Azrazelle

Girl Gaming

Fri, 13 Feb 2009 05:05:14 GMT

Dear Ubisoft,

Please stop making me cry.

kthxbye.

This is what Amazon has to say on their page about the line of Ubisoft's Imagine games, designed specifically for girls:

Hey Imagineerz! What if there were a line of video games designed just for you? Well there is! You can forget about swiping the same tired old games from your big bro's dusty collection. With the Imagine line of games you can pick-up 'n play a game that likes to have fun, explore career possibilities, and do as much as you do. Learn to do a triple-axel, become the ultimate fashionista, be a kitchen magician, care for your fab furry pet-friends, practice your skills as a pro-babysitter--even interact with a career expert in each field. They'll give you tips on the biz and let you tap into their creative minds for some serious inspiration!

This is the point where I seriously considered stabbing myself in the eye so I wouldn't have to read anything like this again. As a girl, this offends me. I am not interested in any of these games. Now, I realise that I'm 20, and these games are designed for kids. But I wouldn't have played any of these games when I was six, either. It's not like most of these ideas are that new. My younger sister owned a range of Barbie games, as well as the Babyz series, an ice skating game, and a game where you pretended to be a film director. I played some of these for a while, mostly because I was banned from playing the more violent games, but I hated them. They were SO BORING.

Games like these have no point. I've heard that video game makers defend their choices in making these games by saying that girls like to create while boys like to destroy. Maybe that's true. But if that's true, then at least give girls games that have a point, with a direction, aside from fulfilling pointless tasks. Give them a goddamn plot!

Also, there is nothing wrong with "swiping the same tired old games from your big bro's dusty collection." This is how I started gaming. F-Zero, Super Mario Bros, Legend of Zelda, Chrono Trigger, Secret of Mana, Duck Hunt, Gauntlet... the first video game that I ever owned all by myself was Majora's Mask. I was twelve. Before that, I just played what my brother bought. And I was happy that way.

Even today, I still steal video games from my brother. He returns the favour. Our video game interests have diverged in recent years, as he's tended more towards FPS while I've gone more towards RPGs and action-adventure games, but we still share our games. I don't own a single "girl" game.

I understand that people are buying these. I understand that a lot of little girls probably aren't going to want to play Portal or Zelda or Final Fantasy. I get that. But that's not the point. But you're not selling these games to girl gamers. You're not selling them to gamers at all, not even casual gamers. So please stop acting like you are.

The girls who are going to buy these games probably aren't stealing their big bro's copy of Chrono Trigger (and that's their loss). And if they want to waste their time, money, and intellect on them, then that's their problem.

But stop making me look like an idiot.

I am sick of walking into a video game store and having guys outright stare at me when I don't immediately head for the Wii or DS games. I'm sick of being referred to as "sir" whenever I'm in the PS3 section, regardless of the fact that I don't exactly look like a guy (this happens constantly. Apparently, girls don't buy PS3 games. EVER). I'm sick of sales people pointing me towards WiiFit. I'm sick of being treated like an idiot, like I have no idea about games. Of looking completely boggled when I make references to Portal. Of actually saying, "You've played that? But.. you're a..." and then trailing off into uncomfortable silence.

This isn't everywhere, of course. One of the local GameStops actually has a couple of girls working there, and I love going to that one, as they tend not to have these attitudes. But... seriously, people.

GIRLS CAN GAME. AND THEIR CHOICES IN GAMES AREN'T LIMITED TO PONIES AND RAINBOWS.

ARGH.

If Ubisoft didn't put out some decent stuff, I would consider boycotting them.

Argh.

And I'm not even going to go into the fact that apparently the only suitable career choices for girls involve fashion or maternal instincts...

Update!

Sat, 17 Jan 2009 06:03:46 GMT

That's right! You read correctly! Irrevocable is getting an update! And it's all thanks to Oneirataxia and her lovley, gorgeous review. It was unequivocally the loveliest review I've gotten for Irrevocable, and I'd not hesitate to say ever. She read my LiveJournal! And my description of why I killed off Draco! Yay!

Anyway, because of that, I am motivated to continue Harry's tale once more. And it's lucky for you, because I was toying around with abandoning Harry Potter for Jak and Daxter. I mean, c'mon... Jak's got wicked ears, is badass, green-blonde hair, and is hot as hell. Plus, depending on his form, wings. Wings are awesome. (We're ignoring the odd tentacles here, people!)

Anyway, I'd promised her in a review response that I'd have an update tonight (when will I learn to stop promising these things?) However, I just learned I'm supposed to meet my friend downtown for lunch tomorrow, and it's already one in the morning. So I may not finish it. But here's what I have so far, and it's a bit fragmented, as the first section isn't done at all, but... here you go. Hopefully it will be done tonight, but if not...

Chapter Six

Hermione walked down the halls of Hogwarts, pretending she was calm, pretending she couldn't see the scorch marks that a year hadn't erased from the walls. As she moved away from the Great Hall, the signs of battle decreased dramatically. At least the physical ones. The battle-worn faces of the castle's occupants... those were worse, somehow, than even the large spots of blood in the Entrance Hall that refused removal.

Especially the youngest children... the first years, the second years, the ones who were too young to even be at Hogwarts, really, but had nowhere else to go after the death of their parents...

In some ways, it was good that there weren't too many of those. In others, it was much, much worse.

Because it made Hermione wonder if maybe that was only because the children had been killed too.

She tried not to think about that, clenching her fists and pulling her robes tighter around her body, pretending it was only to ward off the chill.

She pretended a lot of things these days.

She remembered the way to the Trewlaney's tower well enough, despite the fact that she'd quit midway through her Summer term of Divination. Completely rubbish subject. She would never admit it to anyone, but Divination had sounded exciting. Of course, that was before she'd taken the class and realised that Divination was the one subject in the Hogwarts curriculum where the Muggles had the right of it, and it was just a bunch of hogwash.

That Trewlaney had insulted her talent on the first day of class certainly hadn't increased her love of the material, either.

Still, Neville said Trewlaney was the only one who might be able to tell her anything, and right now, that was the best bet she had. She hadn't found anything that sounded at all like the glowing-thing Harry had done at the funeral... and knowing Harry, it meant trouble.

Harry's fingers instinctively curled around the wand that Pansy pressed into his palm, a pleased hiss sounding from the back of his throat, his magic building within him, waves crashing, the voice of it crying out in exultation.

Isn't It Just

Wed, 24 Dec 2008 05:16:39 GMT

Everything's wonderful. Of course. The only time I ever post anything on here, really, is when I have to bitch about something, but I think I'll throw in a few good things too.

I've lost 30 pounds. In 3 months.

Normally this would be good. I mean, really good! I was a tad on the overweight side, and now I'm within a normal BMI range, even if you don't take into account that I've got more muscles than a lot of girls. Only problem is... I shouldn't be losing weight. At all. No diet, no exercise. I could eat nothing but hamburgers and french fries, and still lose weight.

Of course, going to doctors, I invariably get a variation of the same theme: you're a chick.

"Well, you're a girl, girls like to lose weight, so this is good, right?" Um... no... Losing weight for no reason means that something isn't working right.

"Well... you can wear smaller clothes now, right? I wish I could do that!" Me too... if only I could afford to go out and buy new clothes every few weeks (I've gone down 2-3 pants sizes.)

"Well, you're a young girl. That means you're stressed/ depressed/ insane. That's why you're losing weight." Generally, these things cause you to lose weight because you stop eating due to lack of appetite. Despite my nausea, I can make myself eat.

This further cements my opinion that all doctors are idiots. Blood, blooming, blasted idiots.

In good news, I got a Playstation3 and LittleBigPlanet. Many, many happy hours have been spent with Sackboy.

And I've now been up for over 36 hours straight, thanks to four coffees. Apparently, you shouldn't drink that much coffee when you don't ever, ever drink it, are allergic to tea, and haven't had a soda in two months. Caffeine highs are scary.

Anyways, merry Christmas everyone!

Psychological is Pshit

Sun, 12 Oct 2008 05:42:10 GMT

Surprise! I'm horribly sick again! It's not the fibromyalgia, and it's not the migraines, and it's not even my horrible, horrible ankle. Or sinuses.

No, this is something completely new. I'll list my symptoms, as briefly as possible.

Nausea
Vomitting
Headaches (not migraines, tension, cluster, or anything else like that)
Memory Blackouts
Static-y Vision
Floating Dots/ Lines in Vision
Light Sensitivity
Sound Sensitivity
Small Specks in Vision
Difficulty Processing Sounds
Difficulty Concentrating
Difficulty Reading
Difficulty Remembering Stuff
Difficulty Spelling
Difficulty Speaking
Stuttering
Forgetting Words
Terrible Grammar
Fatigue
Numbness in Hands and Legs
Tingling/Pins and Needles in Hands and Legs
Small Muscle Twitches
Hand Tremors
Leg Jerks
Alternating Periods of Insomnia or Sleeping all the Time
Dizziness

Okay, so you get the point.

Well, I went to my PCP. She ran some blood tests, but said she didn't know what it was and I needed to see a neurologist ASAP. Blood tests came back normal, except for B12, which was within the normal range, but on the low side. So I've been taking B12.

Then I went to the neurologist. I tried to tell him my symptoms, but he cut me off after "headaches" and "nausea" and told me that it was stress, entirely psychological, but he would run some tests just in case.

MRI came back normal, as did the EEG (even though I started twitching really, really bad and almost threw up after the flashing lights bit, it was "good."

So I go to the neuro-opthamologist (which I'm not even going to attempt to spell correctly) because of my vision problems. Before I say a word, she tells me that college is very stressful, and it's obviously psychological. She runs one test to check my peripheral vision, schedules me for a spinal tap (just in case) and tells me to see a shrink.

Thing is, I mentioned this to my psychiatrist when I went to see her last (a few days after the symptoms got really, really bad). She said it doesn't sound psychological. But I've started seeing a counselor, just to make sure. She says I'm not even stressed, that school makes me happy, not anxious, and she doesn't see how it could be psychological.

Thankfully, Miracle Witch Doctor is on my side! Miracle Witch Doctor is a chiropractor/acupuncturist/practicioner of some Eastern medicinal practice I can never remember the name of. He's also a freakin' genius.

According to him, my something or other symptom was reversed. When he makes certain motions over my body, my arm should be weak, and when he reverses it, my arm should be strong. But the opposite happened. I really don't know how to explain it better than that. I don't know how or why it works, but it does. And he cured my Fibro, so I don't care.

Anyway, he fixed that, but everything's still being crazy. Tests showed all my B vitamin levels might be low, so I've been taking those. They're awful! They smell, and they make your piss and sweat smell too (and your piss is bright, bright yellow!) And they, of course, do nothing.

I'm going for the spinal tap Monday. If you've never had one, they stick a ridiculously huge needle into your spine, pull out some spinal fluid, and laugh at your pain. Because it is painful. I've had two; during one, they gave me some sort of twilight medication so I didn't remember it. The second time, the technician refused to give me any anesthetic, even though I asked for it.

In revenge, I puked on him. That's what he gets for sticking a foot long needle in my back without even something to numb the skin.

Hopefully, that will show something. I know it sounds awful, but I don't care what it is. With my symptoms, it could be dozens of things. Some might just be a neurotransmitter is low, and some could mean I'll be dead within a year. I don't care which, I just want a diagnosis.

Being chronically sick is worse than having a terminal illness, in my opinion. When it's terminal, you know that at some point, the pain is going to end. When you have something that is both incurable and non-fatal, you will more than likely live a horribly long and horribly painful death. I'm not saying I want to die, but given the choice, I'd rather die sooner than later if I'm in constant pain.

I support doctor-assisted suicide, obviously, giving that the person is in the right mental state to make such a decision.

Anyway, the point is, that DOCTORS SHOULD DO THEIR GODDAMN JOB! Just because it's not a BRAIN TUMOR or STROKE or OBVIOUS INJURY DOESN'T MEAN THE PROBLEM IS OBVIOUSLY PSYCHOLOGICAL!!! I understand that you're so FUCKING LAZY that it's easier to just PAWN YOUR PATIENTS OFF onto shrinks, but SERIOUSLY!

Also, just because I'm 20 years old (I had my birthday recently, actually. I feel terribly, terribly old) and female doesn't mean that I'm HYSTERICAL, am a HYPOCHONDRIAC, or have MUNCHAUSEN'S. EVERY TIME I'VE COME TO A DOCTOR WITH PROBLEMS THAT DIDN'T MAKE SENSE, or WERE "OBVIOUSLY PSYCHOLOGICAL" I'VE ACTUALLY HAD SOMETHING PHYSICALLY WRONG WITH ME.

I DO NOT ENJOY BEING POKED AND HAVING IV'S AND MEDICAL PROCEDURES AND BEING HOSPITALIZED. First off, hospitals have TERRIBLE food. Secondly, I have better things to do.

Like go to school.

Which I can't, anymore, because I've missed almost four weeks, and there's no way I can catch up. So I'm taking a medical withdrawal for the semester. This is the SECOND TIME I've had to do this, and I am in no way pleased. It means I'm wasting a semester of my life and of my scholarship.

In good news, I may have more time to write. In bad news, my writing quality will suffer terribly. You win some, you lose some.

Why You Actually Don't Want Me to Review Your Fic

Mon, 08 Sep 2008 02:17:08 GMT

In an valiant effort to avoid doing my Arabic work for as long as possible (it's a terror, honestly! I don't know any of the words, and Arabic dictionaries don't work like they do in English. You have to derive the root of the word [generally three letters] and look up the root and then find the word itself within the entry on the root. It's a brilliant linguistic system, but it's hell when you have to look up every single fucking word), I was messing around on fanfiction, changing a few things on how my account was set up (like the new icon?), et cetera, and found a lovely little feature that lets me look at the past 200 reviews I've written. I don't know that I've even written 200 reviews (and I vow to write more!) but I read through them.

Conclusion?

I'm batshit.

Let's look at my commonly used phrases/comments.

"You make me happy inside!" This sounds like something the son of the police chief on the Simpsons would say. And it's creepy.

Random references to David Bowie/ Labyrinth. Seriously, there were loads of these. It's not even funny.

*dance*/*twirl*/*cheer* Gotta love the emotions! *smirk*

Really long complicated analysis of the plot. Okay, so there was only one really long one, but it was longer than some of the chapters I've seen posted.

"I'll give you a cookie if you update!" As none of the authors I've said this to (I think) have updated yet, I'm still safe.

And, yeah... I've really got to stop pissing around and do the bloody assignment. Why did I think this was a good idea to major in Middle East Studies? I should be an English major... but the pragmatic side of my brain wants money. Silly realist.

Experiment

Sun, 07 Sep 2008 05:17:40 GMT

No, this isn't one of those crazy experiments that everyone in elementary school claimed I did in my secret laboratory that I accessed from a secret elevator in the back of my closet (no joke, people seriously believe this).

Mostly just tring to figure out if I know how to properly manage this LJ cut thing.

Helen pushed the paper closer to the boy, speaking gently. He was curled up in the chair, just staring at her with those big green eyes of his. Helen would have hugged him, would have held him and whispered that everything was going to be okay, but the boy refused to be touched. Helen smiled softly, pointing at the box of crayons.

“It's okay if you don't want to talk, Harry. You don't have to, and we won't try to make you, alright? We just want to know what happened, so we can help you. Maybe you should draw a picture of what happened. That way you wouldn't have to say anything, but we can figure this out.” Harry just stared at her, looking deep into her eyes as if trying to find a hidden message there. She kept her expression calm, tried to appear warm and comforting, but inside she was crying. Only five years old, and already parent-less. And to be orphaned on his birthday, no less! The poor boy, with his pale face and sad eyes.

He slowly reached for one of the crayons with a trembling hand. Helen continued smiling, nodding in encouragement. He set the green crayon against the parchment, holding it awkwardly, as if he had never coloured with a thick crayon before. He drew a single line, then paused. He looked at Helen, who widened her smile an inch. He drew another line, right next to the first one. Another glance, this one quicker than the first, and then he drew another line, intersecting the first two. After that, he hesitated no longer, colouring the piece of parchment with abandon.

Helen didn't look at the picture, but instead studied the boy. He was fiercely concentrating, his tongue sticking out between his lips and his brow furrowed. His arm jerked, almost uncontrollably; he grabbed another crayon without taking his eyes off the picture, without even stopping his wild drawing. His eyes shone with tears, but none fell to stain the parchment. Helen's heart jerked, and the urge to hug the despondent child nearly overwhelmed her.

Then, as quickly as his corybantic colouring had begun, he was finished. He carefully replaced his two crayons in the box, and slid the picture across the child-sized table. Helen pulled it toward her, fighting to maintain her pleasantly neutral mien.

It was an endless field of green, a starburst of the colour, dark on the edges, fading gradually into the emerald of the boy's eyes at the center. Considering his age and materials, it was very well done.

“It's a very pretty picture, Harry. Is it grass?” The boy shook his head, sadly. “Then what is it?” He raised his hand and began to wave it around, forming they symbol of an old rune while mouthing two words.

Avada Kedavra.

Helen gasped in spite of herself, in spite of her training on how to remain collected. “I know, sweetling. That's what happened to your parents. But who did it, Harry? And what happened to you?” She reached for another sheet of parchment, but Harry moved before she could offer it to him.

Harry simply pointed at the picture again, and then he brushed aside his dark fringe, revealing an odd cut. The other Healers, the ones who had brought Harry to her when he refused to say a single word, had told her about it. Magic could not seal it, could not so much as stem the flow of blood. It was still bleeding; as she watched a drop of blood rolled down his face, a bloody tear. A bandage would not stay over it, nothing could cover it. And the wound, shaped like a lightning bolt, reeked of Dark magic.

“Wo- would you like something to, to eat?” she finally managed to ask, tremulous smile back in place. Harry didn't move. “I'll go get you some Chocolate Frogs, how does that sound?” She didn't wait for his response, fleeing the room to the bright lights of the main pediatric ward. She shut the door firmly behind her, sliding down the cool wood surface, her face buried in her hands.

“Helen? How did it go, what did he say?” She tried to force her hands to quit their trembling, and fought to stop her legs from collapsing altogether.

“The Killing Curse,” she gasped, pressing her hands against her chest, “someone cast the Killing Curse on that poor little boy.”

“But there were only the two bodies. What are you talking about?”

“Harry Potter. Someone cast the Killing Curse at Harry Potter. And he... survived...”

“Hello again, Harry.” Helen crouched down so that she could look him in the eyes. He shied away, pushing his chair back from the table with the crayons and parchment, eyes wild, darting from side to side.

“Shh... it's okay. Look, I'll stay right here.” She moved to sit on the other side of the table, placing her wand in front of her. “And I don't have my wand, either. I don't want to hurt you, Harry.” If anything else, this only frightened the boy more, his body trembling as he rocked back and forth, refusing to even look at her.

“I think we know what happened, Harry, and I think you're a very brave little boy.” At that his brow furrowed, and Helen could imagine his response if he would talk. “Well, perhaps not so little. But still very, very brave.” He uncurled a bit, one incredibly green eye poking out from between his arms, half covered with his dark fringe. “You don't have to say anything, but we want to help you. Do you need anything? Oh!” She reached into her pocket slowly, pulling out a chocolate frog. “Here you go; I did promise you some chocolate, didn't I?”

He snatched at the sweet, unwrapping it quickly and biting into it before the animation charms could even activate. He almost smiled at her, quiveringly, and pulled his chair in to the table once more, offering her the card.

“Thank you,” she told him, not at all startled when he withdrew his hand almost before she held the card in her hand. “But you can have it, if you want it. I don't collect them myself. Look, it's Dumbledore!”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say. His face reddened and crumpled almost immediately, one arm sweeping out to knock aside the box of crayons. He cried, the first time he uttered a single sound since she had brought him into her office. The poor boy stuffed his fist into his mouth to muffle the sobs, trying to shrink down into his chair and disappear.

She couldn't ignore this. No matter that he didn't want to be touched; he was a child, and he was in pain. And his mother wasn't there to do it for him.

Helen picked him up quickly, holding him in her arms and swaying from side to side as he sobbed into her shoulder. She found herself crying, too; everything she tried to do for him just made everything that much worse. Muttering soothing noises through her own tears, she wiped away his.

“Mummy.”

That was all he said. Helen froze, afraid to move, hoping that he would speak now, hoping that he hadn't mistaken her for his mother, which would tear his heart (and hers) into even more pieces.

“I want my mummy,” he informed her, the tears suddenly gone. “And daddy. And... and I want my uncle!” The tears were back then, more painful than before, with an edge of self-loathing that she'd never seen in a child so young.

“Harry...” she started to say, but trailed off, unable to finish. She'd dealt with hurting children for years, helping them recover from abuse or trauma or anything else, but nothing like this. Nothing even close to this. She sighed, looking at his pale, drawn face, and did the one thing she'd been told to never, ever do.

She told him the truth. “I don't know what to do, Harry,” she informed him, making sure to look into his eyes the entire time. “I don't know what to tell you, what to do to make everything better. I don't know that I can make everything better. But if I could, I would. You seem very intelligent, and I don't know if that will make things easier for you or harder. I hope it makes things easier, but I don't know. Your mum and dad are dead. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry.” Harry nodded, not surprised, but for some inexplicable reason the tension in his face eased slightly. “I don't know what's best for you, what you need. But tell me what you want, and I'll try to make it happen.”

He did smile at her, then, and the pure relief and joy in expression made her answering grin genuine.

Helen walked briskly through the halls of St. Mungo's, afraid that if she paced herself too slowly she would lose her courage or someone would try to stop her. She pulled Harry into the lift with her, hoping that her lime green healer's robes would stop all the inquisitive stares. They didn't, of course, especially when she pressed a button that hadn't been visible to any of the other lift occupants a moment before (though Harry seemed unsurprised).

“Morgue,” the lift announced solemnly, doors sliding open with a clang. Harry followed her out of the lift, matching her brisk pace. In contrast to the bright white hallways of the upper floors of St. Mungo's, the basement level was poorly lit with flickering torches and mould dripped down the stone walls. The dead, after all, didn't care, and the hospital administration thought that whatever donations they managed to procure were better used elsewhere.

Reaching the end of the corridor, she flashed her healer's badge at the two aurors standing guard outside the morgue, impatiently flinging the swinging doors out of her way. She took a step forward, but stopped quickly when Harry's hand left her own.

“Hold on there, love,” one of the aurors advised her, holding Harry gently by the wrist. “He can't go in there.”

“Someone needs to identify the bodies,” she informed him, snatching Harry back, glad she'd managed to contrive an excuse on the way down. “And unless you know anyone who's seen the Potter's in years, it's got to be him. Correct identification of bodies is crucial, and you know very well how many times they've bollixed that up.”

“Doesn't matter. How old is he, three? You don't take a baby in to see that.”

“I'm five! And I'm not a baby!” Harry protested, walking towards the doors himself, not at all mollified by the auror's condescending “of course not.”

“He's right,” Helen confirmed, determined that Harry would have this, the least she could give him. “No one who's seen their parents killed in front of them is a baby. And he deserves the chance to see them and say good-bye.”

“That what you want, kid?” the other Auror asked. “I don't think you'll like it much.” Harry simply jutted out his chin and nodded, face set in a stubborn expression. “Alright. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry.” He held open the door for them, bowing briefly.

“You can't do that, mate! There're rules, here!” the first auror argued, though he made no move to stop the healer and her charge from entering.

“And I outrank you, Constable. And here, in the hospital, she outranks me. She's a Healer, and she'll do what's best for the kid. They're sworn to do no harm.”

“I'm reporting this, Williamson! Just wait until the Gaffer hears about this, eh?”

Helen didn't hear the other's reply as the door swung shut on their argument, her eyes solely on Harry. In front of him, on two slabs of stone etched with various runes, were the bodies of his parents. He stopped, his gaze distant and yet focused all at the same time, breathing heavily.

“You just do what you need to do,” she told him, withdrawing silently.

Slowly, he crept up to the stones, standing on his toes in order to look into their faces. So many expressions flashed over his face so quickly that she couldn't honestly say his expression had changed at all from its fiercely controlled, stoic mask. Moments passed, but he didn't move, didn't say anything, just stared.

“I'm sorry.”

That was all he whispered, so quietly that Helen wasn't even sure she heard him correctly. She opened her mouth to correct him, to tell him that this wasn't his fault, despite her silent vow not to interfere. But he just stayed there, head bowed, but shoulders lifting slightly, so she stayed her tongue. Maybe this would help. How was she to know? Books could tell you everything, she realised, except for what was really important. He reached up to lay his tiny hand on his mother's, struggling not to cry.

“What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, woman?” a rough voice interrupted, accompanied by the bang of the swinging doors as they slammed into the wall. “This is a morgue, not a fecking nursery!” Helen tried to glare at the man who had stormed in, interrupting Harry's healing. He was tall and dark, his face unsuited for the dark frown that curled his lips.

“I think that I'm trying to give him what he needs. And if what he needs is to say good-bye to his parents, even if they're in this disgusting morgue, than that's what he's going to get. So what the bloody hell,” she queried, shocking herself at her disrespectful tone (he had to be an auror) and language, “do you think you're doing, man, in interrupting him? This is a morgue not a fecking quidditch match!” The two aurors who previously guarded the doors were peering in around the newcomer's broad shoulders, Williamson smirking at her in silent appreciation as he pushed his long ponytail off his shoulder. The other one was smirking at her in obvious triumph.

“He can't possibly be here to identify the bodies,” he informed her smugly. “They hadn't got any children alive, love. Gaffer says so.”

“How dare you-”

“Their son is dead! He's dead, and you're letting some little punk poke around their corpses!” Gaffer (which was an odd name, considering how young he appeared) snarled, grabbing roughly at her arm and shoving her to the side. “Get away from them, you fuh-”

He faltered, then, as Harry turned to face him, seeming to notice the intrusion for the first time. His eyes were mostly dry, though the red in them far overpowered any white, contrasting sharply with his too-green irises.

“Leave!” he commanded imperiously, though it was with a powerful rage, not the impotent tantrum of a child. “Get out!” he screamed, thrusting his hand forward, fingers splayed. Gaffer flew backwards, out of the swinging doors, knocking over the other aurors. The metal doors swung wildly back and forth, revealing short glimpses of the three men struggling to their feet.

Harry didn't care, turning back to his parents and whispering something to them once more. His back stiffened when Gaffer limped through the doors, though he didn't turn around. Helen moved to stand between the two, arms raised to fend off the monster who interrupted Harry in his bereavement.

“Harry?” the man asked in a strangled, almost inaudible voice, his jaw lax and eyes wide. “I... you... Harry?”

Harry's fists clenched into tight balls, whole body trembling as he spun around to meet Gaffer's gaze. “Go. Away.”

“Harry!” There was disbelief in that voice, and joy. Regret mixed with cautious hope, tone rising in pitch as he repeated the boy's name once more. He ran at Harry then, a move so quick and agile that Helen hadn't realised he'd started moving until he'd hauled the small form into the air, clutching at him in anguish. “Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry!” He called to the boy over and over again, staring at him with the intensity of the insane.

To his credit, Harry, after a moment staggering incomprehension, fought wildly. He scratched at the man's face, flailed his fists, and lashed out with his feet. Unfortunately, this only seemed to encourage the madman more.

“Oh, you're real, real, real, real, and I can touch you! Hold you! Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry!”

“Let him go!” Helen heard someone roar, startled to realise that harpy's shriek was really her own voice. Her fists joined Harry's; she ripped the trembling boy away from him, grasping him securely to her, rubbing his back in equable circles even as she bellowed at the man in front of her.

“I'll have you up before the Wizengamot, you monster! See if I don't. Disturbing the dead, frightening an already terrified child, seizing him and refusing to let him go despite his protests! Have you no decency?” Her voice shook at least as much as Harry's form, blue eyes narrowed and cold. “The poor thing's watched his parents die in front of him, somehow survived the Killing Curse, and then you just off and do that! It took me hours to get him to say even a single word- those useless physiological Healers couldn't find anything wrong with him, tried to tell me that he was just being snotty and uncooperative, because of who his parents were- and you've managed to ruin all of that!”

She'd never felt so angry, so absolutely enraged that she couldn't control it. This was an abomination; she'd become a Healer in the first place to help eradicate any of these instances of irrational torment, of children frightened for no reason other than the adult thought they knew what was best, enduring through the derision of her colleagues for trying Muggle methods on her patients. If it didn't involve a wand and a fancy incantation, it clearly was beneath their notice. You couldn't perform legilimency on a child if you wanted to fix him; you'd only succeed in fracturing their mind more. And just because he was some one-off arsehole excuse for an auror, he felt the need to just rush in, so sure that he knew what the hell was going on, when he so clearly didn't.

It wasn't until she stopped, panting harshly, that she realised she'd screamed it all. Williamson had Gaffer by the shoulders, hauling him back as he gaped and stammered shook his head from side to side.

“I think it's time for you to leave, Inspector Black,” he suggested in a commanding tone. “You've done more than your share of damage for the week. And to a child. No matter what his parents may have had on their arms, he's still a child.”

“They aren't Death Eaters!” he snarled, lunging towards the quailing Harry with snapping teeth. “I don't care what disgusting mark they have on their arms, James and Lily were never Death Eaters. Never!” He collapsed, sobbing. Helen might have felt sorry for him earlier, but his anguish was nothing compared to Harry's.

“Shh, sweetling,” she murmured in his ear. “He won't get at you again.” She shifted his position, cradling him in her arms despite the fact that he was much too large for her to do so comfortably, randomly humming, rocking him back and forth. “I won't let him anywhere near you.”

In Which the Author Waxes Angstily Poetic After Setting Out to Explain Her Reasons for Killing Draco

Sun, 07 Sep 2008 02:25:12 GMT

NOTE: If you just want to read the fanfic bit, and not the bit where I get angsty and mad and rant and rave, stop at the paragraph that begins "In many ways." So I posted that chapter of Irrevocable. Silly me. I always get my hopes up. It's been a day and no one's reviewed. I feel kind of stupid for feeling bad about it. I mean, really, it's not as if I update it all the time and I have people desperately clicking the refresh button to see if there's a new chapter (does anyone but me actually do that?) I really am spoiled with Run Through the Raindrops. Everyone seems to love it and I still get reviews or added to favourites lists every week or so.

But I think that the main reason no one reads Irrevocable is because I killed Draco.

Okay, only one reviewer actually said that, but people who were excited and begged for a sequel haven't bothered to comment. And Draco's the only reason I can think of. So I'll tell you, my non-existent audience, why I did it.

1) At first, I didn't want to write a sequel. What was I going to do? Irredeemable was originally going to be about ten chapters longer, but I cut it short because I didn't think I had much more to say. So then I came up with an idea that excited me, and Draco had to die for it to happen. Because I fancy myself an intellectual, I like to put meaning into my stories. A lot of it probably no one will get but me, but that's okay. I write largely because I have something to say. And although I think it's rather open-ended whether or not Harry was redeemed at the end, that's okay. How are we to know? Irredeemable started out as something completely different than it ended up becoming. I wanted to try my hand at slash, largely because of the guilty pleasure of it. Because it was something I'd never really encountered outside of fanfiction, and I thought I should give it a shot. I wrote it because I felt like being hella descriptive, of seeing what would happen if I just wrote without having anything but the most basic framework.

Over all, I think it worked well. That's my writing style. It's like connect the dots. I have certain scenes, certain lines or gestures or whatever, that I know are important, and are the core of the story. The one where Ron and Draco discuss whether or not Harry's a monster. Draco pacing outside of Harry's door, having this complete paradigm shift. The bit where the professors find the Dark Mark on Harry's arm and condemn him. Harry losing his memory, but somehow, somehow, remembering Draco. Harry being forced to choose between Voldemort and Dumbledore when not only was he not sure of the truth, but he didn't even remember.

Some of it was incredibly stupid. Harry and Draco playing word association, and my completely indiscriminant slaying of the Weasley clan (to this day, I'm not entirely sure how many of them are dead.) Voldemort appearing in the middle of a quidditch game, kidnapping Harry, and no one doing a damn thing about it (which I still intend to fix. Someday. I just can't think of anything better at the moment.)

Given all of that, I couldn't come up with any of those key bits, my cornerstones, for a world in which Draco was alive. The Dark Lord and Dumbledore were dead. Where's the foe? Was I supposed to randomly create something? I'm sure there's another way I could have solved it, but there wasn't anything I thought I could write decently and have something to say about. So Draco was killed.

2) I was really, really sick of HP/DM. It's become one of the most popular pairings. I remember the days when it was hard to really find any slash at all, when frizzy's Magnetic Attraction was the be all end all of Harry Draco shipping (a title it does deserve). But then it was just... everywhere. There was nothing that hadn't already been done, nothing that hadn't already been tried. And really, their relationship was so juvenille. I was fifteen when I started writing it, and seventeen when I finished. I hadn't had a relationship. I still haven't, actually, but I've read a lot more, and have friends who have, and I think I have a better grasp of them now. And there relationship was so... off.

Draco was always, always there for Harry. And Harry didn't do much for Draco. He screamed and killed Ginny when he though she killed Draco, yes, but other than that... the relationship was uneven. Draco was always the one who soothed and comforted Harry, who stood up for him no matter what, who put up with all his crap. I'm not saying Harry was a complete berk or anything, but the passion wasn't there.

From a more mature (though still not mature, objectively) perspective, I don't think that Harry really knows what love is. When has it been shown to him? You look at all the characters, and they can be taken at face value. But the thing that's always kept me coming back to Harry Potter, even when it was a load of shite, was that there was so much beneath the surface. Harry clutches on to Draco because Draco cares, but he's not entirely sure how to care back. Draco hasn't known much love either. In what I've read, children who grow up seriously unloved have one of three responses. They love too deeply and too quickly, they only go through the motions, or they can't love at all. Draco is the first, Harry the second.

So their relationship had to change, and I didn't want to bother. And, quite frankly, Draco was pissing me off.

3) Despite all that, Draco was, in a very large way, the center of Harry's world, the one who kept him grounded throughout all the absolute horrors he's endured. What happens when that support is taken away? Draco was, in many ways, the one person he truly trusted. The Death Eaters and Voldemort had tried to kill him in the past, and Dumbledore, Hermione, and the rest had all deeply betrayed him. Suddenly, he's got no one.

That's a scary idea, but a heady one to investigate. There's that old cliché that the best way to teach a kid to swim is to just throw them into a pond, and hope they figure it out. Seems to happen a lot in stories, anyway. What if you did that in life? Just, totally thrown out of your element? They moved into the Muggle world to avoid persecution and the memories, and that was all they did. They had each other, and nothing else. No jobs, no real friends. Sure, Hermione would stop by occasionally, but she wasn't that important.

Basically, the whole concept was so intriguing that I couldn't resist.

4) I wanted to shock people. One of the important factors of Irredeemable was all of the flashbacks. It was like a yo-yo effect, where you were in one at one moment and in another the next. But what got you between the two was fascinating. It's a shameless literary device, but one that I love. It's so interesting, exhilirating, to try and fill in the blanks. Please note that I'm refraining from going off on a Doctor Who tangent because that's one of the reasons I'm so obsessed with it now. Or Vader, for a more well known (here in the States) example. After we knew what made him who he was, I couldn't care less anymore. I wish the prequels had never happened, because it took away the enigma and the allure.

But for Irredeemable, I wanted to try something different. I'd done the whole flashback bit, and wanted something new. Something edgy, something avant-garde. In many ways, I see fanfiction as a sort of safety net for writing. You get feedback for what you can do, but you have a lot of the building blocks already there. One of the main purposes is to practice for when you want to write something that's totally yours. And I was ready to experiment.

The tone for Irrevocable is choppy. It's rushed and horribly sloppy. It's supposed to be that way, to a degree. I'll admit that the chapter with all the long pauses was invented partially to get something up really fast, but I thought it evocative. Just... how do you really put into words the total disbelief when something like that happens? You can't. So you use the blank spaces. Like negative space in art, the shadows that add the real depth to the "real" picture, however minimal it may be. It's stark and scary, and I thought rather realistic.

Plus I wanted to see if I could get away with it.

And that was shocking, I hope. And Draco's death was shocking. Admittedly, I was a little pissed that people wanted the sequel, so I caved to pressure and wrote it. It was sort of my revenge. Sorry. But I want Harry to realise just what I now believe was happening with him and Draco. To figure out that even that untouchable grail was flawed.

Basically, I'm a horrible, horrible person who puts characters into mind-fracturing situations because I want to see what happens, and it would be terribly unethical to do it in real life.

So that's why I did it, and I'm not sorry. I'm sorry that people stopped reading. I don't think I'll stop writing it, though, no matter how long it takes me to finish it. I'm intrigued by the concept, and that's all that matters. I've got the central scene all set up and in my head, and I can't wait to write it. I have a loose outline for the next chapter. Lots of things happen that I didn't plan (Pansy) and there are bits I worked in to fix holes in Irredeemable (Hermione sensing that Harry's aura was different when he became a werewolf, which a lovely, lovely reader pointed out to me didn't make sense, so I came up with an elaborate backstory to explain why that all happened. Isn't retconning neat?)

In many ways, I'm your typical geeky loser. I have difficulties dealing with people in real life. I relate through words (though not spoken, my spoken grammar is atrocious unless i concentrate very, very hard). Books were the foundation of my childhood, the one thing that never let me down. I know it sounds horribly angsty and emo, but it's true. In books, I didn't have to be the girl who everyone only wanted to be friends with so she would help them in school. I didn't have to be the one that the teachers hated because I challenged them and their perceptions (apparently, kindergarteners can't read novels. Bitch teacher). I was't ignored whenever I did something good because I was the good kid, the smart one, and my parents expected it of me. Books didn't tell me that the only reason they played with me was because I lived across the street and it was convenient (which I will never forgive you for, Suzanne. You could have at least lied about it.)

And when I wrote, I wasn't told that I was lying because people couldn't handle the truth. (Fuck you, mom, because you didn't care until it happened to my sister, too, did you? Me telling you wasn't enough.) Or they didn't lie to me to get me to tell them my secrets (you were the first person I ever told who wasn't there, Emily, and then I find out the same never, ever happened to you.) No one told me I was stupid, or trying to show off for using big words. They didn't tell me that I wasn't painfully shy, because obviously if I could smile and laugh on cue, how could I be shy? They didn't tell me that "that's not the person I know you are" when I did finally tell them the truth, or tell me that I was unnatural when I finally realised I was asexual (apparently being a lesbian would be cool, but not wanting to have sex? Something must be freakishly wrong with me). They didn't mock me because my most cherished dream is to live in a cave in the desert and write stories, away from everyone, even if no one ever reads them.

But in books, I get people. I don't have to have people tell me that so-and-so was avoiding me because they wanted to fuck their boyfriend, or that they thought I was a stuck-up ass because I came out with comments about how it obviously isn't hot as balls today, because the balls are outside the body specifically so that they're at a lower temperature so those poor, delicate sperm can survive. Maybe because of books, I read too much into people's words, at what they didn't say. Reading between the lines. But I think I'm right, and when I tell them, they can't face it. Or maybe I'm wrong, and it's just my paranoia, but I don't care.

I knew a lot of things a lot earlier than I should have. I read Brave New World when I was ten, knew about rape and molestation and drug abuse and alcoholism and abusive, neglectful parents by the time I was seven (not because that all happened to me, but because I listened and watched.) I had deduced by the time I was five that I was eventually going to go completely batshit crazy and end up in an asylum. And the worst part was that I didn't realise that any of this wasn't normal. That I wasn't normal. It wasn't until I was in middle school that I finally realised that I was smarter than a lot of people, and that people couldn't understand me. I'm by no means the smartest person on the planet, but I probably was in elementary and middle school. And no one bothered to tell me. Instead, I was systematically shut down and told that I couldn't say things like that, because it might hurt other people's feelings. That I couldn't say anything to certain people, because knowing might hurt them. It didn't matter that I wouldn't have told anyone anyway, but the suggestion that it was okay for me to sit there and smile and lie to all my friends about things because it might get someone in trouble was incredibly hurtful. The fact that nothing was taken to court, because it'd be a black mark on their record, and that wouldn't be fair to him, now would it? The fact that I was punished more for it, however unwittingly, than they were.

I honestly don't remember where I was going with this. It's a long rant. I wonder if I'll even have the nerve to post this. I think I will. It's been cathartic, actually typing it. Even if someone does know where and who I am from hacking on to my computer, even if I erase it and they still know because they have a bot that tells them all of my keystrokes (told you I was paranoid).

And I can't think of anything else to say, but I feel better now, lighter, just because I typed this. Which I always thought was a stupid feeling and not to be bothered about (I tried to keep a journal in code, but gave up because I was afraid someone would crack it).

I think I'll go write some fanfic.

NOTE: What I've alluded to, about what happened to me, it really wasn't all that bad. Logically, I know that. I know that it didn't really affect me much, not the thing itself, and that it's all a child's irrational anger at having something happen to them that they didn't like. Honestly, no charges really should have been brought. My grandparents didn't need to know, and maybe Emily was trying to make me feel better by lying and telling me that the same had happened to her, if only because she knew how fucked up I was then. But the idea that it wasn't okay for me to want that, that I didn't deserve it, was too much. I wasn't raped or tortured or anything really horrible. In fact, I was so little that I don't remember the thing itself, only the consequences and the feelings. But I've had a long time where people told me that it was alright that I was angry, but only in the abstract, when it wasn't directed at a person. Or when they tried to tell me that whatever I did was because I was so obviously screwed up because of it. It was the reaction, not the action, that fucked me over. And I honestly intended this to be a sort of a disclaimer, a sort of don't take me too seriously because I'm really just ranting and shouting out at a world that might care if I gave it a chance, but it hasn't turned out that way. I'm going to just quit while I'm ahead.

Catholic Guilt Complex FTW!

Fri, 05 Sep 2008 20:55:37 GMT

You should all be incredibly happy with me right now, if anyone is even bothering after over a year of being more or less A.W.O.L.

What's that, you ask, eyes comically wide as you examine my profile page on ff.n

UPDATES?!?!?!

That's right, you little readers you. Updates!

Okay, so really only one so far, but it's an update to Irrevocable so you have to be happy with that.

And then I did a post to Bleaker Beginnings, as people seem to love that one for no reason that is apparent to me. Asking basically if you want me to edit it and continue, post the new and improved revamped version I've been toying with, or both.

And I have an update of Fallen Angel, Risen Demon almost sort of ish ready.

And all this because I feel guilty because of the plaintive reviews

BOW BEFORE ME INSOLENT MORTALS.

Fri, 05 Sep 2008 12:24:55 GMT

Right-o. Well, it's been half of forever since I updated my Livejournal, let alone my fics. I blame my terrible, terrible immune system. Let's review what I've had in the past two months or so alone:

                Sinus Infection
                Allergic reaction to tea (yes, I'm allergic to the healthiest substance on the planet)
                Shingles
                Mono
                Ear infection of not just one but two parts of my ear that made the doctor say, "oh, fascinating, I've never seen                   one this bad" and then spend the rest of the time telling me how sorry he is that I'm in that much pain.

So, in addition to the fibromyalgia (which is a bitch, as always) I think you can see why I haven't updated.

That being said, I am working on it. I swear. Slowly. I have two whole pages done of Irrevocable and five of Cities of Cain. However, school must come first. I'm taking 17 credit hours (and I have no clue why I thought that would be a good idea) and working as a student assistant at the Middle East Institute. Because I am crazy, apparently.

But, the good news is, I spend so much time in class that it makes me crazy, and I would much, much rather work on fanfics. Which is what I did last night instead of studying for Hebrew. Again, why I thought taking Arabic and Hebrew in the same semester eludes me completely. And two science classes! (Well, okay, it's psychology and geography, but they count for my science credits towards core requirements.)

Anyway, yah.

For now, I'm off to meet the advisor for the Bachelor of Interdisciplinary Studies (Design a Major) because even though Middle East Studies is listed as a major, it's not a BA, and hence I must jump through a million hoops.

kthxbye

Terrible Tea

Sun, 27 Jul 2008 07:28:59 GMT

It turns out that I am allergic to tea, one of the healthiest substances on the planet. I find this hilarious, especially as I can make my friends all feel guilty. The took me to a tea place and all but forced me to drink tea, which I don't even like. One large raspberry something or other tea later, and I'm terribly, terribly sick.

But it's not enough that I get an allergic reaction and feel terrible.

No.

Instead, drinking the tea made my already ridiculously disease-prone body go into an even more weakened state. The result?

Shingles.

Yet another disease rarely gotten by anyone under the age of 65.

So, anyway, I feel like crap, and it's all because of tea.

I now really, really support the Boston Tea Party. I think we should have another one. Only let's call it the Atlantic Tea Party. Get rid of a bunch more!

Add to that another potential problem with my ribs (something about the cartilage being inflamed or something?) and I'm feeling absolutely horrible. Still gotta get a chest X-ray to see about that one. (When I mutate because I've had so many X-rays taken, I'm going to be the worst superhero ever. Far too many sick days.)

In happier news, I'm going down to Florida for my very first ever Lazy!Vacation. Every other time I've traveled, it's either been to see family or we went to museums and historical sites and such. Now I get to go to the beach and do nothing but read and hang out with my friend and her sisters.

Oh, and knit my Doctor Who scarf.

I've never knitted anything before, so of course I decide to learn on a 20 foot long scarf.

Never let it be said I'm not ambitious.

Red and White Striped Stockings

Sat, 05 Jul 2008 06:16:38 GMT

I've been musing a lot lately, preparing to write my autobiography. I always figured that I should write things down in an autobiographical format as they happen, in order to ensure that they are as accurate as possible, but I have yet to convince myself that anyone would bother to read an account of my life, especially as far too much of it has been spent in and out of hospitals, doctor's offices, and sick beds.

Anyway, I've been thinking of all sorts of odds and ends that I have a strange love for.

Glitter
Red and White Striped Stockings (must be at least thigh high)
Gas Masks
Steam/cyberpunk goggles
Eyes
Harlequin costumes
Masques
One tooth biting into a lower lip
Taste of pennies
Spiky hair
Wings
Stickers on acoustic guitars

i don't know why I think these things should end up in my autobiography, only that they should.

Why Fox News is Stupid

Fri, 11 Apr 2008 03:20:52 GMT

I just saw a clip from Fox News featuring a female reporter talking about Barack Obama.

"Apparently when he was younger, he attended a Muslim school, a madrasa."

Nice try there, Fox News, throwing in that bit of Arabic to make it seem sinister and like a breeding ground of Muslim extremism.

Madrasa, quite literally, means school.

So yes, he attended a Muslim school, a school.

Bitches.

Note: This does not mean that I support Obama. He lacks experience. Just like Pedro.

Not Yet (un)Dead

Fri, 04 Apr 2008 16:23:36 GMT

I'm still alive, believe it or not. I'm just being beaten on the head with life's squeaky hammer of doom, university edition. I do intend to work on/finish my stories. I've even got a couple of oneshots bouncing around in my mind, and a totally new AU fic featuring Female!Harry.

To avoid confusion, I"m going to start another account which features stories that will almost never be updated. Although, technically I could move all my stories to there.

Also, long nails suck. I can barely type fifty words a minute. That's what I get for trying to stop biting them in an attempt to appear more mature. Totally overrated.

Anyway, I've got loads to do this weekend (Arabic test :( unfortunately) but I'll see what I can come up with.

Any suggestions are, of course, welcome.

Unless they're stupid.

His Dark Materials

Thu, 06 Dec 2007 18:53:22 GMT

I am preparing for the release of The Golden Compass. I first read the books when I was ten or twelve or so, and I've loved them ever since. I'm rereading the first book in the trilogy as we speak, and am almost done with it. I also went to the movie's website, where you can take a test to determine what the for of your daemon (soul) is. I'm a tiger! RAWR!

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Book, Bell, and BANNED!

Sat, 03 Nov 2007 05:44:04 GMT

In an earlier entry I talked about my life's goal of wanting to be excommunicated from the Catholic Church by book, bell, and candle. Well, I came up with a theory in math class a few years ago that is sure to do the trick.

According to Catholic tradition, Peter was the first Pope.
Peter = Pope

Jesus says in the Bible to "get behind me Satan!" when speaking to Peter.
Peter = Satan

Now, all Popes are sort of a weird Catholic reincarnation of Peter, and, using the Transitive Property of Popes(TM):
Pope = Satan

Bring down that BanHammer, Catholics!

Public Disservice Announcement

Mon, 01 Oct 2007 22:45:56 GMT

Okay, you can pretty much ignore all this. It's pretty much me ranting about my retarded roommate in a forum that is sort of difficult to link to my real life.

Okay, this girl has never done chores in her life. She 'washes' pots and pans, but there's still easily visible food left on them! She rarely puts things in the dishwasher. She's taken out the trash all of TWO times. Even though it's my job to clean the kitchen, she doesn't even bother to do basic cleaning up after herself. Food that overflowed the pan is left on the stove until it hardens.

We are supposed to share the cleaning of the common room. I've vacuumed it every time. Her only contribution is leaving crap on the coffee table AND the dining table so that I am forced to do all my work on my small desk. AND, when we moved in, she got here first, and took the desk that is in the bedroom, and left me to the one that is in the common area. What does this mean? That I have to put up with all the crap when she has her friends over (at least once a week) and her scuzzy boyfriend, who I think will grow up to star on 'To Catch A Predator.' She also took the long dresser, which has the most counter space.

Her job is to clean the bathroom. She gave the toilet a cursory cleaning ONCE. Her only other efforts in the bathroom are to tell me that I need to clean the bath rug (which is mine, but still, I don't tell her to wash her sofa cover) and that I should spray that daily shower stuff so she didn't have to bother with cleaning. The thing is, even with that stuff, you should still clean like, the bathtub part of it and stuff. I've cleaned the bathroom once every week and a half since we've been here, because I am NOT living like that.

She pisses and moans about everything, blames everything that goes wrong on someone/thing else, and is a psycho. She says her step-mom has bi-polar disorder, paranoia, high anxiety, and depression, but I think she's really talking about herself. Oh, and she forgets to lock the door. I have to watch all these crappy TV shows, because she'll be watching MTV or Gossip Girls (gaggagpuke) while I sit in my dark corner (the lamp is by her (there's almost no light back here) and TRY to focus on my course work.

She's had about three or four major breakdowns since we moved in, and has minor ones on an hourly basis. She thinks she's this genius, and says that everyone in her major has no idea what they're doing, are idiots, and don't even belong here. Yet she's taking 16 credit hours, and says that she is ALWAYS studying (this is refuted by the number of America's Next Top Model rerun marathons I have sat through.) However, she's really just some pompous idiot who, admittedly, had kind of a screwy childhood, but nothing horrible. Just divorced parents and a succession of step moms. I understand that this can be traumatic, but she makes it seem as if it is on the level of being raped, shot in the skull, kicked repeatedly, locked in the basement because your parents are embarrassed of you, and tortured simultaneously.

Basically, I can't stand her.

Again, ignore this rant, as it has no real purpose.

Oh, and she drinks my milk!

Hehe, her boyfriend just walked behind me to get to the utility closet (apparently that's where I rate!) and I had to hold in my cackles because this was up on the screen.

Sexularization

Mon, 03 Sep 2007 22:49:29 GMT

I've created a new word today. It was a typo, but I like it. Sexularization. It sounds cool.

No updates soon to be, sorry. I'm bogged down with my Art History class. It's a survey of western art from the 14th century to the modern area, and it's INSANE. I spend hours each week just studying the reading and taking notes on it, not even really studying for the class. And then there's Arabic, which also requires a lot of attention.

Anyways, have a sexular day!

Updates!

Wed, 29 Aug 2007 16:51:31 GMT

Okay, so I'm not promising anything, really. But I've written five pages of the third chapter of Cities of Cain and found some really cool quotes that I lurves for upcoming chapters. With Irrevocable, I'm just sort of going with the flow, and right now the flow is no. Well, I mean to say it's not flowing, but I liked the way that rhymed. I'm still working on all those new/revamped fics I've been talking about, but progress is slow. Trying to balance reading, school, sleep, World of Warcraft, and writing is a hell of a bitch.

So, um, ya.

Gah!

Mon, 20 Aug 2007 19:03:59 GMT

Oh, the joys of being in a large university! One of the country's largest urban research universities! A school with a real connection to city life, with thousands of classes and endless opportunities!

Oh, the joys of screwed up paper work.

As of right now, I owe the university about 2000$ according to online records. I shouldn't owe them anything; I have a blasted full-ride! But, apparently, the paperwork for the hardship withdrawal hasn't gone through yet, even though I have documentation saying it was granted, so my GPA is too low! And what does this mean? If these idiots don't fix this whole mess by Friday, I get dropped from classes!

And then the disability services office lost my documentation of a disability, so I don't have any of the services I need right now!

Gah! It's almost not worth it, this whole college thing!

Reading for Pleasure and Profit!

Thu, 16 Aug 2007 01:47:12 GMT

Just thought I'd quote some of the more memorable things that I've found today.

This first is from my sister's school code of conduct.

Gang Related Activity:
A "gang" is defined as any group or association of three or more person, whether formal or informal, which encourages, solicits, promotes, urges, counsels, furthers, advocates, condones, assists, causes, advises, procures, or abets any illegal or dispruptive activity or behavior of any kind, whether on or off school property.

First of all, I'd like to commend them for their expert use of a thesaurus. Also, I would like to point out that this definition sucks. Do you know what is a gang, if the above is taken as true?

Football teams, cheerleaders, basketball teams, and most other school teams. A pep rally is a pretty disruptive activity, if you ask me.

Second article is from Publix health pamphlet.

Large groups of children can be breeding grounds.

Okay, so maybe it continues "for germs that cause illnesses. But that's beside the point. It sounds funny.

Moving downtown tomorrow. Hoping to get some time to write this weekend, but it's slim to none.

Or Lack Thereof

Fri, 10 Aug 2007 01:37:52 GMT

Sorry about the lack of updates. I'm getting ready to go back to school and to move out (thank god!) so I don't really have the time.

Unfortunately, I leave just as my family decides to buy the new iMac.

Anyway, schedule's hectic for a good while, but I'll do what I can.

Fanfiction FTW!

Sun, 22 Jul 2007 01:28:33 GMT

Okay, here's my inevitable Deathly Hallows opinion entry. There will be spoilers.

I read the book (in about 4 hours, thank you very much.) I must say, the most surprising thing about the whole deal was that Norbert is actually female and named Norberta now. Definitely didn't see that one coming. I was, however, on the whole, disappointed. I've read this same book about twenty times before- as fanfictions. I really wonder if JKR didn't just run out of ideas and take a quick jot to some fanfiction sites for inspiration.

I was, however, pleasantly surprised that Draco and Snape were good. I feared that JKR's rather immature world view (as most things up to this point have been black or white) would lead to them being consummately evil. I do wish Snape had lived, though. I loved him. Oh, but that part where he flees the battle, flying like 'a great bat' was about the most retarded thing ever. I also don't think Draco really would have sought out Harry in the end like that. Not with the way he was behaving the rest of the book.

And I was disappointed in these so-called 'major character deaths.' It was about as big a let down as that whole Harry's 'green eyes are of so much importance in Half-Blood Prince.' They weren't.

So who are these two deaths supposed to be, anyway? Here's a count of who I remember dying:

1. Severus Snape
2. Bellatrix Lestrange
3. Fred (or was it George? XD) Weasley
4. Remus Lupin
5. Nymphadora Tonks Lupin (love how she was still called Tonks)
6. Voldemort
7. Mad Eye Moody
8. Dobby

I know there were more, like Creevey and Scrigemour, but let's face it, they were background characters at best.

When I heard 'two major deaths' I was rooting for Ron, personally. And yet there they all are, alive and well, sickeningly happy.

Ron was a right git and should have been killed.

Percy's return was artificial and unnecessary. It tied up everything far too neatly. I was left with no real feeling of loss. Fred died, Lupin died? Oh well. Harry gets together with Ginny, yay! Please.

There was just so much of it that felt contrived and rushed. 'Oh, crap, remember that Wormtail owes Harry? Better deal with that!' 'Hmm... the Grey Lady, who has been mentioned all of a handful of times in the book? Better make her a semi-central character. Oh, and let's throw in the Bloody Baron backstory well we're at it.'

And FIENDFYRE? Please, don't make me laugh! First of, it's a gay name. Second of all, I am sick of all this renaming of mythological stuff and expecting people to believe it's original! I admit that I do not know the actual origins of the fiendyre kind of thing, but it sounds too similar to balefire in Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time and other sorts of primordial fires (Changeling the Dreaming, et cetera) for it to just be made up. I mean, come on, why can't you just call the horcruxes phylacteries?

And where are these random rules of magic coming from? 'You can't create any food!' Honestly! As if she's bothered explaining anything about magic before. Can you say convenient plot device?

Also, I have a new theory that Harry Potter is really the son of Regulus Black.

XD

Woe, Woe

Fri, 20 Jul 2007 20:52:51 GMT

No one's raged about Draco being dead! I'm so disappointed. Maybe they think he isn't really dead or something; one review led me to believe that was what they thought.

So, here's my thoughts on Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix movie.

Really good, the best movie so far.

I loved the possession scene, and thought that Harry was incredibly sexy in it. The actors for Luna and Umbridge were amazing.

Also, you know when Ginny casts 'reducto' in the Hall of Prophecies? Well, it made me think about the Scarlet Monastery in World of Warcraft, and how they all scream "you shall not defile these mysteries!" So I shouted out "We are totally defiling your mysteries!" as they were dodging Death Eaters and such. At least my brother thought it was funny... everyone else just looked at me weird.

Anyway, not really working on updates. I'm anxiously awaiting the results of my hardship withdrawal from last semester and my Spanish placement test. If I have to take Spanish 2203, which concentrates on written and spoken conversations, I'll scream. I already took half of that exact class already, and I had the same thing in high school. I desperately want to place into 3303, Advanced Grammar, but I don't know if I did well enough.

Woe, woe!

BOW BEFORE ME INSOLENT MORTALS!

Wed, 18 Jul 2007 02:21:33 GMT

The first chapter of Irredeemable's sequel is up. It is titled Irrevocable. And I am waiting for the hate mail to start flooding in.

Here, in no particular order, are what I am expecting the chief complaints to be.

1. It's too short.
2. It's really weird.
3. You need to stop being influenced by Labyrinth.
4. You KILLED off Draco?!?!?! In the first chapter?!?!?! BITCH!!!!

Jah, that's right! He's dead. And I don't apologise for it either. So there. *crosses arms and sticks out tongue* I wonder how many readers I'll lose because of this...

Anyway, it's up, thought I'd let people know.

Also, if you read this, friend me. I'm sick of the Live Journal bit that pops up after I log in telling me I'm pathetic and have only made two friends.

To end, I have two new goals in life.

1. Be declared antipope.
2. Be excommunicated by book, bell, and candle from the Catholic church.

Now, this is going to be difficult, considering I'm not Catholic, or even Christian, but it seems like a fun idea. And odds are I can manage to get both done at once, because creating a schism in the Catholic church is the number one reason for excommunication, from what my research tells me. And declaring myself pope and attracting a large number of followers is pretty much guaranteed to do that.

Wish me luck!

Cookies lead to Nazism

Tue, 03 Jul 2007 16:45:11 GMT

The world is coming to an end, and I just want everyone to be prepared. Board up your bomb shelters, grab your crowbars and sawed-off shot guns, and head for the hills. Nancy Grace has spawned.

On June 26th she announced that she is expecting twins. Twins! Imagine, two little Nancy Grace's running around the playground, telling all of the other children that their viewpoints are stupid and they'll never amount to anything in life. If I ever have children, they won't be allowed to go over to Jimmy and Jilly Grace's house.

I just can't wait to see how she handles disciplining those kids. If I were her sprog, I'd demand I jury of peers every time I snuck cookies before dinner. After all, why don't we just go live in Nazi Germany if a poor kid can be punished without a trial of his peers for just wanting to bring a little enjoyment in his life. I think that Nancy Grace punishing the kid or putting him in the Grace State Kiddie Corral for Unrepentant and Obviously Guilty Little Bastards without a fair trial when there is obvious reasonable doubt. I mean, it could've been his twin, right? Prove it with that DNA evidence you seem so fond of, bitch!

In other news, thank you LiveJournal for boosting my confidence. I login, and what do I see? "You've only made two friends. You need more friends, you pathetic loser!" Thank you, LiveJournal, for pointing out the flaws in my life. I will now go out and befriend total strangers just so I can have an impressive friend list and feel loved.