Happy Birthday, Anna!

Guard you birthday cake well!!!

February

[bonus points to anyone who can guess which part I drafted in my head.]

The most important things in life often happened by accident, by chance, be fate—by whatever supernatural forces, governed or ungoverned by law, that have puzzled many great minds over the centuries. Things came by unexpectedly this way: being lost, confused and alone amid the bewildering torrent of events and choices and finding a friend there beside you, as lost and confused as you are, but still ready to help you; living your life one way for so many years, believing yourself happy, only to suddenly discover that it was another life style that you craved—and that it was right within reach. It was the unexpected and unquestioned moral support, the prank and lewd jokes slipped between the pages of his dullest political science reader. It was the foil-wrapped candy bouncing off the back of his head whenever he’d been studying for too long (he seldom needed any other encouragement to take a break), and getting together and abruptly deciding, between your friends and the rest of your floor mates, to build a barricade across the entrance to the lounge with the lounge desks and chairs and attack all those who passed by with rolled up balls of socks and crumpled sheets of notes. It was unruly. It was undignified. It was unexpected. It was fun.

“Hey Gary,” someone shouted. “How many socks do we have left?”

Gary looked at the pile in front of them. Someone owned a pair of green socks. Someone else owned a pair that looked like it got chewed on. They were haphazardly rolled—or crammed, as the word would be more appropriate—into vaguely ball shaped things that piled up like grenades before the first charge. Most of them who were gathered here didn’t have the habit of rolling socks. Most of the rolled socks weren’t paired. They would have some problems sorting out the socks later, but currently, no one cared.

“A lot!” He called back, then added, with a theatrical arrogance that he had trained himself to, a not quite second nature that became, inextricably, part of his sense of humour. “And that’s Captain Gary for you.”

“Oui, capitaine,” Nick gave him a cheerful, if sloppy salute the same time a ball of sock rebounded from the point just between Gary’s shoulder blades. There was some general snickering.

“Alright,” he stated, twisting around from where he was crouched behind a desk even as his lips fought to break into a grin. Mike was trying to look innocent. Everyone was trying to look innocent, but Gary knew from experience that projectile weaponry was the specialty of Michael Reynolds. He asked the question anyway, because that was part of the game too. “Who did that?”

“Why’re you looking at me?” Asked Mike, with an expression of injured innocence on his face, executing his role in the joke flawlessly.

The most important things in life were also the most elusive, the permanent serendipity factor appearing when it was least expected, like a joke and like all jokes, unexplainable.

Gary opened his mouth and was about to say something about suspicion when someone else—keeping watch over the window—yelled—

“Someone’s coming!”

Immediately, despite of the momentary aside, they quickly retook their respective positions.

Zach stepped in front of the second floor lounge of Schrödinger’s Hall, at approximately 16:23, Pacific Time, Saturday afternoon, and was promptly attacked by a trolley of crumpled paper and……socks?

After pausing for a brief moment, under fire and under complete shock at the sudden unexpected development of the situation, Zach did what any sensible being in his right mind would do—which was to duck around the corner, out of the way, and contemplate why the hell it suddenly became necessary for him to fish out balled-up sheets of “The Fundamental Theories of Economics” out of his jacket’s hood.

“Wait. Wait! Halt!” Yelled someone.

Sighing, Zach glanced about him and tossed the notes in question into the nearest recycle bin. He recognized that voice, as well as few of the other voices that immediately rose in question and, after so many incidents within the category of inside-out backpacks and sporks on New Year’s, he might as well have guessed that at least one—if not all three—of his friends were behind this.

“Hey Zach!” Sang out Mike who, Zach recalled from the almost surreal glimpse he’d caught between the storm of socks, was located somewhere behind a desk and a chair, both of which were upside-down. “You okay?”

Warily he poked his head around the corner and inspected the not unimpressive barricade blocking the entrance to the lounge.

“Yes,” he answered. “Tell me, is there any particular reason why I was attacked by flying socks and paper-balls?”

“Tell me, is there any particular reason why I was attacked by flying socks and paper-balls?” Asked Zach blankly, cautiously stepping out from behind a turn in the hallway that separated the walkway from the lounge.

“Oh,” Mike grinned, feeling mischievous and rebellious at the same time. “No particular reason.”

“No reason,” echoed Nick, clambering out from behind a mountain of stacked-and-sideway chairs.

“For sho’” Gary picked up another ball of socks, balanced it experimentally in his hand, and peered hopefully down the hall way.

“Oy,” muttered Zach, a faint frown of disapproval crossing his face, gingerly poking at a pile of furniture with his fingers. “I was afraid of that.”

“Lighten up,” Mike suggested. Zach’s eyebrows lifted in mock confusion.

Right, almost forgot who I was talking to.

“What’s up?” He attempted, instead.

“You asked if we wanted to do something Saturday afternoon,” Zach reminded him. “We agreed that we wanted to do something Saturday afternoon, so I came over to see if you guys’d figured out what that ‘something’ is that you wanted to do this afternoon.”

“Wait. When was this?”

“Yesterday afternoon, or evening, to be exact—during dinner, right before—”

“Alright alright I got your point.” Mike didn’t know whether to laugh or groan, so he did neither and sighed instead, turning and looking at the others. “So what’d you guys wan’ to do?”

Gary shrugged, a noncommittal gesture. “I’ono.”

Zach was still looking at him, waiting expectantly, so he turned to Nick. “Say something.”

“Err.” Said Nick.

“No, not that, you idiot,” grumbled Mike, remembering too late that perhaps asking Nick wasn’t that good of an idea. “Um.”

“We might try to restore some semblance of sanity while we decide,” said Zach.

Mike was tempted to make a comment on the questionable state of sanity regarding themselves, but Zach had turned away and was now attempting to dislodge a chair from the top of the barricade. The entire section collapsed with a clang.

Nick laughed. Gary laughed. Mike rolled his eyes at the ceiling and went to take down the other chairs before Zach could kill himself or accomplish something else equally detrimental. The other followed the suit and started, with a few grumbles, to dissemble the Great Wall of Lounge Furniture.

“Ten-hut!” Someone shouted. Everyone who lived in the dorm and was therefore acquainted with the tradition sprang to a mock salute at the residential advisor who had chosen, right at that moment, to wander by. She eyed the sock and paper covered floor, eyed what was left of the barricade and wisely decided not to say anything. It was easy to see, however, that inside of her mind she was saying to herself: BOYS.

The roar of laughter started before she was even fully out of sight.

My mom is just starting to realize that, well, I'm a bit of an outsider. Guess I can't blame her since I'm not too much of an outsider for it to have been noticeable. But now she's all anxious about me not being social enough, and not having established a circle of friends at university yet, and you're turning 19! you should be acting more like a normal girl blossoming into a woman!

..yea, i'm not exaggerating the phrasing or anything. I guess all these years she'd been hoping all the weird parts of me would go away with childhood. Also, what the heck, I've changed schools like 3 times and I don't remember ever turning up at home the next week with a couple dozen of my closest friends that I'd managed to make.

I also feel the need to hire a fake boyfriend or something (she's asking about any guys i like more and more often). After all, that always works out in the movies. And it's not like I don't want a boyfriend, I don't think any of them want me =P

Anyway, this isn't that big of a thing, I just always like posting here. The blog must have cast a magic spell on me so it won't die lonely and without posts for weeks on end.

and so makani continues to rule

Why Harry, is that a creature in your chest...?

Valentine's post... sort of

I don't know if I've ever talked about this before, but in Armenia there's a special traditional celebration on Feb 14th. Basically what you're supposed to do is bring fire from church and then jump over it, and sickness will get burned in the fire or something along those lines. The day is directed more towards newlyweds and "newlyengageds".

Anyway, nobody really gets the fire from the church anymore, but people do make fires outside and jump over them. It's kinda fun. Since my cousin got engaged in fall, they had a little celebration with the fire and everything.


It's-a me! Got a haircut that same day; the hair had gotten long enough for ponytails already.



Cousin and fiancee jumping. Blurry but kinda cool.



Aunt and uncle helping little cousin jump. He was having the time of his life x)



Me, right after jumping. Not a very good picture. And you can't really see the flame because my butt is in the way =P.



Women are supposed to dance around the fire 7 times in the end (I think?). We just sort of walked around it like once.

Ok, this has been your cultural lesson for today. NOW GET BACK TO HW.

p.s. This was over the weekend, not yesterday, because yea, convenient.

Happy Chocolate Everyone!

February

[*helps push the post down farther* Let me know when you're all caught up with the midterm and other academic stuff Lucy, and I'll start routing the posts through your inbox again. It seems safer. First line of defense against the horrors of truly awful mechanical errors (that you are used to, after 2 years of salvaging my essays) and all. Feel brave. Feel very brave. *cough*]

Valentine’s Day was a lot like a disease that went around and randomly infected people, and for some reason the female half of the population usually ended up more affected. Then again, as far as Mike had observed, the female half of the population, especially within his age range, was weird in general, which meant that everything must be held in subjective degrees of measurement only.

Dawning of the fourteenth of February made him feel somewhat paranoid; it always did. He could never wake up on that day without feeling like there was someone stalking him, and he always had to the nagging suspicion that he was right. Had he not had an actually interesting class that day, he would’ve, doubtlessly, opted to go into hiding. The slight issue with that this year was that he had no where to hide except his room and by lunch, after receiving two door knocks and a pink heart (pink!) full of what he assumed to be candy, he decided that a new hiding place was needed and considered his options.

He needed a place with a door that locked, that much was for certain, and preferably something to do while he was inside the asylum. Naturally he thought about his friends. Nick, who, if he had any sense, would be hiding somewhere as well. Gary, being strange and with some sort unresolved issues with girls that Mike knew Zach did not approve of, was on a date with someone. Which left Zach who was, Mike realized, probably as much affected by February the fourteenth as a block of cement was and therefore the safest bet.

The weather, decided Zach, had definitely taken a turn for the better. It was already no longer necessary to keep the windows closed (more against the rain than the cold) or be redundantly thankful of the heating system (which happened about three days per year here). He enjoyed leaving the window wide open as he read, so that the room smelt like the outside: a blend of the nearby pines, sun-warmed wind, and the faintest of whiff of city smog that still somehow managed to coalesce together to bring to mind the word “springtime.”

Someone gave the door a sharp rap, then tried to open it. Since he had locked the door after his roommate had left with his girlfriend, this, of course, was not possible. Sighing, Zach unfolded himself from where he had wedged himself comfortably into his chair and went to open the door, thinking about how much less sympathetic he’d be if it turned out that his roommate had lost his room key, again.

“Hey,” said Mike, looking slightly twitchy and with his twitchiness reminding Zach that it was Valentine’s Day. “Can I come in?”

“You may,” answered Zach, “But your ‘entourage’ stays outside.”

“What?”

He made a slight motion with his hand, indicating that Mike, fittingly clad in black and dark grey on a day of overwhelming bright pinks and reds, should turn around. What then ensued could be only described as a massive screech-giggle as a group of girls hastily and indiscreetly shuffled behind a corner.

“Holy crap.” Mike bolted into the room and shoved the door closed behind him, looking even twitchier.

“There, there,” Zach said absently, checked out of the peephole on the door, and reflected that with that group out there and Mike in here he should give up reading his biology text right then and there… and perhaps consider what might be done to alleviate the distress of his friends. Plural. Because Nick had stopped by earlier before he fled somewhere else with a picture of his old girlfriend hidden in his wallet, just in case.

Nick wasn’t in his room. That was somewhat expected. Mike wasn’t in his room. That was also somewhat expected but, Gary thought, if Zach, the permanently dependable residence of his room, was not there he might have to go and destroy something by a way of stress management.

How was he supposed [see, Lucy, I remembered!] to know that that girl’d want that…that he’d end up…that he would probably experience some difficulties getting rid of this one because she had that particular twist to her personality which said: stalker material. Augh.

“Who’s it?” Came Zach’s voice when Gary, failing to open the door, was forced to bang against it instead.

“Me,” answered Gary, immensely relieved that someone was doing what they were supposed to be doing. (In the case of Zach, this meant being inside of his room.) He heard Zach say something, and wondered who he was talking to, before the door opened to allow his entrance.

“Hey,” said Mike, looking, with his expression and colour of clothing, like a lowering storm cloud. “Mind closing the door behind you?”

“You alright?” Asked Zach.

“Yes and no,” said Gary, immediately retreating to theatrics in order to hide his true horror of the events that had unfolded earlier that day. “You guys know I had a date, right?”

“Right,” agreed Zach, checked out of the door again, made a face, then closed it.

“And we’ve known each other for a while and I was just…you know…and it was Valentine’s day so I thought…well…flowers…being nice…it’s all your doing,” he added accusingly to Zach, who merely raised his eyebrows with a guileless, ‘who-me’ look. “And she…she got all soppy and…and…she used the L-word, you know?”

“She didn’t,” Mike managed to choke out, and hurriedly turned around to hide his expression.

Zach and Gary looked at each other. Zach gave a one shouldered shrug.

At least that seemed to have made someone feel better.

“She did,” whined Gary mournfully, feeling it entirely unfair that someone seemed to be enjoying his present pains. An uncomfortable heat was creeping up his face. “So what the hell do I do now?”

“L-word?” Zach’s lips twitched. Gary suddenly wondered if Zach was also deriving some sort of satisfaction from his current state of misery since he was always very disapproving of what he called his date-and-dump strategy. “That’s devotion for you,” murmured Zach. “I’m guessing that the attraction is not mutual?”

Gary muttered something that was pithy and to the point. Mike, managing a Rubik’s cube, made noises that could only be described as cackling. “What do I do?” He growled. “I don’t want to end up with a stalker or anything.”

“First of all,” said Zach, “What did you do after she used the word ‘love?’” He ignored Gary’s instinctive cringe. “How’d the date turn out?”

“Um. I’m not sure.” Oh God oh God why couldn’t these things come with directions? Though he supposed that at some levels he must’ve earned some sort of punishment, but certainly not this. Girls were really deeply horrifying things, why hadn’t he noticed that before? “I think I just sort of…left.”

“Oh, man,” was Mike’s well-expressed comment.

“Well, hell,” muttered Zach. “I don’t think we can do anything at this point so, er, Mike was suggesting that we get Nick and go out for lunch somewhere far, far away and flee the general site of trauma, so to speak, want to come?”

“Yeah,” said Gary fervently. Friends were a great comfort in times like these, even though there was a draft blowing directly at him from the window which was open for some odd reason. “Far, far, far away—what’re these?” He asked, noticing some boxes scattered across the room for the first time, now that he was no longer blinded by his own panic. Horrified, yes, and deeply traumatized, but not blinded.

Zach gave Mike a sympathetic, but also amused, look.

“If you mention one word about Joe Flanigan…” warned Mike, going slightly pink.

“Who?” Zach asked blankly.

“What?” asked Gary, confused, and when no one responded, continued. “Right. Anyway.” He poked at the boxes. “Are these food?”

“Eurgh,” said Mike. “Chocolates. I think. Want some? Want all of them?”

“Happy Valentine’s day,” added Zach.

“Argh,” groaned Mike and Gary, in unison.

[The V-day terrors as I was informed by the various guys from my floor and from work. AHEM.]

*pushes the yucky post down*

Eh, yeah, lets move on. Hopefully that's over.

Ironically, I wanna talk about something from Friday night when we were driving from the emergency room in the middle of the night.

It was dark (obviously) and there was this incredibly thick fog everywhere. Now that's not exactly nice if you're driving, but the way the world looked, it was incredible. I even thought that getting to see this was worth spending 7 hours in the emergency room.

There were old-fashioned street lamps in that neighborhood and they, along with the traffic light lights, looked like glowing spheres suspended in murky nothingness.

Often you couldn't see anything except blinking reds and greens in the distance, and passageways indicated by rows of glowing white orbs of light. It was like another world, another universe. And when you could make out odd silhouettes of tree branches it was like a beautiful digital painting.

It was the most surreal experience I've ever had.

Oh, God, you guys, I've been going through hell this weekend.

Emergency rooms, doctors.. Apparently my sore throat was not a sore throat but a Peritonsillar abscess. Yeah, it even sounds bad.

Yesterday morning they stuck needles (AND a scalpel. A FREAKING SCALPEL) down my throat trying to drain it, but I have the worst gagging reflext. After like an hour I couldn't take it anymore, and he said he just needed to check if he got all of it, but I just couldn't, so we came home hoping it was all over, except today I can feel it getting larger in my throat. >.< Will have to go through it all again today and I don't even know if it's going to completely work. Stupid. Fucking. Gagging. Reflext. Also my tongue is abnormally large. Or my mouth too small. Or both.

And, yes, I'm only posting here to complain. Also I felt like you should know. Also my midterms are this week. Don't call because I can't really talk.

[Edit- 7:00 pm]

Wow. I have more self-control that I gave myself credit for.

After cutting the abcess with the scalpel again, he went in with scissors and enlarged the cut o_O I managed to keep my mouth open despite the gagging and the blood gushing into my mouth. YES. PRAISE ME. *cough* But, serously, I know some people can and have endured much worse things, but everything's relative and for me personally this is a big accomplishment. Now I'm happy to be home and spitting blood out all the time.

At least I found out I'm not afraid of or disgusted by blood because I've been spitting out a lot of it, mixed with gross pus, the last two days and I was fine with that part at least.

Also, I'm never using the expression "shoved down the throat" lightly again. Ever.

February

Approaching St. Valentine's I

He was not in a classroom and there was a girl smiling at him.

He was not in a classroom and there was a girl smiling at him, and he hadn’t a clue who she was. Come to think of it, he doubted that she was even in any of his classes from either the past or the recent quarter.

Zach scrutinized the girl. She looked like the cheerleader-sort, from the top of her curly gold head to the bottom of her be-glittered, flared jeans. She was also appeared to be smiling at him expectantly. Zach considered the situation, formulated a hypothesis, and looked over his shoulder.

There was no one else there.

The girl’s smile widened, and Zach regarded her warily. After growing up with five different cousins, three of them female and two of them younger than him, he knew he had a good reason to be nervous whenever a girl smiled at him like that.

“Hi,” she said, apparently coming to the conclusion that he wasn’t about to do anything. “I’m Leslie. Mind if I eat with you?”

“If you would like to,” replied Zach, eyebrows rising with bemusement. “And…nice to meet you?”

“Yeah, nice to meet you,” she grinned, teeth very white and shiny, and set her tray of food down across from him. Zach tried not to stare. It was an unusually chilly day for early February and she was wearing a tank-top. He recalled Mike’s email and wondered vaguely if this girl also came from Minnesota. “So…do you usually come here?”

When my friends haven’t dragged me off elsewhere, thought Zach. “Usually,” he answered, watching the girl toy with her necklace. It was a gold heart. On a chain. He wondered at the cliché symbolism of it. As someone who had trained himself to be watchful of other’s moods and wills, he found the girl’s body language very distracting. It was incredibly loud for something that had no volume, and also incredibly unsubtle even though he still didn’t know what she was trying to get at, exactly.

“So, you’re Mike’s friend, right?” She asked, with a brief upward glance at him, eyes blue through mascara-darkened lashes. Suddenly Zach realized exactly what she was after or rather, who she was after, and bit his tongue.

“Mmph,” he said, attempting a polite, non-committal response.

“Do you, um, know if he’s going out with anyone right now?”

…And there it was.

Zach cleared his throat nervously. It would be so easy to lie, and Mike, no doubt, would appreciate it. Even so, Zach couldn’t quite convince himself that he had the full justification for it. On the other hand, he also knew exactly what Mike’s current opinion was on the female population of this school, and knew that it definitely would not be appreciated if he told the girl that no, Mike was, in fact, not going out with anyone right now. He settled for the most diplomatic answer.

“I don’t think Michael is …currently available right now,” he said carefully.

The girl’s very white and shiny smile wavered only for an instant, but she carried on very smoothly. “Oh…right. Um. What about his other friend. The tall one?”

What an opportunist, thought Zach with some shock. “Nicolas?” he was getting rather good at this. “He’ll probably just show you a picture of his girlfriend. From France.” He added, just to nail the point home, and then some, because he had decided that he didn’t like the What-About-His-Other-Friend-Leslie.

“Er. Oh okay. Thanks.” She picked at her plate which, Zach noted, contained only plain salad, without dressing, and was only about a quarter full. They sat for a few moments in silence.

Now that Zach knew what she was after, and had a fairly good idea of who he was dealing with, he felt no obligation to attempt to carry on the conversation and decided to let the girl fend for herself.

“Um.” The girl attempted finally, giving up. “I’ll see you around?”

Zach, from the nervous sideways glances and the lacing of the fingers, translated: Let’s never, ever bring this up again, okay?

“Okay,” said Zach. “Nice to meet you.”

She gave him another smile, this time with more awkwardness than anything else, and bolted. Later, while leaving the dining commons, Zach passed her, surrounded by a group of her giggly friends, saw her panicked look when she saw him, and decided to be nice and wander the other way.

It was February, the second month of the year. It was February and the number ‘two’ seemed to do strange and unexplainable things to the hormone levels of his fellow students, both genders alike. Zach, thinking over what had just happened, realized that he should get used to it, because this was only his first year at college with his friends, and this way lays all the Februaries of the future.

...

February, recalled Nick, was a time when the female half of the population seemed to get very friendly, in an alarming sort of way. The last two years he had simply avoided the awkwardness by having a girlfriend which, he admitted, was convenient on St. Valentine’s day but, on the whole, proved to be much more than he could handle. He’d wanted the friend part more than the girlfriend part, and unlike her, had had no intentions of settling down and marrying any time within the next two years (que effrayant!). That had ended the progressively more one-sided relationship and Nicolas Lucille thought that he had had quite enough of girls for the time being, thank you very much. Therefore, when the girl with nut-coloured hair who sat across from him during chemistry labs smiled slightly too much and attempted to carry conversations with random (and badly pronounced) French vocabularies mixed in, Nick, recalling that the fourteenth of February was now less than fourteen days away, became somewhat nervous.

But it was either going to the chemistry labs or getting repeatedly marked down for missing and making up more than three late labs, and Nick was a good student which meant that, if nothing else, that he was a dutiful one. So he went to the labs, and was unfailingly polite to everyone, and did his best to avoid being cornered into any conversations that might inevitably lead up to the dreaded date of February the fourteenth. And so when the girl smiled at him over the vapours of strange boiling substances and crystalline gleams of fifty millilitre burettes and asked him if he was busy that weekend he smiled back, painstakingly polite as always, said ‘yes’, and thanked the heavens that he had friends. Male friends. Who have a life and do things on weekends.

He was thankful enough even to feel a mild tolerance at first, when Mike passed by the park and decided that climbing That Tree Over There would be a good idea—a tolerance that quickly diminished when Mike continued to climb up past what Nick was sure to be the safety level of the weight-supporting abilities of the tree limbs…and kept on going. Up.

“Mike, you’re going to break your neck!”

Rustling shadows and scorn, not unmixed with exasperated amusement. “No I’m not.”

“Yes you are!” He tried to peer upwards into the bewildering sway of leaves and millions of tiny suns dancing among the boughs. It was a sunny day and the sun was currently not helping him.

“No I’m not.” Another foot. Nick made an alarmed noise. “Nick, I’m not going to break my neck!”

The branches bending a little more under the unusual pressure, forming perfect bows, graceful even under the strain. Nick would’ve admired them a lot more had he not know and were not worried about the cause of the strain. He actually felt the prickling along the back of his neck, from sheer nerves. “By the time you break it it’ll be too late! Descendres!”

“Non, mère!”

“Um, Mike, that’s high enough now,” suggested Gary nervously, squinting upward.

“Agreed.” Zach took a stand. “Do come down, Mike, and stop abusing that poor tree.”

He stared down at them for a moment, perched precariously on a tree limp, narrow face unreadable, and huffed. “You guys suck.”

“So does gravity,” replied Zach, affably, “And the life of that tree, as of this moment.”

“Since when are you such a tree-lover?” Mike made a face, but he eventually descended the crucial few feet that was causing Nick’s innards to try to take evasive action and sat on a lower branch, dangling his legs and regarding the rest of them with the aggravated look of six-year old who’d just been told that no, he was not allowed to play with matches. “I wasn’t even doing anything!”

“Well…refrais ça et tu es consigné! No…TV, for a week.” Annouced Nick, jokingly. Jokingly, because he knew—and he knew that Mike knew it too—that he hated confrontations and therefore would never be able to carry out his threats, such as grounding his friend, which he wouldn’t know how to do anyway since back at home it was always mother who dealt with his sister when she misbehaved.

Mike stuck out his tongue at him and Nick, always happy with nonverbal arguments, responded likewise.

“They’re so mature,” sighed Gary.

“Teenagers,” agreed Zach sagely, just as Mike started to pick off leaves randomly to flick them at Nick.

Across the street, among the various shops, the increasingly alarming shades of pink continued to appear.

[All romantic details are provided by my various floormates, for this and possibly any of the future posts that may involve romantic details. Muchas gracias, even if they don't read this. Or have any idea that I'm indirectly using the information that they're supplying.]

[edit: 13:00]
Lucy, you're loosing your touch...Kate beat you to the beta-ing. o_O

And right, Kate, I'll ...keep trying. Though the guys that I'm currently living around seem to hug more than what's normal for the general male population, (I'm serious, Molly was complaining about this guy who kept hugging him) but I'm guessing it's another Miller hall thing (I'll just observe the guys at work instead).

[edit: 22:04]
Got it, Lucy. And...I'm really not sure if I should congratulate you on finding my writing mistakes. Something about that doesn't seem quite right, you know? =p

Luna!

They cast Luna ^^



And I actually like her! She just needs a bit darker/more messed up hair, but her eyes are very nice for the role.

Bellatrix (Helen McCrory), Umbridge (Imelda Staunton), Kingsley (George Harris), and Tonks (Natalia Tena) have also been cast. Also some guy for whom there are like no pictures (well, one really bad one) named Robbie Jarvis for young James's role. Some people were all "durr, Dan [harry] should have played his dad" but that would just look SILLY. I'm happy they've cast someone else. There should also be young Sirius (will we finally get a hot sirius? x), Snape, Lupin, and Lily cast sometime soon. Yaaa*starts couging*aaay! Oh and Peter too.

I thought this deserved a separate post:
Get well soon, Lusine! =)

Sick?!

Again?!
What the freak? And now it's my throat. The only thing I hate more than a sore throat is not being able to breath.

Speaking of, you should all be grateful to be effortlessly able to open your mouth wide enough for food to get in.


I seem to be taking over the blog as well. Hope nobody minds. IF YOU DO, POST.