Well...

It took all of my first year at college, but I finally went out with a bunch of people late in the evening on a weekday and didn't get home until 1am. Woot?

It was a crazy night full of drinks, music, and insane people.

...

Ok so it was actually bowling, and a couple people maybe had one bottle of beer. And everyone was insane only in a good way :) And there indeed were music videos on large screens. They were playing Bon Jovi's "Have a Nice Day" when we stepped in :D

Oh yeah when I told them they could call me "Lucy", these two guys cracked up about how freshman year they were roommates and had a cardboard cutout of a monster from some movie as their third "roommate" that they nicknamed "Lucy". Lucy now resides in one of the guy's parent's garage. I feel so loved.

Ok sleep now because gotta wake up before 7am o.o

June: Winding down

[Someone needs to tell Nick to stop buying into Mike’s innocent looks because there are contemplations of mayhem behind that boyish grin and if he isn’t careful he’s liable to find all of his econ notes turned into paperchains of mobius strips.

And I also don’t know what a chipper Gary would sound like, but I tried. If he sounds like he’s high on something, blame the South Cal heat, which must surely be getting to him.

Posted today as will not have time to finish anything that's readable by the next two Fridays. ]

It began with boxes, and it was going to end with boxes.

“Zach? Zach? Are you—oof—oww—my god—sorry—you ‘kay?”

Zach looked up at Gary blearily from his new-found location. “I’ll live but I—it would’ve—couldn’t you have—knocked?”

“Knockin’s for sissies,” pronounced Gary, eyed one stack of boxes but eventually thought better of it and leaned against the wardrobe instead.

“And the sane, and all those who wish to avoid unnecessary injuries,” added Zach, removing a box of books from his knee, where it was gradually cutting off his circulation. He climbed gingerly to his feet.

Gary threw a careless arm around his shoulder. He was wearing his green contacts. “Zachary, you’ll never learn. We’re men, it’s our duty to go through life an’ accumulate injuries.”

“Until we die from an over-accumulation,” muttered Zach, looked around, sighed, and dumped his armload of books back onto the bed with the various other piles that he had hoped to sort out.

“And sanity—you of all people should know better than t’question sanity where the rest of us’re involved,” continued Gary, ignoring him. “I mean, com’on. A year. A freakin’ year an’ thank god it’s summer.”

“We’ve a few hours left yet!” Zach called after him, but Gary had already sauntered off, perhaps to pester someone else who actually needed to pack for themselves and not just sit back and let the hired help do the work. Though that was only part of it. Zach sighed. Most of it was euphoria, of the sort which took over boys on the last day of the school year and prompted them to do all sorts of ridiculous things such as throwing fruits on top of buildings or getting hideously drunk. He was lucky that all his friends did was neglect knocking and walk into things. It could’ve been so, so much worse.

He looked around the room.

Calling it ‘messy’ would’ve been an understatement. There was clearly a lot that still needed to be done.

“Gah,” said Zach.

Summer was here, blissful, blissful summer from which there was a complete and utter escape from all things academic and all sorts of responsibilities and no need to think about them for an entire two months. The person who’d coined the term ‘heaven on earth’, decided Gary, must’ve come up with the idea right after his term was over.

The weather outside was gorgeous in a way that prevented thinking, the heat rolling in golden waves underneath the bleached sky with a particular kind of lull that encouraged lying about until severe brain-melt—or at least sunburn—had been achieved. There were people out who were doing things other than that though—who had to do things other than that. Gary felt sorry for them—out of state students who had to get things done early to take the first plane out—not that he blamed them, because he was all sympathy with the need to get out of school. It was simply that he thought Nick’s arrangement of packing and an overnight stay at his uncle’s, so that he was leaving at the same time as the rest of his friends, was much nicer.

Something went “thwack” against his back.

Mike was wearing a sweatshirt.

That was the thing about Mike, Gary thought. That was the thing that he seldom was—or did—what was expected of him. You’d think that growing up at somewhere where it went twenty below or whatever it was every winter would mean that he’d have a natural intolerance for heat. Then summer came around and you realized that was not the case, and that Mike seemed to have an uncanny tolerance for temperature change, period. Gary had never seen him wear anything other than two sweatshirts on top of each other for warmth in the winter and he could count on one hand how many times he’d seen him without a sweatshirt—and still have plenty of fingers left. It was a little weird, to be honest, but it also could just mean that Mike was incredibly good at thermoregulation or that he was, as Nick had suggested, an alien from some other galaxy who was planning to take over the world.

“What’re you grinnin’ at?” Mike asked suspiciously.

“Um. Nothing,” said Gary, and strove for an innocent expression. Mike looked even more suspicious.

“The innocent look thing,” said Mike, “so isn’t workin. It only works when I do it.”

“It never works with Zach,” Gary felt obliged to point out, “even when you do it. An’ especially when you do it.”

Mike twitched his shoulder. “Oh well. That’s Zach, you know. He’s sorta paranoid. Ish. Anyway—it always works with Nick.”

Getting out of his room had been a good move. It had not been a good move as far as packing went, and it was definitely not a good move in as far as anything vaguely related to efficiency was concerned. However, it did allow him to procrastinate without being made guilty by the reminders all around the room and therefore, as far as Nick was concerned, getting out of the room had been a good move.

Two minutes later he encountered his friends. Yes, getting out had definitely been a good move.

“Did someone say my name?” He asked, by a way of jumping into the conversation.

Mike looked at him. “You know, of all the lines you could’ve picked up from the American culture, somehow you always managed to pick the cheesiest ones.”

“It’s not cheesy,” said Nick, indignant. “It’s classic.”

“No,” said Mike, firmly, “it’s cheesy, there’s a difference.”

“Yeah, one of them could be used t’describe food,” said Gary with a grin, upon which Mike smacked him over the top of his head. “Hey!”

“Anyway,” continued Mike, rolling his eyes. “You done with packin’ already?”

Nick briefly entertained the possibility that maybe getting out of his room had not been as good of a move as he’d thought. He tried to not look too guilty.

“Don’t worry,” Gary chimed in cheerfully, “He’s not done either.”

“Gee thanks, Gary,” said Mike sarcastically, quirking an eyebrow as an indication that he was somewhere between amused and annoyed.

“Yeah, thanks,” said Nick, and meant it.

So getting out was a good move.

[And yes, Lucy, that certain part with Gary was meant to be funny. It was based on something I heard a guy say, and I thought it'd be appropriate.]

music

Huh, have you guys seen this before?
http://www.pandora.com/
You tell it what kind of music you like, and it suggests songs of similar style. Can't say it's done wonders for me so far, but could be interesting.

p.s. Speaking of music.. my 65+ old art history professor started singing "Starry Night"in lecture. Admittedly we were looking at Van Gogh's painting, but he started singnig it pretty much randomely. And kept going and going and sang the whole thing. He's such a lovable old man <3. Except when he talks about boring stuff and we fall asleep.

For they could not love you
But still your love was true
And when no hope was left inside
On that starry, starry night
You took your life as lovers often do
But I could have told you Vincent
This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.

May 31, 2001

May 31, 2006.

5 years in America and counting. Lets see what happens next, eh?

May: Birthday, part III

[So apparently the music I listen to when I'm drafting a story in my head will affect the outcome of the story, and certain songs, such as Better Than Ezra's "Breathless" will result in happy fluffy things, despite of the chem class that immediately followed.

Sappy material included. You stand warned. Sorry Lucy, you'd had to suffer without the warning.

Oh and apparently Mike giggles like Jon Steward. I have no idea what that sounds like but will file it away for future references. ]

“…aaaaannnnnnnnd this one’s from me,” announced Mike happily, plunking a package in front of Nick with an expression that, he hoped, encouraged Nick to open the bag immediately. He was excited, almost in spite of himself, and as a result had very little patience for sentimentality which he suspected Nick was very close to.

“I have,” Nick said, after a moment of pause, “never owned an American video game before. Mike, is this the one…?” From that day when we went to the mall. About a week ago. And we stood around and goggled at things in that store and you made fun of my shirt for two hours straight? His expression finished for him. Mike grinned.

“Yep. Doyoulikeit?” They’d already consumed half of the candy, and had not even touched the cake yet. Mike was curious to what sort of thing that much sugar would do to him, at the end of the day. Sugar crash would probably be hell, but he didn’t really care at the moment.

“Of course.” Nick smiled and ruffled his hair. Mike stared at him.

“ ‘Of course?’” He said, feeling amused and slightly disappointed at the same time. “That’s it?”

“We-ell,” said Nick. He stretched and grinned at Mike. “If we’re in France I’d be hugging everyone right now, but that’s not the custom here, quel dommage. Americans, you know. Strange.”

“Pas vraiment. French people are freakier,” muttered Mike, horrified, and edged away from Nick. He wondered if cultural habits could be contagious. They’d better not be. He also wondered if he was doing something strange as a result of the sugar, like bouncing, which Zach had once informed him that he did when he got too excited. Or high on sugar. Or both.

“Ah the great cultural diversities,” murmured Zach, edging, in turn, away from Mike. Mike decided he might be bouncing. Just a little. “Alright, Gary, let’s see.” Zach continued, looking steadily to the opposite side of Mike.

Mike snorted softly to himself, but craned his neck to see what Gary was taking out of his backpack. Unlike the rest of them, Gary, who had never as much as set a password on his computer, had decided to be secretive out of nowhere and refused to tell them what he’d gotten Nick. And as much as Mike hated to admit it, he was intensely curious. Gary had been wearing the particular expression that was usually granted to someone when they had something big that they were about to let out of the bag. Like a metaphorical t-rex as opposed to, Mike supposed, the normal feline.

Zippers. Zippers. Backpack rustling. Mike wished his friend would hurry up. Finally, Gary did turn around and Mike’s eyes immediately fell from Gary’s excitedly nervous face to the…

“It’s a manilla envelope,” said Zach, sounding like what Mike felt which was, roughly, the equivalent of someone putting one and one together and incidentally realizing that the result was not equal to two.

It was, indeed, a manilla envelope, yellow and rectangular and otherwise unremarkable. It was hard not to stare at it. Hard not to wonder what the hell Gary was up to. It was entirely unfunny and therefore gave Mike an irrational urge to giggle. Which he strangled before it ever got past his throat. Michael Reynolds did not giggle. Ever.

Nick opened the envelope, smiling uncertainly, and pulled out papers. A packet, to be exact, stapled together neatly and with things printed on it. Mike peered over Nick’s shoulder, trying to read it. There were many fine prints and quite a few lines that looked like they were waiting for signatures, but the first word that caught his eye was the word “LEASE”. He stared at the paper, then at Gary.

“…Gary?” said Nick, sounding baffled.

Gary looked nervous. “Alright, so remember that apartment we looked at—the one with the four bedrooms, that we really liked, but we had a talk and decided that—that—you know, student budget and all, right?”

“Uh-huh,” said Zach slowly, dubiously.

“Well,” he beamed at them, albeit nervously. “I’ve mentioned it. With my dad I mean. And he’s goin’ to pay the difference between that rent and the rent we can afford. Er. Well, I mean what we’re expectin’ to pay at the other place that we decided that we’re probably goin’ to live at?”

“This’s the lease?” asked Nick.

“He agreed already?” asked Mike.

“What?” asked Zach.

“Yeah,” said Gary.

“Oh my god,” said Nick, for the uncounted number of time within the past hour.

Mike gave the thought approximately five second to process itself before he jumped up. “Yes! Oh my god.” This was definitely not sugar. Or maybe it still was, but it was also himself too. Or something. Whatever. “This is awesome! Hee!”

“Naugh!” commented Gary, who was pulled into a hug by Nick who looked as if someone had just whacked him on the back of the head with a dictionary and was unaccountably happy about it. .

“Nick,” said Zach, sounding dazed, “Nick, I think you’re strangling Gary.”

“Yemgh,” agreed Gary, upon which he was immediately released, a little breathless but laughing nevertheless. “So ‘m guessin’ you like it?”

“Oh. My. God,” repeated Nick, beaming. “Mon dieu.”

“Are you f--” Mike glanced at Zach. “—freakin’ kiddin’ me?” He paused, smiling helplessly, and added, “Wow. Nice present.”

Gary looked at Zach.

“I…um…” Zach rubbed at the bridge of his nose, a sure sign that, Mike knew, meant that he was at a loss. “This is…I mean…it’s…I’m….”

“He doesn’t know what to say,” said Nick, amazed.

“You’re not ‘xactly eloquent either,” pointed out Mike. Nick laughed. It was more of a giggle, really, which promptly set Mike off too. Soon they were all laughing at things no one really knew about and Mike reflected that if they treasured their sanity, they should avoid the cake and the rest of the sugary goods but who cared—sanity was boring. He took a deep breath.

“Right.” He gasped, gave them all a few moments to collect themselves. Themselves, meaning the three of them with Zach regarding them as if they’d all gone insane which, Mike supposed, they had. Not that he cared. Right. “Food. Sugar. Food. Cake? Cake, anyone? You’re cuttin’ it? Oh god I can’t watch.” To make good of his words, he turned around to face the other way, covering his eyes as he did so.

‘It is,” Zach reminded him from somewhere across the table, “his cake.”

“Yeah but he’s horrible with a knife. Violin? Sure. Knife? Noooo.”

“Cancel his future career as an assassin then,” replied Gary, and poked Mike in the back with something. Or at least Mike thought it was Gary, but he couldn’t see, as that his eyes were closed. “Hear that, Nick? Do not become an assassin.”

“What’s an ‘assassin’?” asked Nick.

“Cake, Mike?” asked Zach.

“Is he done yet?” Mike asked in response.

“Cake?” repeated Zach, sounding amused and faintly exasperated.

Mike sighed, gave in, and opened his eyes to accept the paper plate of cake with a fork stuck on top, a wobbling flag pole to salute the events of the day. There was, after all, no way anyone could say no to cake.

“And Mike… did I hear you say ‘hee’, a while back?”

“Cake,” said Mike, and dug in.

He hadn’t expected a lot from his birthday this year, with his family and almost all of his relatives across the ocean and everyone else he knew in France. There must have been some sort of foreboding, something that he didn’t want to think about, that he had pushed below his awareness. Birthdays were always a family event, growing up, with the entire family and a goodly portion of the relatives assembled to celebrate the passage of another year. Even if it wasn’t wholly enjoyable past a certain age, it was a tradition, and there was comfort in the known and the familiar.

Nick didn’t know what he had in mind for his birthday this year, exactly, or what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.

Who knew, he thought, taking another bite of the cake and watching Gary insert yet another DVD into the player. Really, who knew what he would find here, so far from home?

So despite of being away from his family, despite of it being the first birthday away from home, and despite of being in a foreign country in a school where the midterms were always so inconveniently scheduled, Nick was content. Watching another wad of streamer sail over his head as Mike took aim for the trashcan, Nick licked the chocolate frosting off of the back of his spoon and smiled.

It had been, after all, a happy birthday.

look at me, i'm scary!

This picture makes me giggle almost uncontrollably xD And I can't tell if it is supposed to be a mock-scare picture or an actual attempt to look tough on Wolverine's part.
*looks at it again*
*giggles*

But usually he's hawt.

Random stuff

This is sort of interesting...


So when are you guys done with the quarter?
Is Lucy still planning on visiting?

Because I said I would

On the corner of o-chem note, so ignore the random scribbling.



Am taking a break from ochem right now.

Nick's birthday today

[See? I was trying to be consistent with the post title. Anyway, possibly the record number of grammatical mistakes in a while, and yet my editor managed to beta it in record time (almost freakishly fast, in fact o_O) which, I'm sure, Nick would appreciate if the logic of fiction, fictional characters, and real life ever got compromised and then sorted out. ]

May: Birthday, part II

Certain types of friends should come with warning signs, simply because they were the types of people they were, and had a habit of doing the sort of things that they did. Admittedly, it wasn’t because of anything bad. More often than not, the warning was needed just as a precaution because for certain types of friendship, randomness and surprises were an inseparable part of the package.

At the sound of the first knock, Zach lit the candles, hoping that Nick had strong heart and no genetic predisposition for panic attacks. He wasn’t sure if he had managed to get the point of dumping-things-over-other-people-is-bad across but, if it came to the worst, the cider and the food were on the table and Mike would have to get around him to reach them.

“The door’s open, you know,” Mike raised his voice. He grinned at them. Gary gave him a thumbs up and aimed—Zach saw with a sinking heart—several of the annoyances that people generally called ‘party poppers’ at the door. Don’t, Zach mouthed. His friends either didn’t see or, as was more likely the case, pretended not to notice.

He blew out the candle, positioned himself directly in front of the cider, just in case, and crossed his arms in the universal come-what-may gesture. The doorknob turned.

Zach hoped Nick had a strong heart.

The doorknob turned, squeaking slightly as it did. Gary made a note to file a room repair report about it and readjusted his grip on the party poppers.

“Are all of you guys here without me?” Came Nick’s voice from on the other side of the door. It was a complaint if Gary ever heard one. He grinned slightly wider and, as the door opened, yanked on the strings of the multiple poppers.

Which promptly exploded with the sound equivalent of a miniature fire cracker, about an inch to the right of Nick’s shoulder. Nick gave an undignified yelp and made a leap backward, but Mike was already there, hauling Nick, wide-eyed and shocked, into the room.

“Why look,” he drawled, unceremoniously shoving Nick into a chair half filled with bits of the crepe streamers that were now hoping to ascend to a better place. “It’s the birthday boy.”

Crunch, went the decorations.

“Happy birthday,” quipped up Zach. “We got food. And movies. And presents, of course. Which one would you like first?”

“Say food,” whispered Gary loudly, and was pleased when Mike threw the bag of chips at him.

“Um,” tried Nick. He looked at them, looked at the room, food, rented DVDs and all, fished a bit of confetti out of the collar of his shirt, and looked at them again. “Er.” He said, more urgently, after a moment.

“That’s a good start,” said Mike dryly, but he was grinning, just the same. “How about trying for a actual reco’izeable language this time? English? Français?”

“Polska?” added Gary, “Ducth?”

“Joyeux anniversa?” attempted Zach. Mike made a face at him.

“Don’t,” he instructed. “First of all, it’s joyeux anniversaire, second of all, most people ‘round here say bon anniversaire and third—your accent’s awful.”

“Thanks,” said Zach. His lips twitched. “I’ll keep those in mind.” Mike eyed him suspiciously.

“Oh my god,” said Nick.

“Oh my god the man talked!” Gary used his announcer’s voice—the one he’d learned from his dad. He held out an imaginary microphone. “Is there anything you would like to say on your special day, Monsieur Lucille?”

A smile spread across Nick’s face, slow and beautifully genuine. He laughed, looked around as if he was seeing the room, seeing them, for the first time, and laughed again. He still looked overwhelmed, but happily so. “Oh my god you guys!” His voice was a little strange, but no one mentioned it. “I cannot believe you did this!”

“I can punch you,” Mike suggested. “To make sure that you’re not, you know, dreamin’.”

“Mike!” hissed Zach.

“What?” protested Mike, unrepentant, “He looks like he needs it!” He pointed to Nick, who was grinning stupidly as he dazedly pulled out shreds of streamers from behind him, underneath him, and partially over him like brightly colored vines and dropping them onto the floor. Gary admitted that Mike did have a point since Nick did, in fact, look a bit as if he were in a dream.

Gary rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand, but that didn’t quite erase the smile there. He opened the bag of chips that he’d been holding, offering them to Nick first.

“Chips?” He asked. Then added, “Happy birthday!”

[P.S. If I get a few minutes of extra time before my classes I'll experiment with baby Nick. Should be interesting.]

Nick's birthday tomorrow ^^

So I tried drawing a cute baby Nick :D



Kids are hard to draw. But the bigeyes! usually do it. Ok, now I hope Susan's going to make a post like she promised to :D

bah

I have homework to do that involves using the computer.
I sit down and start with a bit of surfing instead because I never sit down and start doing hw straight away. I just don't. It's impossible and goes against the nature of all that is holy.

And now, once again, I've spent *checks using the online radio she'd been listening to* ... 3 hours using the computer but not doing hw. And I'm actually tired of being here. Which means no doing hw at the moment.

This is like, bad consequence squared of procrastination.

BUT I REGRET NOTHING, NOTHING I TELL YOU!

May: Birthday Part I

[...]

Nick was under the impression that his friends were hiding something from him.

This tendency towards paranoia was not a strong trait of his, and neither was suspicion, but both of the threads in his not-quite-as-subconscious-as-he-thought subconscious had been tingling for the past few days. He couldn’t quite put his fingers on what was wrong, and there were no definite signs he could find which would justify either his paranoia or his mounting trepidation. More accurately, he had never tried to put a rigid definition on his friends and the friendships and therefore could not find anything concrete to compare his recent experiences with. For instance, he felt like his other three friends were spending more time together—which was fine, except it was more time together without him. He would’ve brought it up except there was, quantitatively speaking, no significant decrease in the amount of time he spent with his friends, and he wanted to be sure it wasn’t just his paranoia talking. That, and the fact that he did not like to bring up these sorts of things and tended to be rather bad at it.

So instead of paying attention during the lecture on resource economics like the good student that he strove to be, Nick found himself trying, instead, to recount everything that he’d done within the past few weeks in an effort to see if he’d somehow offended someone. Just because the initial search turned up a blank didn’t mean that he really did no wrong. After all, it was American culture and he was French, as Mike so frequently reminded him.

Sighing quietly to himself, Nick looked down at his notebook and made a face. Today’s lecture had featured, if he were to go by his notes, two lines on public sectors and half a page full of cartoon doodles.

Friends did strange things to a person, Mike concluded. You could be walking along, minding your own business, and then, just because you have friends, you suddenly start thinking about them and wondering what they were doing and when you could next hang out together or go to the movies or something. It meant looking forward to things, which Mike usually was quite apprehensive about. It meant wanting to make other people happy. It meant watching out for each other and feeling protective and irritated, sometimes one right after the other but more often than not at the same time.

“The ice-cream’s meltin’,” commented Gary, peering into a grocery bag.

“Well put it in the fridge!” replied Zach from amidst the other bags on the floor, sounding slightly aggrieved. “We do have everything, right?” He asked worriedly, for the third time in the five minute period that they had been in Gary’s room. Mike rolled his eyes.

“No Zach, we have forgotten something veeeery important.”

“Nick isn’t here yet,” said Gary. “He’s sort of important. Since.”

“Right.” Zach finished putting away the food and stood up, staring at the door of the refrigerator as if he could see through it. “Hm,” he muttered to himself. “Cake. Cider. Chips.”

“Alright,” sighed Gary, with the air of one who was about to bring a torturous trial upon himself. “Wanna try the decorations now?”

“Sure,” said Mike, eyeing the roll of tape. “So long that I won’t have to deal with the tape.”

Zach made a strangled sound that was between a cough and a laugh. Mike looked at him.

“I’ll do it,” Gary offered, digging out a packet of paper cups and plates that might be called festive or might be called “A Most Failed Attempt At Cubism”. Mike pointedly looked away from it. He was not about to look at anything with that combination of colors any longer than strictly necessary. “Do we really need to try streamers?”

“We should make the effort,” said Zach solemnly. “And if we’re killed in the process, I’m sure Nick would appreciate the thought.”

“Uh.” said Gary.

Mike sighed. “Well you know how May’s a really big month in France, right?”

“…Yes?” hedged Gary.

“They usually have loads of holidays and stuff, and I hear from Nick that his sister’s birthday’s around this time too and they usually—I mean his family, obviously—make this really big deal about it.”

“I remember Nick mentionin’ somethin’ like that.” Gary nodded.

“Right. So I figured…”

“It’s probably his first birthday away from his family,” added Zach.

Gary looked thoughtful, then he looked down at the packet of streamer in his hand with a determined expression. Mike vaguely wondered if he was actually trying to intimidate the strips of rolled-up crepe paper, and what the results of that sort of intimidation might be. “Right then. Streamers.”

“I’ll set out the other stuff,” said Zach. “Nick knows we’re here, right?”

“It’s Thursday. We always end up here on Thursdays.”

“You don’t have to get all peevish,” grumbled Zach. “Here, help me with the plastic wrappers—I can’t get them off.”

That was the thing about friends, thought Mike, salvaging a package of plastic forks from Zach’s lack of hand-eye coordination. You found yourself doing the strangest things for them—such as picking out cake. In a grocery store. In broad daylight. And stranger still, you found yourself not minding it. It was friendship. Certainly there was no other explanation for why he would check out a movie that he would not normally even come close to; no other explanation for why he would voluntarily struggle to get poked repeatedly in the fingers by the points of a multitude of plastic forks. There was most certainly no other reason why he should eventually, unaccountably, find himself standing on the table, taping streamers to the wall and what was more—catching himself whistling ‘Happy Birthday’ underneath his breath.

It was almost like a sickness, some bouts of mental insanity that preyed on the less wary minds and Mike, being entirely masochistic and completely unconcerned with himself as far as health was concerned, thankyouverymuch, decided eventually that he didn’t really want to get well. And certainly not get well soon.

score of 19

You are an average on-line user. You may surf the Web a bit too long at times, but you have control over your usage.

If I'm addicted to something, it isn't the internet.
Heh.

the most ironic thing in all of Internet

..they have a site for Internet addicts. Like a serious site. That wants to help you get over your addiction. And offers you online quizzes to find out how addicted you are. Honestly. Most ironic thing. Ever.

My result: (50 points) You are an average on-line user. You may surf the Web a bit too long at times, but you have control over your usage.

50 -79 points: You are experiencing occasional or frequent problems because of the Internet. You should consider their full impact on your life.

http://www.netaddiction.com/resources/iaindex.htm
(internet addiction test)

the most ironic thing in all of Internet

..they have a site for Internet addicts. Like a serious site. That wants to help you get over your addiction. And offers you online quizzes to find out how addicted you are. Honestly. Most iornic thing. Ever.

My result: (50 points) You are an average on-line user. You may surf the Web a bit too long at times, but you have control over your usage.

50 -79 points: You are experiencing occasional or frequent problems because of the Internet. You should consider their full impact on your life.

http://www.netaddiction.com/resources/iaindex.htm
(internet addiction test)

this is shallow, but..

I saw the cutest/hottest guy today ;_; He looked like a cross between the guy who plays Cedric Diggory, and Orlando Bloom. Hair more like Cedric's, but tastefully messier. A bit of a goatee/beard, like the one Bloom has sometimes. Dressed very 'cool-nice' but with a rugged feel to it. Very cool aviation-looking brown goggles propped up on the head, making hair stick up. The goggles not pointless but I'm guessing for work because he also had some equipment and a welding mask slung over his shoulder.

..I'm sorry, does the description sound stalkerish? I didn't follow him around or anything! Actually I was in Hollywood with my parents this afternoon because there was an Armenian march. Yea, genocide and all and I'm ogling a guy. -_- And he was cutely clueless/lost too at first, 'cause he was trying to go somewhere and there was a crowd of hundred thousand (yup, 100,000) of people on the street blocking his way. But then he started listening to the speeches and got an even hotter serious (ugh, no pun) look on his face. Or he could have been squinting because of the sun, I'm not sure.

Anyway, it was weird because guys aren't supposed to look like that outside of movies. And I'll shut up now because the post is already too long considering it doesn't have a valid topic, and I feel all teenager-y talking about how 'hot' a guy is. But then this blog could use all the posts it gets.

p.s. Totally unrelated, but it really made me laugh. Look what Voldemort is up to these days!

April: Summer's arrival

[Because, despite of the 20 stations and the extra quiz, I managed to get done with bio early after all.

The style is a bit off as a result of some recent problems with writing, but my editor thought it was readable anyway. *nod* *grin*

Based on real people who were sprawled all over the grass. You'd think they died if it weren't for the blissful smiles on their faces. Countless sunburns these two days.]

Spring in southern California was not a subtle affair. There was none of the thin ‘veils of green’ shyly creeping their ways over hills and dales, no slow warming of the days as the skies gradually cast off cloaks of winter gray. Spring in southern California was a bit like one of its famed cities—say, San Diego or Los Angeles, where everything was happening and happening at once (or at least gave the impression that it was). Hurry. Rush! And overnight the new bright golds and greens covered the city with their translucent hue, replacing the faded brown-greens of yesteryear. Hurry! And in two more days the sun beamed down as if winter was a distant memory months away, and not the lingering presence of merely a week ago. Another day and all the spring flowers were in bloom. Another hour and millions of little feathered things added their voices to the tune of Spring as it dashed hither-dither in an ecstatic frenzy, leaving behind its dancing footprints fading into millions of shades of green….

Then in but a week was the first breath of summer, bringing with it its languid days of white-gold heat and azure skies that would last well past September. Almost instantaneously time slowed the frantic pace that it had set for Spring into the drowsy crawl reminiscent of a lazy feline on warm afternoons and brought with it—with its warmth and lulling sunshine—the entire school full of students to be left out on the grasses and on the beaches, sun-baked and sleepily content.

Gary wondered vaguely when Mike had trailed off from whistling into the indolent silence that now hovered over them, but it was only a passing thought in the back of his mind. The majority of his mental state was sluggish and as gloriously clear as the sky arching away above him. It was very soothing.

“We should do something,” said Nick weakly and with no detectable levels of motivation.

“Mmm,” commented Mike. Gary stared dazedly at the sky, feeling too lazy to respond.

“Should go and study,” mumbled Zach, failing to escape from the general lethargy from where he was sprawled on the grass, chin in hand. He sounded like Gary felt, and Gary felt like he would be incapable of movement until at least an hour after the sun had gone down, or until the world ended, whichever came first.

“You ‘n your stood—studyin’,” scoffed Nick. “That’s not…you know,” he appealed to Mike. “Like ‘health’….”

“ ‘Healthy’,” supplied Mike with a groan, rolling over so that he would be spread out face-down on the grass. He twitched, the lazily pushed at something at the grass under his head. “Ow. Stupid rock,” he muttered, but even that lacked its usual energy. “Hard.”

“Rocks tend to be that,” murmured Zach. Gary craned his neck and looked at him. He appeared to be staring off at something decidedly invisible that was located two feet in front of him.

“Feel sorry for the rocks. Roche pitoyable.” Nick rested his chin on his backpack and stared down at the ground, as if searching for rocks with which to share his empathy. “You have a pointy nose.”

“An’ pointy ears. We have our own mutant,” added Zach, yawning. He blinked. “Boy, we’ve been here for a while.”

Mike muttered something. It might be ‘shuddup’, but coming from against the grass, it was harder to decipher. Gary considered their conversation and decided that a ‘shuddup’ was probably called for.

“Not that long,” he answered in response, and squinted at Zach as his friend yawned again. “ An’ you should go in or somethin’, you’re getting sunburned.”

“We’re all getting sunburned,” pointed out Zach sleepily. “Most of the school’s getting sunburned. It’s a sunburning sort of day.” He paused. “That didn’t make sense.”

“The sun’s gone to your head, man,” Gary said wisely.

“Yeah but the rest of us get tan, you just get skin cancer,” said Mike, at the same time.

“That’s not fair,” protested Zach. “I get freckles.”

“You’ll get freckles an’ skin cancer,” amended Mike, very reasonably.

“Well I’m just going to have to die from skin cancer then,” decided Zach. He dropped his head onto the grass. “Because I’m not moving.”

“You really should go in, Zach, or do somethin’,” suggested Nick. “I’d help, but I don’t thin’ I can move. ‘Suis désolé.”

“Uhmph,” agreed Gary, trying, like Mike, to roll over but eventually deciding that lying just the way he was worked pretty well too.

“Gods, we’re pathetic,” said Mike with a laugh. Gary turned his head the other way to look at him. Mike was looking at them. Sort of. It was hard to tell because his own backpack was in the way.

“ ‘m not,” he disagreed, “We’re enjoyin’ ourselves.”

“Hmm,” said Nick, which might be a yes, a no, or an I’m-too-sun-baked-to-speak-a-full-sentence-right-now. In any case Gary considered it a case well argued and rolled his head back to stare up at the sky.

And felt dazzled by the miles of clear, sunlit air.

Summer had begun.

[The irony is, I just checked the forecast, and it might rain on Picnic Day. C'est la vie.

And now for more studying! ]

April: Apartments

[A general note: Troubleshooting printers, be it your own or belonging to someone else near you, is distinctly evil.

Also: Thank you, Lucy.]

When it became generally known that Zach's roommate would be gone for the weekend, the partially unlatched door to Zach's room meant that one could wander in at any time at all to visit, provided that one gave the door a tap of courtesy first.

Or at least, that was how Mike saw it.

"Hey Zach!" He called out, entering the door as he gave it a sharp rap. From beneath the desk came a distinct "thump" followed by a muffled "Oh God" and then, fainter still, "Ow."

"You okay?" Mike stared down at his friend. Or at least, the part of his friend that he could still see, stretched out against the threadbare carpet. "And why're you under the desk?"

"That's where my printer is," explained Zach matter-of-factly from the depth of his desk. It was not the most illuminating explanation and, in this case, it also involved a machine's neurotic screeching. Mike winced from the sound.

"Uh-huh. I see," he said, in a tone which indicated that he didn't see at all.

"My printer wouldn't print," clarified Zach. Something else thumped as he made an exasperated noise and scooted out from underneath the desk. "I found an error with the program, because there was a conflict in the ports. Fixed that, still wouldn't print, and found that the USB cable down there was loose. Fixed that and then found that the printer still wouldn't print because the ink cartridge's jammed." He finished the long explanation with a heartfelt sigh of aggravation, hair clinging to his skull in a way that suggested it had enough electrical discharge to temporarily power a small lamp.

"The world's conspiring against you," Mike said, trying to school his face into a proper expression. "First your computer, then your printer—"

Zach huffed and idly rubbed his nose. "Actually, right now it's just the ink cartridge, I think."

"You never know, they might all be in it together. An' you got ink on your nose, by the way."

Zach looked at him, then looked down at his ink-smudged hands. "Noted," he said, and disappeared under the desk again. There came a faint crack and a yelp that indicated a significant decrease in electron potential.

Mike cleared his throat. Several times. It helped. "So what're you doin' after you get your printer fixed?"

"Dunno," came the answer. Mike might be imagining it, but Zach's voice sounded oddly ominous, coming from underneath the desk. "Why? What do you have planned?"

"Me an' Nick an' Gary are thinking of going around and looking at apartments, since it's about that time when we started doing that." He glanced around the room. It was spare, even by a guy's standards—bed with gray-blue covers and a pillow, desk with books and computer against one side, and nothing except two maps (one of the city they were in and one of cellular metabolism) on the wall. By contrast, the other half of the room seemed like an explosion of personality—all reds and oranges and overlapping movie posters, CDs scattered all over the places and a lava lamp lying across the computer keyboard. Mike thought with some disgust of his own roommate and wondered who the hell was put in charge of pairing people up for their room assignments.

Carried along by his own thoughts, it took him a moment to realize that he'd be answered with only silence. That and some screeching protests from the printer.

"Apartments," prompted Mike, "You know, for next year?"

Silence.

"You have thought about it, right?"

"Yes," the answer was accompanied by the sound of a printer's lid being shut and the printer's frantic beeping. Zach reappeared. "I've actually been thinking about going vegan and joining the co-ops." He said gravely.

Mike stared at him. "You're kiddin me."

Zach raised an eyebrow.

"But they're crazy!"

"Considering the people I hang around each day," Zach gave him a pointed look, amused. "I'd think that I've developed a pretty good tolerance for insanity."

"But that's different! They're like, a different kind of crazy!"

"Yes, I think their style is actually healthier," coughed Zach.

Mike rolled his eyes, deciding that Zach's concept of what was healthy could do with a major resorting—later. "Are you comin' or not?"

"Mm," Zach clicked a few things on his laptop. The printer stopped beeping and made a whirling noise instead, soon followed by the sound of paper being printed. "Yes!" Zach grinned, looking rather smug. "And yes, yes I am. Coming, I mean."

Mike suppressed a smile at the sight of his friend's very evident self-satisfaction from winning a war against a printer. " 'Kay." He got up from where he'd seated himself on the chair. "And Zach?"

"Hm?"

"You've still got ink on your nose."

***

Gary whistled, a long, shrill sound over the noise of the traffic on the two way street. At a section of town that might be described as 'quaint,' but was more closely depicted by the word 'tired' with its faded, slight, worn-at-edges look, the contraption in front of them look determinedly out of place. The street was tree-lined and comparatively quiet, for all that it was located so close to campus. Here and there were a few people walking along and there was also the quiet hum of daily lives going on inside the houses on each side. Mostly though, the streets were quiet and empty.

"Hot damn," breathed Mike. "I wanna a motorbike like that."

Suppressing a smile, Nick exchanged a look with Zach. It was a brief and familiar gesture, born out of habit and time. "Right."

"We'll keep that in mind," agreed Zach as Mike went on staring at the contraption, wide-eyed. He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. It didn't quite erase the smile. "Com'on, Mike," he added, surreptitiously trying to steer Mike away from the said motorcycle and failing spectacularly. He huffed and looked at Nick, even as a corner of his mouth started to curl up with amusement.

"Apartments," Nick reminded Mike, and attempted to haul him away. Mike was not small, nor was he inclined to move at the present, but Nick was bigger and broader in the shoulder and starting to get nervous about the contemplative expression on his friend's face. Generally that particular look meant that mayhem of the near-future was being contemplated, and this time the mayhem seemed to take the shape and form of a motorcycle. Nick was not really reassured by this, given that now was about the time when most first-years contemplated their modes of transportation for the following years. So while they might be about equal in terms of strength mass ratio, Nick was still bigger, and therefore had the upper hand in the current circumstance.

No longer able to ignore the fact that he was being dragged away against his will, Mike turned and gave Nick a sulky look.

"Aw, com'on," he said, and when Nick just looked at him, changed his expression into one that, to Nick, seemed to be composed of nothing but pleading eyes. Considering the fact that Mike's face included things other than just his eyes, it was something of an accomplishment. "Just a moment longer?"

Nick wavered. He felt himself waver, and couldn't decide whether he should be amused or horrified that he was so easily persuaded. It was very much unfair that his friends should be able to persuade him to do this and that and that he never seemed to manage enough to persuade anyone to do anything at all. Friends should be at the same stand point, influencing each other as much as they were influenced. Nick felt like he was receiving all the influence without actually managing to influence anyone or—he remembered with a twinge the issue with the internet connection the day before—anything in return.

He was hopeless, Nick decided, cas impossible.

"We're going to miss the bus." Zach jumped in, sensing Nick's weakness. Mike scowled at him.

Oh thanks, he mouthed. In response Zach cheekily flipped him a mock salute.

"It is pretty cool, though," said Gary, wistfully.

It was nice looking for a mode of transportation, admitted Nick, if you liked that sort of thing. The bike was dark and shiny and looked like it was capable of exceeding the speed limit—which went a long way to explain why Mike wanted it. Grinning almost in spite of himself, Nick reflected that at times, it was startlingly easy to predict Mike's behaviors. Such as the way his face lit up whenever he saw anything with aerodynamic potential. It had something to do with personal preferences.

"Bus. One block," Zach repeated, pointing, determination distilled in every line of his skinning, freckled arm, "Thattaway."

"You're no fun," grumbled Mike, but eventually managed to tear himself away from the bike and therefore preventing Nick from wondering whether or not he could fulfill his amount of weekly exercise by dragging his friends around.

"Wasn't in the job requirement the last time I checked" said Zach.

"It got updated."

"No one told me."

"Well I'm tellin' you now. So now you know."

A bus—no, Nick squinted—the bus they were suppose to take—passed them. There was no one else waiting at the stop, so it went along its merry way, with only an occasional screeching from its breaks.

"Oh bother," sighed Zach, sounding beleaguered. "Look, you guys—we missed the bus."

"Another one'll come, right?" Asked Nick nervously. In France, the modes of public transportation were always predictable—or at least always predictably unpredictable. From what he knew the buses from across the ocean also followed some sort of a schedule, he just never bothered to figure out what the schedule was.

"Yea, another one'll come, Zach's just bein' weird an' scheduled, that's all," grinned Gary.

"You can't 'be scheduled,'" muttered Zach. "That makes no sense."

"Whatev." Mike glanced down at his watch and brightened. Actually brightened. It was one of those things you always thought only belonged in books until you actually saw someone's face light up and realized that it was quite an accurate description, after all. "The bus's not gonna be around for at least another ten minutes so," he continued, rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Let's go an' look at the bike again!"

"Hm," said Nick.

"Ten minutes?" Gary checked his watch too, and grinned. "Sweet."

"Erk," said Zach. And Nick found it hard not to laugh at the dismayed expression on his face. He'd been worried, come this quarter, about what Mike would be like, after the wedding was over and school had resumed. All in all, it didn't seem as if there was a significant change, or at least, none that Mike was willing to show.

Until he was told then. Nick smiled at the sound of Gary's comments, Mike's excitement and Zach's attempts to convince the other two that motorcycle was a hazard to humanity. Until he was told, whenever that would be, he would wait and treasure times like these, fond memories as they no doubt would be.

Mike smacked him on the back of his head, an unfailingly effective way to get his attention--not to mention to derail his train of thought. "What're you grinnin' at?"

Oh yes, gentillet péjoratif, certainly.

Choose 12 characters..

Why did I spend time on this? Because I don't have classes on Wednesdays, there is no hw buildup yet and nobody was online!

p.s. I inserted the character names into some of the questions to make it easier for the reader, but now I realize that if someone else does it, they have to edit in those names. So oops. But anyway-


Choose twelve characters from your fandoms, then answer the questions. Do not look at the questions beforehand.
1. House
2. Harry
3. Crowley
4. Luna
5. Ginny
6. Snape
7. Nick (yes, our nick. Why not?)
8. Aziraphale
9. Sirius
10. Wilson
11. Bellatrix
12. Fred and George



01. Who would make a better college professor, 6 or 11? What subjects would they teach?
Sadly, I have to pick Snape, because as evil a teacher as he can be, Bellatrix might actually start blowing students up. Hmm, that would get her fired and result in canceled tests! I’m switching to Bella/

02. Do you think 4 (Harry) is hot? How hot?
Uhh, not really. I mean some people draw him pretty hot, but in the world of the books he doesn’t have much looks.

03. 12 (Fred and George) sends 8 (Zira) on a mission. What is it, and does it succeed?
Haha, probably sent poor Aziraphale to mess up Crowley’s laundry and make his suits pink with orange stripes. It would succeed because Aziraphale wanted to get back at Crowley for always getting him drunk.

04. What is or would be 9's favorite book?
“So You Want to Escape the Curtain of Doom”

05. Would it make more sense for 2 (Harry) to swear fealty to 6 (Snape), or the other way around?
Oh, man, after book 6, it's hard to say.

06. For some reason, 5 (Ginny) is looking for a roommate. Should s/he share a studio apartment with 9 (Sirius) or with 10 (Wilson)?
Well, Wilson does the dishes but I guess Sirius is a better choice because she actually knows him. Although Mrs. Weasley might be against this.

07. 2 (harry), 7 (nick) and 12 (fred and george) have dinner together. Where do they go, and what do they discuss?
Huh, funny they’re all young guys. It’d probably be a pizza or some fast food place. The HP boys discuss Quidditch and magic while Nick wonders if this is some joke Mike’s playing on him.

08. 3 challenges 10 to a duel. What happens?
Aww, poor Wilson. He doesn’t have much chance against a demon. Then again, he deals with House pretty well, so you never know.


09. If 1 (House) stole 8's(Zira's) most precious possession, how would he get it back?
Well, he’s an angel so that shouldn’t be too hard for him. But he'd try politely asking for it back only to receive snarky comments from House. Poor
Aziraphale. Btw, the said possession is probably either a book or a demon ;P

10. Suggest a title for a story in which 7 (nick) and 12 (fred and george) both attain what they most desire.
“Happiness and a Jokeshop or how Nick Went Crazy During Finals and Blew Up College with Fred and George’s Products”
(ok maybe kidding about the second part)

11. What kind of plot device would you use if you wanted 4 (Luna) and 1 (House) to work together?
Well, a crossover fic for starters. Otherwise the reader would suddenly find out that Luna is awesome at Healing Magic. House would pay her in radishes to take care of all the patients while he stays home and watches his soaps.

12. If 7 (nick) visited you for the weekend, how would you get along?
Haha, pretty well I’d guess. Unless I hug him too much and he freaks out.

13. If you could command 3 (Crowley) to perform any one task or service for you, what would it be?
x))) Hmmm. World domination plzkthnks.

14. Does anyone on your friends list write or draw 11 (bellatrix)?
Heh, helloo makani.

15. If 2 (Harry) had to choose sides between 4 (Luna) and 5 (ginny), which would it be?
Well, Ginny, duh. He’s ‘chosen’ her in two ways already- gf, plus they’re both in Gryffindor.

16. What might 10 (Wilson) shout while charging into battle?
“House, I am going to kill you!”

17. If you chose a song to represent 8, which song would you choose?
I dunno, something about angles?

18. 1 (House), 6 (Snape), and 12 (Fred and George) are having dim sum at a Chinese restaurant. There is only one scallion pancake left, and they all reach for it at the same time. Who gets to eat it?
What a funny image. Also, House was eating pancakes in the previous episode and he didn’t let Chase have one when he reached for it! So House has experience in such matters. And Snape probably wouldn't go so low as to fight over food.

19. What might be a good pick-up line for 2 (Harry) to use on 10 (Wilson)?
It wouldn’t work, anyway. Wilson is not into underage boys.

20. What would 5 (Ginny) most likely be arrested for?
Eh, something like using magic outside of school.

21. What is 6 (snape)'s secret?
HAHA. WOULDN’T WE ALL LIKE TO KNOW?

22. If 11 and 9 were racing to a destination, who would get there first?
Ooh boy, it’s Sirius vs. Bellatrix! He’s probably physicall stronger than her, so Sirius. Yay.

23 (missing)

24. 1 (House) and 9 (Sirius) reluctantly team up to save the world from the threat posed by 4's (Luna’s) sinister secret organization. 11 (Bellatrix) volunteers to help them, but it is later discovered that 11 (Bellatrix) is actually a spy for 4 (Luna). Meanwhile, 4 (Luna) has kidnapped 12 (Fred and George) in an attempt to force their surrender. Following the wise advice of 5 (Ginny), they seek out 3 (Crowley), who gives them what they need to complete their quest.
What title would you give this fic? Name three people on your friends list who might read it. Name one person who should write it.

“Nonfunny Crack”. That fic doesn’t sound good or fun or any combination of both. Moving on.


25. If you had to walk home through a bad neighbourhood late at night, would you feel safer in the company of 7 or 8?
Well, hard not to pick Aziraphale with the whole “guardian angel” concept. But Nick would be nice too because we could freak out together ;P

spring schedule

what it is at the moment. maybe there won't be changes to come this time :P