shattering not only the glass sliding door but the closeness we had.

Track 12, "Too Much to Ask," reminds me of sixth grade. Sixth grade had to be one of the worst years in my life. I was thinking of death all the time -- not in the suicidal sense. I was always wondering who would miss me if I suddenly died. I wanted to be tough -- I glared, I frowned, I brooded.

Other songs have other meanings to me as well.

"Send the Pain Below" by Chevelle is Orpheus' song. I would board myself in my room when no one was at home and play this song on high volume, singing until the frustration I felt was off my chest.

"Welcome Home" by Coheed and Cambria reminds me of Junior Prom. When I sang in front of my friends at J's house for Rock Band, something changed. Before, I had always been ashamed of my singing.

"On the Other Side of the Crash" by Thursday is the song for the couple I based Rory and Rhys on -- the duo I dreamed about in "Murderess: a waltz in 3/4 time."

"Yellow" by Coldplay is Rose Mortmain's song. To me, this song will never belong to anybody else but her. Even as our paths divide, I will never be able to forget her as long as this song exists.

Sometimes I wonder if this happens with other people. I'll wonder, what kind of songs are associated to me?

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I thought I'd share something completely unrelated.

I showed Rogue pictures of Banana Man, and she insisted that Banana Man was not "nasty" -- he just wore shorts that were too short. So I sent her the link to another facebook picture of him. Out of respect for his privacy, I will not provide the link publicly, but to give you an idea, let us just say that he was sitting in a strange position that made his shorts look extremely short.

Sophelia: [insert link] seriously whats up with his shorts!!!

Rogue: if i didn't know any better, i'd tease you about how people insulting others means they like them, but i think you'd kill me

Sophelia: yeah i would

Rogue: HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA

Rogue: OMFGGGGGG

Rogue: LMAO

Rogue: HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

Rogue: HAHAHAHAHA

Sophelia: wow you're having a blast

Rogue: THAT IS DISGUSTINGGGG

Rogue: HAHAHAHAHAHHA

Sophelia: EXACTLY

Rogue: OMGGGGG

Rogue: HAHAHAHA

Rogue: OMFGGGGGG

Sophelia: i can imagine you right now

Rogue: OMG THAT IS FCKING HILARIOUS

Rogue: HAHAHAHAHHA

Sophelia: its nastyyyyy

Rogue: HAHAHA

Rogue: OMGGG

Rogue: I CAN'T STOP LAUGHING

It's probably not as funny without the picture, so ask me for the link. and NO. I DO NOT HAVE A SONG FOR BANANA MAN.