a day at the shelter

random short story i wrote about TCAR. enjoy. [i sized down the font 'cuz thing this is kinda long to stuff into one post.]

***

I park the car -- sloppily, I suck at parking -- near the far end of the lot, because all these ijjits in big SUVs take up so damn much room. Phone in my pocket, it reads 2:15. I need to remember to keep checking it, 'cuz I hafta be back home before six.

I go through the automatic doors and stroll directly through the store to the back, and there's the familiar chaos: dogs barking, people chatting, volunteers standing around waiting for something to do.

The two folding tables first, closest to the door, holding Judy's laptop and all the paperwork and stuff. A few chairs behind it for the volunteers, and some chairs on the other side for people to sit while the adoption papers are filled out.

Judy's got the mop, cleaning up Brad's latest slug-trail. When he whizzes and craps, he leaves them behind like a snail's slime trail. That beagle is such an attention junkie, and he's a pig -- he's so fat! Not surprising, since he can't use his back legs. Got hit by a car, messed up his back. He could walk after the accident, but he jumped off the roof of the doghouse in his run, and now he has his own doggy wheelchair. Judy made a plywood cover for the chair, and Bradley the beagle has a sleigh for the holidays. Cute.

Judy looks up as I approach and smiles, her round face creasing around her eyes, peering through shaggy sandy-blonde bangs. "Hey there, Ann!" she greets me, cheerful as always.

I grin back. "Hey Judy. Hey Brad," I add, leaning down to scratch the beagle's liver-and-white head. He's out of his chair for the moment, dragging his fat self along by his front paws. He does the greatest sea lion impression -- all I have to do is scratch under his chin, and Brad points his nose up at the ceiling.

There are two crates closest to the tables. One is empty, the other has a reddish lab-mix curled up in it, and a black and white Jack Russel terrier. "Handsome," reads the lab's papers, and "Ted" is the Jack. As I pass, I poke my hand into the crate.

"Hey Teddy!" I croon at the Jack, smiling at Ted's enthusiastically wagging stub-tail. "What's up wit'chew, little spaz?" Teddy licks my fingers and wiggles, his brown eyes bright.

"Ann!" calls the volunteer in the big pen. One side of the big pen is attached to the two crates up front, and the opposite side similarly clipped onto two more crates.

"Hey Sydney! Long time no see," I tell the volunteer, smiling at the lanky girl. "I see you have a lapful," I observe wryly, looking at the black and tan knot on her folded legs.

Sydney rolls her eyes. "Yep. Gabby wouldn't leave me alone until I let her get up here." She strokes the back of the dog in her lap. Another beagle -- Tri County was originally a beagle rescue, so there's a lot of beagles and small dogs.

Except for the bony, rail thin lab-boxer mix in one of the far crates. His name is Romo, and as big as he is, that mutt should be sixty or seventy pounds. He's likely closer to forty, because he's emaciated. He eats like a horse, but getting him back to fighting weight is a long process.

Speaking of fighting -- the tiny, dark scars on his face and legs make me think his former owner fought him. Romo is certainly agressive enough to have been fought, though only in certain circumstances. He doesn't like men on the other side of the fence from him. Other than that, Romo is a sweetheart.

The rattling of the big pen's fence wakes me up, and a smile comes to my lips. "Hello Tracy," I croon, stepping up to the fence to pet the blue heeler mix about to turn herself inside out in excitement. Her head is mostly black, but the rest of her has the heeler's salt-and-pepper mix of black, gray and white hairs. Her fur is so thick and soft. Tracy seems about to knock the fence over, so I unhook the gate and slip inside so she can claw me and not the fence.

As soon as I'm inside, predictably half the dogs in the pen come to say hello. I sink into a crouch to let them investigate, and Tracy promptly tackles me, making me overbalance and fall onto my back. Tracy sits on my chest and covers my face with saliva.

Sydney laughs and tries to pull the enthusiastic mutt from me. "Tracy, c'mere, silly girl. Let Ann breathe."

"Naw, it's okay. Yes, I love you too, Tracy. Yes. Lick lick lick, liiiiick lick lick, wag tail tail. Tail wag, wag tail. Tail. Lick lick, yes. Lick." My monologue only seems to encourage Tracy. It takes a few moments for her to stop licking every inch of my face she can reach. Finally, I can sit up, and I use my shirt sleeve to remove the worst of the slobber.

***

"Hey Aaaann, guess whaaaat?" Judy says in a sing-song voice, grinning hopefully at me with the cat keys in hand.

With a sigh of mock long-suffering, I remove Gabby the beagle from my lap and stand up. "You need me to clean the cat cages," I respond, smiling. Cat duty has been my job since about the time I started volunteering.

Judy hands me the keys, and I make my way through the store toward the cat room, swerving around Petsmart shoppers. The thing in my hand is actually a collection of about five keys -- only three of which work on the padlocks on the cat cages -- attached to what I suspect used to be one of the toys like you'd hang in a parrot cage. It's several loops of thick rope, with square blocks seeming embedded in the rope, and someone has written the letters T-C-A-R on those blocks. "TCAR" is the initials of the shelter: Tri-County Animal Rescue. Also attached to the rope keychain is one of those gray, shapeless plastic things that makes the detectors at the front of the store squeal in case someone tries to steal the keys, though why someone would steal the cat keys is beyond me.

The cat room is a small closet-like space set into one wall of the store. The wall that faces the store is glass, so that people can look in and see the cats. There are ten cages stacked up in two rows against the far wall, and a space between the cages and the glass wall that is barely wide enough for two people to walk. This makes more than two people standing in the cat room a bit awkward, even though the room is ten feet or so long.

As soon as I enter, the stuffy climate of the room makes me wince inwardly. There's poor ventilation, and the only way to keep the cat room from getting unbearably close (and smelly) is to keep the door open. Here's the rub: you have to keep the door closed while you're cleaning the cages, or else a cat might get out into the store. The Airwick puffer-dispenser thing perched on top of the cages does nothing to mask the scent of feline bodily waste.

The first thing I do is to unlock all the cages, checking the bowls of food and water on the cage doors to see if anyone needs a refill. One of the cats is a young adult black DSH male named Sammy Lee. Sammy kicks up a racket when I walk in, meowing and begging to be paid attention to. Sammy is an attention junkie, just like Brad. Sammy Lee doesn't like other cats, but he loves people. He won't shut up if someone's in the room until he gets petted.

Because Sammy is so sweet and loveable, I open up his cage and sit in it (it's on the bottom row) and let Sammy climb into my lap. He starts purring as soon as I open the cage door, and immediately stops meowing. He has what he wants. I sit there for a few minutes, loving on Sammy. He sprawls out on my lap, happy as a clam, his eyes narrowed to slits and purring like a motor. Happy Sammy.

But I have a job to do, so eventually I have to peel the cat off my lap and get to work. Sam yowls again when I close the cage door. I ignore him and start cleaning -- getting the crap and wee out of the litterboxes and putting more litter in there if needs be, exchanging dirty laundry (the cats have beds in each cage and a blanket between them and the metal floor) for clean laundry, sweeping the grit off of the cage floor if I need to; general maintainence. I sweep the cat room floor, put the dirty laundry into a black trash bag I got from Judy and double-bag the dirty litter in the flimsy white trash bags that are the only kind I could find in the cat room, and I'm done cleaning. Now it's time to play with the kitties.

I take Sammy Lee out of his cage and hold his black, purring, fat self in my arms for a while. Sammy just chills; he'll sit in your arms for as long as you're willing to hold him. But since Sammy is a little fat, my arms get tired before Sam is ready to go back. He meows accusingly at me when I put him back in his cage.

"Get over yourself, Sammy, you've had your turn," I tell him sternly. He just keeps meowing.

Next, I play for a little bit with a lanky several-week-old black DSH kitten named Bunker. Bunker is a spaz. He has more personality and energy in his little toe than a dog Romo's size has in his whole body. I love Bunker.

I take Bunker out of his cage and put him on the floor, and play with the feather-toy that all the cats salivate over. They adore the feather toys, and rip them up. Bunker has a blast chasing the feather toy around in circles and figure-eights. I laugh hysterically at his antics. Bunker's legs are too long, so he sometimes trips over them. His kitten-ness is adorable.

When it looks like Bunker is a bit pooped, I pick him up again. Bunker is very affectionate; he starts purring when I hold him. He lets me cradle him on his back. Bunker also likes it when I let him hang out on my head. I lift him up there and he chills out, his chest resting on the top of my head. I cup my hand behind his bum to keep him up there. His front paws hang in my eyes, and I blow my breath on them to tease him. I can see his little chin just above my brow. It's too cute. Bunker tries to eat my hair while he's parked out on my head.

***

When I get back to the dog pen, Matt, one of the younger volunteers, is tormenting Pepper with a lazer-pointer. Pepper is a six-month-old border collie owned by Anne, one of the adult volunteers. Being a border collie, Pepper has strong chase-and-herd instincts. She is fixated on the spot of red on the floor, and Matt makes her spin in circles trying to eat that damn redbug. Anne watches in amusement. "If you ever wondered how to drive a border collie crazy...," she remarks wryly.

Matt has two lazer-pointers. He tosses me the other one, and between the two of us we drive poor Pepper to distraction, because now there's two redbugs. She can't figure out which one to chase. Eventually Anne takes pity on her dog and tells us to stop making Pepper nuts. Matt goes to answer the phone. Sydney has left by this time, so I'm on my own in the dog pen.

It's the after-lunch-and-bathroom-break naptime for the dogs. I managed to escape the extra chaos of feeding time when I was cleaning cats. Lunchtime for TCAR's dogs at Petsmart is always eventful for the volunteers, because about ten minutes after the food is put down the inevitable flood of excrement is unleashed. What goes in must come out....

But by now the food bowls have already been mostly taken up and the food knocked onto the floor by klutzy dogs swept up, so now everyone is dozing. And all the volunteers breathe a sigh of relief at the calm and quiet. Because all is peaceful in the big pen, I decide to spend some quality time with Romo.

For all his bark, Romo is a big softie. He wags his tail as I crawl into the crate with him, and I see in his dark eyes how happy he is that someone decided to make him not so lonely. We have to keep Romo in a crate because it's easy for him to climb out of the big pen.

Romo's bony self is a bit sharp. His hipbones, hocks and elbows are pointy and hurt if they dig into you. His tail is long and whip-like. Some of the younger volunteers who are familiar with him joke that Romo's tail is a deadly weapon that could slice things. It hurts to be hit by Romo's tail.

Despite this, I pull Romo into my lap when I'm comfortably seated in the crate. He's a pushover, so he lets me shove him around and pull on him without batting an eye. But when a man strolls around the big pen, a growl rumbles from Romo's muzzle, puffing out his tawny jowls.

I wrap my hand around his muzzle and pull Romo's face against my own to look sternly into his eyes. "Hush, Romo," I tell him. There's no problem with me putting my hands around Romo's face and mouth, because I know Romo won't hurt me. If I didn't trust him, I wouldn't be in the crate. But despite the bite-scars on his face and legs -- the usual places dogs are bitten in illegal dogfights -- and the warning growls that bubble up from his chest when men walk by, I trust Romo.

When Judy notices Romo's growling, she sighs and remarks that Romo would be a perfect dog for a single woman who wants a living security system. And she's right, that would be Romo's perfect home. Judy sees how I can pull Romo all over the place and shakes her head, smiling. "Look at that! He's putty in your hands, Ann," Judy says. And he is.

I check my phone regularly, and sigh with regret when it tells me the time is 5:30. Time to head home. I worm my way out of Romo's cage, pulling his head to me to plant a last fond kiss on the knob on his skull that some dogs have. "Bye Romo," I say, scratching the tan mutt's ears one last time before I leave. Romo wags his tail, looking at me with wide eyes that seem to say, "I don't want you to leave."

I wave to Judy and Anne and Sandy as I stroll toward the doors. "Bye everybody!"

"See ya, Ann! Thanks for coming!" Judy says, grinning at me.

I walk through the now-dark parking lot and find my car, the little blue Prius looking small and dapper next to the huge Ford truck parked next to it. I slide into the driver's seat and punch the "on" button, and hum to the Sugar Ray CD playing instead of the Christmas tunes that took over my favorite radio station.

"Avarice. The avarice never ends!"

"I want golf clubs, I want diamonds, I want a pony so I can ride it twice, get bored, and sell it to make glue!!"

i wanted to hug Jim Carey when i first saw that movie.

is it just me, or has Christmas nowadays become less about celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ and more about materialism? 'cause it seems that way to me.

i know i'm hardly the most religious person around, but this trend really pisses me off. it just serves to reinforce my suspicion that the good in human kind is slowly leeching out of society.

i long ago gave up the cherished, naïve assumption that everyone in the world is kind and selfless and compassionate. i long ago formed the opinion that a lot of the people in this world are greedy, self-centered, and maybe, just maybe, don't give a shit.

so even though this trend comes as no surprise to me, it still rubs salt in the wound, because i truly want to believe that humanity as a whole still retains some shred of... well, humanity. so it makes me sad and no little bit angry that people would do this.

here's my deal: even though i'm not very religious, i still respect religion and all it does to help people's lives, and some aspects i do admire. so when something like this - like Christmas becoming nothing more than a chance for the rich company owners to suck more money up into their bank accounts to sit on and hoarde like a sleepy dragon - happens, it doesn't sit well with me.

maybe i'm just being idyllic and naïve still, expecting people's virtues to overcome their vices, but when i was a little kid and i was taught what Christmas meant, they never mentioned extravagant decorations and piles of expensive gifts and people getting trampled to death in front of a Walmart. so what i hear and what i see aren't matching up.

here's the gist of a quote from Sra. Depew from when i took Spanish from her: "your actions are so loud that I can't hear your words."

the morals of all those beloved Christmas stories are being drowned out by the screaming, wailing avarice all around me. i can't hear it anymore.

so that's why, for the past few weeks, i've decided that i very nearly hate Christmas. the charm it held for me when i was little has faded, and now all i see is greed. it's frankly a bit sickening. that's why i've become such a Scrooge. it's not because i don't believe in Christmas -- exactly the opposite. i still believe in it, when most of the world has forgotten what it really means.

i will hold on to those stories i learned as a child. i will hold in my heart the true meaning of Christmas, in spite of the rest of the world and their avarice and greed.

i don't need gifts. i don't need a tree. i don't need any of that. all i need to enjoy Christmas are things i already have for myself - my family, my friends. and the true meaning of Christmas.

Wishing on a neon star

i... can die happy now. i have witnessed the inhuman awesomeness that is a Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert.
oh my GAWD!

there aren't words to describe how mind-blowingly, orgasmically amazing that was. suffice it to say, i wouldn't have missed it if immediately after the show was over i would be skinned alive and dimmed in hydrochloric acid in retribution for attending.

a basic rundown of the show in Mike's words: "the first half was 'Oh Holy Night', the second part was 'oh holy shit!'"
they did traditional Christmas tunes (my favorites were Hark! The Herald Angels Sing, Joy to the World and Carol of the Bells) and remixed them in kick-ass rock/metal style with their own embellishments thrown in here and there.
then the second part featured classical music (like Marriage of Figaro and Beethoven's 5th) that they remixed TSO style -- and i swear, Mozart and Beethoven were way before their time, 'cuz their compositions make perfect rock music -- with more of their own stuff.

the lights strobed me out a few times, and from out seats we could feel the blasts of heat from the pyrotechnics, and my ears were still ringing by the time we got home from the loudness of the speakers.
but it was so utterly worth it.

and i'll stop gloating now, or try to at least. it might take a while for me to recover full hearing.

goofball

Sam is such a doofus, bless 'is heart.

for those who don't know, Sam is one of the horses at the barn. he's four or five years old, so he's still young. i've been riding him lately, both in lessons and on my own time. i'm not leasing him though, he's still all Dawn's horse.

so, why am i riding him? well, simply this: Dawn has slightly less experience riding than i do, and she's a bit nervous. Sam is young, and even though he's trained, he's inexperienced. little things like consistent speed around the arena, keeping his head in one place at the trot, picking up his feet so he doesn't trip over himself every five minutes, flexing around turns, that sorta thing. he's laid back for such a young horse, but riding him isn't at all like riding Diamond or Romeo or one of the older lesson horses.

so, we have an underconfident rider and an inexperienced horse. see where it's going? Dawn gets nervous riding him, so she doesn't ride him much, so he doesn't get experience. when she does ride him, she's not sure what she's doing sometimes. it snowballs, and it's frankly kinda sad, since Dawn obvious loves Sam and wants to give him a good life, and Sam likes his work.
he does enjoy being ridden, believe it or not. yes, he gets tired and tried to pull my arms out of their sockets, but he doesn't get frustrated and throw temper-tantrums like Roxy does sometimes.

Dawn rides about the same time i have my lessons (when she does ride him), and Alethea told me when she explained the setup that Dawn started to admire my riding. Alethea must've recommended me to her, too. either way, a few weeks ago Alethea asked me if i wanted to ride Sam for a while. i'd get to ride a horse for free when i rode him on my own time, it would give Sam a much-needed workout with a more confident, more experienced rider, and it would hopefully make Dawn more confident when she'd get on him. a win-win-win situation, as i saw it. so i accepted.

Sam is entertaining to ride. his little "baby-horse" habits, as Alethea calls them, keep me on my toes. the few times i've been able to work with him, he's been getting better. he's getting used to flexing and doing serpentines and figure-eights, which are the bane of stiff horses. yesterday when i had my lesson on him, he did his best yet with the serpentines and rounding.

yesterday, we also did something relatively new: poles. Alethea put the big lengths of PVC-piping we use for jumps flat on the arena floor and had me walk and trot him over them. Sam got really into it, he was having so much fun! you should've seen him, it was a hoot. sometimes he can get a bit sluggish going into the turns and on the short sides of the arena, but rounding the turns at C he was stepping out like i've never seen him do before. he was having a blast going over those poles! it was so cute. once we graduate to actually raising the poles off the ground with the blocks, i can already tell Sam's gonna love jumping. he's still got the youngster's energy.

part of it may be the cold, but i think it was mostly enthusiasm. last night he didn't start yanking on the reins like he usually does when it gets close to time to end the lesson; he does that when he gets tired. and i didn't have as much trouble getting him going as usual, though i'm sure that was the cold.

he did spook when Haley, the one who had the afternoon shift at work today, dumped a wheelbarrow of stall-mucking refuse in the piles behind the arena. it took fifteen or twenty minutes to get him back on track and to make him stop shying away from that corner of the arena, but eventually he got over it. goofy horse.

y'know, it was really cold last night. down below fifty, almost forty degrees. but when you're riding you don't notice the cold. despite the common belief, the rider works just as hard as the horse. i work harder riding Sam than riding Roxy, 'cos Sam is the baby horse. (really he's not a baby anymore, but Alethea's pet-name stuck. Dawn calls him "Little man," which doesn't really help.) when i was grooming him after the lesson and putting his sheet on, i could see my breath. still inside the barn, though the only thing that does is protect from the wind. there's no temperature insulation in that place.

that's pretty much all i've got to say. spent the whole blog talking about something half or more of my readers don't understand much of besides the articles and conjunctions. oh well.

OH EM EFF GEE -falls over-

y'know what the election(s) remind me of?

i think only Kate would know what i'm talking about, but if anyone besides her has read the Mode series by Piers Anthony (i think that's his name), you'd know what i'm getting at.

the book i'm thinking about is Fractal Mode, i forget which number in the series it was. Anyway, the struggle was between the Despots which were patriarchal, and the despots came into power for every inhabited planet in that mode by a certain male going to the "first of the first" node and pushing it. the Amazons were matriarchal, and they came into power one planet at a time by a certain female going to the "ninth of the ninth" node and pushing it. the Despots had been in power on the planet on which our bunch had fallen for time out of mind, and thy had to help the chosen woman to break their reign so they could leave. that's a basic summary of the plot for you peeps who haven't read it.

Kate, maybe you've already seen where my epiphany came from. but the story about how the dude in the story brought the Despots into power for all the planets reminds me VERY strongly of this election: Obama was elected and it seems like almost every seat in the legislature that people are running for is being won by Democrats. can anyone else see the similarities? i just now did, and i almost choked on my bagel-bite.

that's all for now, i just had to get that out of my system.

and Kate, that's a very shmexy tattoo. -nodnod- everyone who reads this blog who hasn't seen her tat, go look.

heh heh

sorry if i've been a moody grumpy-fart lately peeps. i think it's hormones. -shrug-

anyhow, it's application time. ooh, fun. (boring as hell, and these people are so damn nosy! yeesh.)
but it dredged up a few things that i thought i'd gotten mostly over, but apparently it wasn't entirely gone. maybe i'm being a bit of a bitch by bringing this up, but i feel like expressing it. so bear with me here.

the question was the marital status of my parents. now, i'd thought that that whole deal was comfortably past and i'd gotten over it, but when my throat tightened, it told me that i thought wrong.
don't ask me why i'm getting back on this now, i haven't much of an idea either. may be the same hormones that have made me act more like the snappy thing i was in Grier. and yes, Patrick and you guys who've been wondering, the way i've been acting these past few days is a lot like i was at Grier. a snappy, antisocial misanthrope.

but yep. apparently the separation/divorce thing has decided to come back and gnaw away at me some more.
here's the gist of it: that sucked. i don't have it in me to get terribly mad at either of my parents, since despite outward appearances i love them both to death, but that fucking sucked. maybe if they'd figure out the stress it's caused me, maybe they won't be that stupid anymore.
several times, y'know, i've thought to myself, i wish they'd grow the fuck up. they aren't the only ones in the universe, think of me and Kate!
pardon all the French, but it serves my purposes well enough to get the point across.

i'll quit while i'm ahead, maybe take a break from this irritating application. half the stuff i don't have the answers to immediately anyway. -rolls eyes- nosy bastards. why do they care about half this crap?

one more thing: this is just me ranting for no good reason, indulging in a self-pity party. i'll get over it here soon, and with the mood i'm in attempts at sympathy may be taken wrong. sorry to slip back into the pissy misanthrope persona, but there it stands.

-sniffle-

by thinutheth are nod habby wiff be. dey're infecteded. i've been thneezing an' thiff'ling an' thuch for de patht tree dayth. an' typing thith phoedetic'lly ith hard. if you need a translation: my sinuses are not happy with me. they're infecteded. i've been sneezing and sniffling and such for the past three days. and typing this phoenetically is hard.

anyway, latest news: Carrousel? me? what?! -facedesk- i know Seester will be beside herself and Mum is excited, but i'm not. it's not technically supposed to be a beauty pageant, but it's close enough that i'm not too sure if i want to do it. nice how they don't give you a choice, isn't it? >_>
'sides, everyone at Huss knows that Kara will walk away with it, that's a given.

and today, when we were hiking on Crowders, the weirdest thing happened. on the way back down from the peak on the ultra-steep Backside trail, we came across this very skinny, very young squirrel. it was hanging out eight feet or so up the trunk of a tree, and was unnaturally calm around the people (and dogs). it even came down from its perch, low enough that if i wanted to i could've reached out and plucked it from the bark! it even came down to the ground, and followed us! the squirrel frekkin' followed us! it was like a Steven King novel!! it kept following after us for a good few hundred feet, completely ignoring the nuts we tossed down for it. i couldn't tell if it was just craving another living thing's company or if it had rabies or something. it was kinda creepy...

Whether or not you find your own way, you're bound to find some way.

"If you happen to find my way, please return it, as it was lost some years ago. I imagine by now it's quite rusty."

the school library has Phantom Tollbooth. ohmgush. i'd picked up a Steven King for AR reading for English, and i saw Phantom Tollbooth and i nearly tripped over myself getting it to the check-out desk. i got it halfway through third period, and about an hour and a half after getting home from school i finished.

don't worry, i paid attention to class when we were doing things. not very enthusiastically and not always with my eyes open, but i paid attention. i'm so cool i can have my head down and eyes closed and still listen. i'z an audio-learner. aren't i special.

in other news, here's an update on my state of mind: BARG -collapse-

i've been tired and grouchy and blegh all day, and in a state of lethargy since Monday. why, i haven't an extraterrestrial clue. i took a nap yesterday afternoon after school. i never take naps during the day.

egh. not a good omen for the first week of school. >_O otherwise, the world of the pissy blonde midget is boring. for now, peace.

oh my God IT'S STILL ALIVE!

aaaah okay, forgive me, but I just hafta get this out. if you have an aversion to descriptions of violence and such, don't read much past the next paragraph. i won't post the link to the video 'cos it's just too disturbing. i couldn't finish watching it.

someone sent me one of those chain-letter-esque messages, stop the fur trade. it was accompanied by a video of a fur farm, somewhere I'm guessing like Russia. they're skinning foxes.

ALIVE. the foxes are still a-fucking-live (excuse the profanity but it's warranted this time). I see one moving and struggling as they pull the hide off. and they leave it alive, too. in the video one of the skinned foxes is in what looks like the bed of a truck, LOOKING AROUND. it's alive and looking around, but it has no skin.

y'know how people say they don't wanna watch but they can't look away? I had one of those moments with the skinless fox. after that I just couldn't watch anymore, I had to stop.

my inner self was curled up in the corner puking and shivering and sobbing. my outer self was about to puke. i'm still very disturbed. i'll have the image of the skinless fox burned into my mind's eye now.

i'm going to go do something else now. if someone of my readers has an affection for fox fur, i suggest you reassess your wardrobe. or at least be sure it's faux fur.

all my eloquence is gone now, since my Muse has joined my inner self in the corner. I don't blame either of them. anyway, I'll stop rambling. peace out.

EL OH EFFIN' EL

George Carlin is my hero. look him up on Youtube, the man's a genius. too bad he's dead.

Clicky for a hilarious video.

oh my gawsh. and the thing about that video, half of what he says happens to me. o_o it's creepy.

i can't think of much else to say, i'm about to laugh my ass off.

Trials and Tribulations part II

here's the second half of this chapter. look to the post below this for the first half.

***

At that moment, Howl trudged in. He looked slightly more disheveled and considerably more miserable than when he left as he shooed Michael from the chair and slumped in it dejectedly, his face a study in tragedy.

“I love her dearly, more’s the pity. No matter how she rages and raves I can’t help but be captivated by her – but love is a cruel mistress! Why did the arrow have to strike when I was looking upon that ill-tempered witch?” Howl moaned, gesturing limply with one hand.

“This witch is only ill-tempered when you try to slither out of things, Howell Jenkins!” Sophie spat as she prowled back into the castle, an armful of groceries in tow.

Howl cringed – she only used his full real name when she was very angry at him. “You sound so much like Megan, Sophie.”

“Well maybe you should go back to listening to your sister and I’ll just keep up the flower shop here.” Sophie remarked, her voice cold.

Howl’s face fell, the color draining out of it. He leaped from his chair in a flurry of whatever garb he’d worn to bed and went to the red-haired witch, wrapping his arms soothingly around her. “Now now, you don’t mean that, do you love?” He said, desperation tingeing his words. “If you do that I’ll end up covering the whole of Market Chipping with green slime!” He buried his face in her mane of reddish hair, making pitiful mewling noises.

Sophie left off slicing bacon and put the knife down, staring forward with her jaw set belligerently. Michael looked on with wide eyes – he feared Sophie would follow through with her threat and they’d all drown in slime.

She sighed heavily and folded her own arms over Howl’s, leaning against the taller wizard resignedly. “You’re pathetic, Howl. Why do I keep falling for your charms?” She grumbled.

He immediately brightened up and planted a fond kiss on her cheek, beaming as if he hadn’t just been in green-slime-mode. “It’s because you love me, of course. And I love you too, my dear Sophie. Despite all your faults.”

Sophie turned around and shoved him playfully away, a smile threatening to curve her lips. “Oh, geroff, you great fraud. You’ve twice as many faults as I!”

“Isn’t it the sad truth!” Howl said, splaying a hand on his chest nobly. “It’s a wonder anyone bothers to stay around, really!”

Sophie rolled her eyes, shoving Howl away again. “Go on then, spend your two hours in the bathroom to go see the King. And if I find you eyeing any ladies on the side…” She trailed off menacingly.

“I wouldn’t think of it, Sophie dear!” Howl protested with an air of injured innocence, fleeing from Sophie’s stick into the bathroom, calling at Calcifer for hot water.

Trials and Tribulations

i'm writing a fanfic for Howl's Moving Castle, which i fell in love with the moment i started reading it. Patrick, darlin', your letting me borrow it was the highlight of my week. =D i finished it the day i got it and by the next night i'd re-read it. and this fic, i feel like posting here. 'cos it's awesome, if i say so myself.

and no, i'm not capitalizing. 'cos i'm a lazyass. =D it's 1,213 words long, by the bye. i might end up posting it in sections. in fact, i think i'll do that.

***

Calcifer was dozing as a low flicker of flame among the ashes and coals of the fire, when the door opened and the overpowering scent of flowers flooded into the room. The smell was so intense it roused the fire demon; he clambered up the logs with green brows furrowed. He thought Sophie had put a stop to Howl’s going off and courting girls!

But, it was Sophie and Michael who staggered through the door, laden with fresh flowers to sell in the shop that day. Sophie, to have something to do, liked to keep the shop going. And since both Michael and Howl were so busy, and since Sophie was less a woman and more a force of nature when she so chose, they didn’t bother arguing. Calcifer, being in and out frequently since Sophie released him, wasn’t precisely sure why the wizard and apprentice were so busy.

But as it would turn out, he’d soon discover why.

“Hullo Calcifer.” Michael grunted as he heaved a large bundle of flowers after Sophie. He waved a hand and the large tub he’d made and it floated in Sophie’s wake, and the young man flopped down into the chair with a puff.

“Where’s Howl?” Calcifer inquired curiously.

“Dead to the world!” Sophie remarked with a touch of temper as she reappeared, wiping her hands on the apron she’d donned for a day in the shop.

“Asleep in a drunken stupor, due to wake with one mother of a hangover.” Michael explained, jerking his chin upstairs. “Can’t you hear the snoring?”

As Calcifer listened, the uproarious hoots and honks were clearly audible from the still-filthy bedroom. He and Sophie had had a rather spectacular quarrel about that room – Howl remained adamant that it stayed dirty, while Sophie was determined to at least make a dent in the grunge now she was a more permanent fixture in the castle.

“The slippery, slithery brat.” Sophie spat from where she was rummaging around in the food closet.

At Calcifer’s perplexed flicker, Michael sighed in resignation and explained. “Since Wizard Suliman retired, the King appointed Howl the Royal Wizard. For good.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Calcifer ventured.

“Not for us!” Sophie growled, tossing aside some unidentifiable insect with a violent flick.

Calcifer was taken aback. “Uhruh… how?”

Sophie whirled around, stomping toward the broom cupboard. She snatched her stick out of it and stalked toward the archway, muttering darkly. She went into Market Chipping in a huff, remarking over her shoulder that she was going to restock the food closet.

“No telling what she’ll do in that mood. Last time she threw a bucket of caustic weed-killer at my face.” Said a mournful voice behind them. They turned to see a disheveled Howl standing at the foot of the staircase, his eyes red-rimmed. With a sigh of long-suffering, Howl stepped into the room and went through the archway. “I suppose I should go make sure she doesn’t blow anything up. With my luck she’ll flay me to bits with that stick of hers. Treat my remains kindly, you two.”

Calcifer picked his jaw up off the log. “Did Howl just go out into town, looking like that?”

Michael smiled slightly, but his face soon fell. He fed Calcifer another log with a morose expression, causing a flicker of concern in the demon. “What’s up?”

“Howl and Sophie, of course. Since Sophie realized her fortune and her happy-ever-after lie with Howl, she’s been badgering him to get married. But you know Howl – he hates being pinned down. She almost had him, but then the King appointed him Royal Wizard and he’s been using it as an excuse to slip out whenever Sophie brings marriage up.”

Calcifer nodded wisely – he knew Howl all too well. That sounded just like him. Even though he was honestly in love with Sophie and not like the pointless romances with those countless girls before, his nature was always to eel his way out of an unpleasant situation. Like having to get married.

“And of course Sophie’s really upset about it – she’s awful fond of Howl, you know. As much as they quarrel they’re a good match.”

“Because they quarrel they’re a good match!” Calcifer retorted with a hiss of laughter. “They’re the only ones who’ll put up with each other for extended periods!”

“Well, I don’t know about that…” Michael said with a frown.

“You’re too nice, you don’t count.” Calcifer added with a scathing crackle.

Oof

My lower back is gonna huuuurt tomorrow. -groan-

Had work today. The morning shift - 7 to 11. I think I officially prefer the morning shift, it's not NEARLY as ungodly hot.

We had that big storm last night, right? Hooch scrambled under my bed. I held the door for him to leave, but he stayed under there. So I said "okay. You aren't gonna leave now you'll be stuck in here all night." So he was stuck there all night.

Anyhow. After that huge storm the barn was sopping. Wet. I mean SOAKED. The dust was mud, and everything was damp. There was water in the feeding tubs for the horses that eat outside.

And guess what? There was a HUGE-ASS LAKE in one corner of the arena. I'm serious. The sand turned into quicksand, and there was a puddle of ankle-deep water.
So it was up to Micheal and I to drain said puddle. Which I fondly called Arena Lake.
So we went out there with a hoe, a shovel, and a broom and proceeded to drain the puddle. Trenches had to be dug from the dip in the sand that housed the water to outside the arena - which worked with minimal success because the grass and surrounding muck acted as a screen.
So we spent a good half-hour toiling away. I was raking out the sand from the main channel and scraping away the sand inside the draining puddle to keep the water flowing, while Micheal used the broom to push the water into the channel.
My lower back was screaming at me by the time we finished. The fact that I have a sway-back doesn't help when I have to do work like that. Oy.

And by the end of draining the better part of Arena Lake, my shoes were waterlogged and full of grit. Eew. I rinsed them out before I left - my socks were beyond salvaging.
But it's three and a half hours for which I'm getting paid, so it's cool. A job I enjoy, I can do without too much trouble, and my co-workers are amiable. Better than most jobs, so I'm not complaining.

Cockroach!

Woah.

Okay, so these past coupla days I've been cleaning the wormhole that is my room, right? ((Some of the dust bunnies are as big as Radar - it's scary. O_O))
Well, today I found the notebook that I used as my journal for the Australia/New Zealand PTP trip. And reading through it, it reminded me if this one really interesting incident that happened on the fourth day.

We were at the Couran Cove resort somewhere off the eastern Sunshine coast of Australia, right? It was our second day on the resort, and we were about to go to bed. At that moment we were watching a rugby game.

Well, I was very tired. I just wanted to go to sleep. So I tucked my knees into my UNC hoody and pulled the hood up and started to doze off. And for some reason, to this day I have no idea why - maybe it was a sudden chemical imbalance in my inner ear or something - I fell off my chair. I just started leaning to one side and then bump, I was on the floor.

I dunno what, but I cracked my head rather hard on something on the way down. I was on the last chair in the row my posse had set up, but it was far enough from the wall, so I really have no earthly clue what I hit my head on. But it hurt like hell.

Because I had my knees tucked rather securely into my hoody they didn't come out when I fell, and I landed more or less on my back. One can almost picture what I looked like. My friend Stevie astutely compared me to a roach.
More like she burst into hysterics and repeated over and over the word "cockroach!" through her giggles.

At that point I was very dazed, too much so to wonder if I had concussed myself, which I don't think I did. But I sat there on my back curled into a fetal position for a little while until I figured out WHAT the hell just happened, and got back on my chair trying to ignore Stevie's hysteric giggling.

Needless to say, I had a headache for quite a while that night. And Stevie went on at length about how much like a roach I looked. I accepted the comparison gracefully, since if I hadn't just cracked my head it was very likely I would've been laughing my head off too.

So yup. There's my story from Australia. One of my many moments of spaz.

Urk

I think I'm getting sick, guys. I'm achy, my throat is closing up and getting sore, my sinuses are starting to leak, and I'm getting that overall feeling of "yuck" that one associates with being sick.
No headache yet, but I feel one coming on. Since the symptoms just cropped up about fourth period, it's likely something flu-like, which blows.
With the National Honor Society and Junior Marshal crap coming up, I can't afford to get sick. Fail.

Oh yeah, I'm a Junior Marshal. XD How, I'm not sure.
They called me up to the reference room fourth period yesterday, and when they called over the intercom for me I thought, 'I didn't do it!'

But I walked in and the lady handed me the packet, and when I read what it said I thought, 'Junior Marshal? Are you flippin' serious? 'Oly crap!' But it blows 'cos I hafta wear a dress for the Baccalaureate service and graduation. And not just any dress: no, they're making me wear a white dress.
Ann doesn't wear dresses. She didn't wear one to prom, for the luvva! And only on rare occasions does Ann wear white. I have no white pants, and only one white shirt that I only wear 'cos it's got the Royal lion on it in London flag colors. But asking me to wear a white dress? They're pushing it.
-sigh- But if I'm a Junior Marshal, I'll deal. I'll only have to wear it once or twice, after all.

At the moment, I don't have the energy to go into detail about prom, since my brain is slowly being enveloped by the sick-fog. So for now, peace owt.

I'z bored

There's nothing to do so I'm making a new blog post. Whee.

I'm seriously gonna miss Huss when I graduate. Namely, one or three of the teachers.
I started off freshman year pretty much disliking Noblitt heartily, but since we've had him for all three(all four next year since enough people signed up for 20th Century History to fill two classes) years he's grown on me. I'd have something more poignant to say, but my brain is operating on half power since I only got two hours of sleep, so yeah.

And yes, David, I will read the book next time. I promise. But when you started talking about that twist at the end I just couldn't help it. You should know this by now.

And if you've got that much against yaoi fics, I suggest you not read any of mine. XD I've got seven Deathnote fics, one complete FMA, working on a second, and I'm planning at least three more. All yaoi. So there. -pokes tongue out-

Heh heh. I'z gonna has people out for my blood. Should I anticipate an attack any time soon?

HOMG Josh Groban LOL

For the past almost year, every time someone mentions the name Josh Groban within my hearing I've cracked up. Some people have been rather disturbed by this, and I don't blame them. Others have been perplexed, but I just wave a hand and say "long story." But I swear to those of you who've never seen it, if anyone mentions Josh Groban I really do crack up.

It happened when I was over in Cambridge. I ended up in this little group of friends(me, Hannah from Virginia, Lesette the Mexican lesbian from Texas, Trish the bi from like Chicago or something, and Jo I forget where she's from) who every night or so would have a "party in -insertnamehere-'s room!" Being the one with by far the biggest room, and the only one with a mini-fridge, the parties moved to my room pretty consistently.

Someone, bless their heart, bought a bag of balloons. At first we started blowing them up in Jo's room(because Jo for some unknown reason had a piano in her room), but when the parties moved to my room so did the balloons.

Given that our minds were irreversibly deep in the gutter, we of course had to compare the balloons to testicles and penises. And we had to say whose they were.
One particular big blue one(one I blew up, I'm proud to say) became God's testicle. Jesus has one, Muhammad, and a few others I can't remember. We had Neo(Trish's boyfriend)'s and Jesus' penis, too. But one of the balloons, I forget the color, was Josh Groban's testicle. And for some reason while I react to none of the others, Josh Groban is the name that reminds me of that and sets me off.

Buuut yeah. Needless to say, we stayed up far too late at each one of these parties in Ann's room, and were far too loud though the chick in the room next to mine was a bitch anyhow(don't get me started) so I didn't give a flying rat's anal orifice if we kept Tori up.
But yeah. I have lots of fun in Cambridge with my posse.

Have you peeps heard the laundry escapade? You haven't? I'll explain it later. I need to go to bed that the moment. Peace.

Raaandooom!

This is what US History does to me. X_x You peeps who have it with Noblitt have the assignment for homework tonight with that quiz thinger, right? Well I took it, and was rather intrigued by my results. I expected myself to be more neutral and closer to the middle, but according to this quiz I'm smack in the middle of the liberal half(10 out of 40, where 40 is ultra-conservative and 0 is ultra-liberal).

What did you guys get? Here's a link to the quiz for those who didn't have to do this for homework. I'm really curious now.

In other news, I think the peeps in PreCal shut their brains off when they walk into that class. I mean come on, the warm-up was so bloody obvious.
Kimmel gave us O, T, T, F and told us to find the next five letters in the sequence. I stared at it and messed around with the numbers (like O is the 15th letter and T is the 20th), but then the answer hit me and I thought "D'OH!" Apparently I was the first one to get the answer. By the time the others started pestering Kimmel big time for the answers two or three others had figured it out, and she'd already written the next five up: F, S, S, E, N.
"What's the 67th term?"
"S."
"83rd term?"
"E."
"95th?"
"N."
"38th?"
"T."
And people still didn't get it. My thought at that point: Oh my frekkin' God you people are DUMB!
Eighty-three, Sixty-seven, Ninety-five, Thirty-eight... it was so obvious.

I ended up having to write One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine on a few people's papers to show them. Oy. -headdesk-

Meep

Whee for boredness in first period when most of the class poofed to go listen to some CSI dude for Career Day.

Mrs. B gave us the choice to go listen to the speakers in other rooms or to hang around in the room and amuse ourselves, and since we were feeling lazy here we are. XD

By all rights I should be using this time to work on the bibliography or the big two-day review thinger, but I'm a lazyass. And I've been looking at pictures of my demented sister and her roomate modeling granny panties and little pink thongs.

And I'm running out of things to say, besides this: NO MORE CAFFINE FOR DAVID!

DO NOT WANT!

There's a reason I am such a rabid Huss fan and why I'm completely anti-Askbrook. And the reason's name is Grier middle school. I can't begin to describe how much I hated, how much I absolutely despised, that place. How much I wanted to bomb it or set it on fire or go on a rampage with a .50-caliber rifle. How utterly insane I would be if I had to stay there, or to go where the people who gave me such grief are currently going.

You peeps who know me from Huss: the happy-go-lucky, laid back me you know now is very different from what I was like at Grier.
I hated that place so much. What I felt throughout the time I went there was nothing but deep, smoldering, helpless rage, frustration, and utter hatred. I can't even form words to articulate how much I did NOT like that school. It was all the students, too. It was them who turned me against it. Otherwise, I would've been fine.
Imagine the normal behavior of the average Huss student, and magnify all the stupid, irritating, disrespectful, destructive, and whatever other negative aspects you can think of by tenfold. Those are the sort of people I dealt with at Grier.

Now, once I moved to Huss, I escaped the vast majority of those people, thanks to IB. So in the last two or three years, I've been able to relax and not have to deal with it. But the Chemistry class I'm taking is bringing up all the unpleasant memories, and it's not doing me much good.
This one group of arseholes who sit right in front of me are loud, disrespectful to the point that they openly mock the teacher, disruptive, and everything else I despised about the Grier students. The class is easy enough that I get done early, and am left with absolutely nothing to do but sit there and brood over how much I'd like to murder them all in the most gruesome manner I can imagine. That's what happened at Grier too: I got done and was left with nothing but to sit and brood.

Flashbacks of Grier are not good for my sanity, and for the personal safety of everyone around me.
In Grier, I was in my own little nutshell. I spoke to the others as little as humanly possible, I did my work and stuck my nose in a book. Even that didn't work half the time, since the teachers disliked me getting into my books in an effort to keep my sanity at a borderline normal level. I had to deal with these people every single day, starting the moment I walked into the building and ending when I crossed the street into the parking lot. Every day, the same torture.
And for most of my time at Grier, I had no friends. I knew that not only would none of the people there want to be friends with the little antisocial midget who snaps every time you say something in her general direction, but that I had so little in common with the vast majority of Grier students that I might as well have been another species. I hated every single one of them about as fiercely as you can hate any living thing, and I even if I was on the other side of the universe I would still be too close to them. So it was mutual hatred that kept me in my little bubble.

If I had stayed like that through the whole three years, I'd be a very different individual. But in the beginning of my eighth grade year, my two friends Kelsey and Tanis took me under their wings. No, they aren't even friends. They're more like my sisters in spirit. Look at me, I'm getting choked up just writing about it.
Really, those two helped keep me sane. If it hadn't been for them, I would've gone through a whole other year of sitting there hunched in my desk plotting homicide and knowing that all I can do is glare at the backs of their heads. Kelsey and Tanis pulled me from my abyss, from the little niche I had carved from the walls of the hellhole for myself, and brought me back from the brink. They were the ones I could talk to once I'd finished my work to ward off the hours of useless brooding, the ones I could confide in when it just got to be too much, the ones who held me back when I almost started a fight in P.E.
Yeah, I did almost start a fight. You peeps who know me from Huss know that usually I'm the last one you'd think of starting a fight, but this one little bitch just rubbed me completely the wrong way and I got sick and tired of putting up with it. Kelsey almost had a conniption fit, and if she hadn't been there, a fight would have happened.

So yeah. There's my rant for the day. Peace.