Like a Starlet, only not

I have a date.
I also have a sudden compulsion to be violently ill.
Supposedly "fear of intimacy" is an excuse men use to get out of having actual relationships. Obviously not. I have it. Now all I have to do is grow body hair and acquire certain anatomical inconveniences before I'm a full-on hermaphrodite.

Hello flist!
Way back in the bygone days of summer I promised you photo-presents. Then my camera decided to be on the fritz. So, for now, I present:
Crappy webcam pictures of teh internets.

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It took me three years to figure out that high school isn't like a John Hughes movie.
This makes graduation a million times easier. 180 more days, give or take. Three months and six days until I'm an honest-to-goodness, all-the-trimmings-but-liquor adult.
It's interesting that you can go to war and die before they let you drink.
Things like this keep me awake at night. I guess I only slept to dream in the first place.
I dream about kissing with too many teeth.
L'endroit isolee est dans les denebres. No accents because there are none on my keyboard. It means the isolated spot is in shadow.
I meant to say something. My train of thought crashed miles back.

By the way, this is fascinating.

In French, they say "Ils se marierent and eurent beacoup d'enfants" instead of "And they lived happily ever after" at the end of fairytales.
The translation goes something like, "They were married and had many children."
Is that all we're supposed to expect?
Really?

This morning I had A Thought.
(Shocking, I know.)
It may just be A Thought, or it good be A Really Good Idea.
Here goes:

Presents are one of the best things in life. I'm too broke for real presents and have such bad handwriting that the post office would probably give up and burn anything I tried to send.
So I thought I could give everyone photo-presents.
Confused? Me too. Let me explain:
Is there anything you've ever wanted to see a picture of but haven't? Now's your chance! I'm off to New York tomorrow, the city of cityness. If something exists, it's probably there.
So if you've ever wanted to see...

• A flying cat on a subway


• Someone imitating a cartoon character


• Me holding up a sign with your name, "I need a hug", "3l\/35 4R3 L337" or something.

...then it's your lucky day, punk.

P.S.: Nothing too illegal or impossible. So "someone doing a line off a hooker" wouldn't work, because my mum would kill me if she saw the picture. So no dice with "a dragon eating a small dog" or "crazed hobbit orgies" either.
But if you happen to see that last one let me know.

I finished Harry Potter in the early part of yesterday morning.
I don't know what to say.
I drew a picture instead.



It's a comic strip (yeah. a comic strip. I know.) of "The Three Brothers" or the story of the Deathly Hallows.
The rest of it is cut since it's rather on the big side.
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Hello world!
I'm back.
Yes, I know it's bad form not to post for forever, then post the angsty first-break-up entry, and then just show up again almost a year later and act as if it's perfectly normal.
(sheepishness goes here)
I wasn't kidnapped by pirates, or abducted by aliens, or sucked into a time-space-continuum-warping-blackhole. I didn't go into a coma or even go off to stay with the elves.
I just didn't have anything to say.


But I'm here now, and that should count for something.
<3,
Lili, of winged-feline fame

(A certain Ms. Tori Amos puts it better than I ever could. Words like this are hers. I'm to blame for the rest of it. And for that, I'm sorry. I'll get around to making sense soon.)
Then I look up, sun-glare in my eyes,
Are you having regrets about last night?
Maybe I'm a little too young to be feeling so old about this. But if I minced words and didn't talk about it, I'd still feel it. And hey, why have an on-line journal if not to let your deep dark secrets crawl around a little?
It's a little soon after Papa passed away to be back to normal...
... But yeah, I'm close. If there's one thing this whole grief process is, it's slow and deliberate and relentless.
All that aside, I want to grow up just a little. I can't play Peter Pan forever.
I kindasorta would like to be in love.
you say the word, you know I will find you,
or if you need some time I don't mind
I've never dared to hope for a bed of roses. God knows, if everyone met their soul-mate in High School... Can you get tired of your true love? Can you hate your cosmic twin's snoring? And if not, wouldn't it burn all the fire out of you, having to feel so much so young?
Maybe it's better to be like I am. I've never dated, never been kissed, really. And maybe it'll stay like that.
Ballerinas and strange girls are hard to love, I've heard.
We may fall and stumble upon a carousel,
Heaven knows where it would take us
Worse yet. In a hypothetical question and a conundrum, would it be prince or princess charming?
I haven't the vaguest idea.
I'm not like the girls that you've known,
but I believe I'm worth coming home to
If I were going to throw sense and caution into the wind, maybe I'd try.
I'd hold hands in the hallways, spin through city lanes under streetlights. Maybe we'd run through the forests and skin our knees and laugh like the children we almost were. Maybe we'd braid flowers and etch our names in tree bark.
Or maybe we'd hold on so close so spinning fast we'd fall down. Maybe we'd be together and attached at the hip and finish each other's sentences.
Or maybe we would dance, arabesques and lifts and I would never have to dance the pas de deuxs by myself.
Maybe we would stay far apart, afraid of breaking everything and never so much as breathing when we were close.
This girl only sleeps with butterflies
Or maybe not.
I like that answer best.
Great romances and heart-stopping loves are fine for most people.
But I don't think I'm cut out for it.

Contrary to popular belief, I'm alive!
Ahem. I've been busy, I've been sick, and there was a whopper of a personal life issue.
But I'm back!
So, dears, tell Aunt Lili what you've been up to.

Today, The Homecoming Dress was purchased.
Tomorrow, I learn to shoot stuff.
Whether it's clay pigeons or small, fluffy animals I don't know.
So I shall be an accomplished markswoman before I even learn how to not cut myself shaving.
Clearly this is some sort of feminine milestone.

Oh, look. I made a quiz. Be amazed.
It's not on Quizilla. It's homemade like cookies.
I got my computerly-savvy friend to show me some code and... ta-da!
Which Demented LoTR Character are YOU?

( Good morning, fangirls )

I had the strangest/saddest/prettiest dream last night.
According to my dream, when mortals go into the West they fade on earth.
When hobbits go west, a figment and a thought of them appears in the Library under the Mountain.
(I know that sounds weird. Bear with me.)
When Frodo left he told Sam and I that he could come back, one day, if there was no more death in the world.
And so Sam and I looked for some-odd decades to find a way to end death.
Sam grew old and wearied at looking for the impossible.
Sam passed into the west.
I ran to the old bookstore, knocked three times, opened the back door behind the counter, and there was Frodo.
"Oh, Frodo, Sam can't help me look anymore..." I said.
"What do you mean? He's right here." Frodo smiled.
Sam came out from behind a bookshelf, not an elderly hobbit anymore, but the young one who set out from the Shire to go to Mordor.
"Can you ever come back?" I asked.
"Only when there's no more death." They said.
"But you can always come and visit us, miss." Sam said.
I left, and I searched for the cure for death for years. Eighty-something years later I found it in a department store.
I ran back to the bookstore where the door to the Library was hidden.
The bookstore had been destroyed.
The door was gone.

"Herman Hesse lacked maternal attention as a child, thus, he projected this need into his literary work. Female characters in Hesse's fiction act as mother figures..."
Which is scholarly-talk for "Hesse who wrote women as mother-types to random male schmucks."
I do not mention that the love of Hesse's love was a he. That's none of my damn business. But if he'd realized that sooner, maybe M'sieur Hesse would have written women as something more than pillars of motherhood.
Also, our text does not admit homosexual relationships of any sort.
Hesse had a boyfriend. They do not admit that.
They oversee Wilde, for heaven's sake.
Yes, he was married.
But They Who Writ The Text turned a blind eye towards his later homosexuality and imprisonment for it.
I am half-tempted look up a famous somethingorother who happened to be a lesbian to see what the hell the historians do about it.
"Miss M. died a spinster with a million cats."
And they will not mention the fine little blonde meal-ticket living with her when she expired.

(P.S.: Steal that bit in quotes and DIE. It's my midterm essay.)

I think someone attempted to blow up the toilets.
Is this a petty act of malice or just because "the commode doth explode!" sounds really cool?
I may never know.
The bomb was 'feminine protection' (stupid phrase, by the way) covered in toothpaste (at least I hope it was toothpaste. good lord) and baking soda.
That ought to be explosive.

Also, prat-queen asked me why I am at school for such a short time. Was tempted to say "I don't speak Eenglish, m'selle." Or, "to get away from gitinators like you!" But I said, "Long story. D'ruther not say" and played deaf after that.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Will go pester cat now in attempt to cheer self up.

I sat on the roof, and kicked off the moss
I've been playing the piano in my head and writing a song, which makes the winged cat happy.
It's about strawberry smoothies and love.
Strawberry smoothies because strawberry smoothies are good,
And love because love sells.

Also, the cat is on my head.
I have a live coon cap.
Cool.

Dad thinks that he is corrupting me.
Obviously Dad does not know about the everclear incident, the drug-trade in the school bathrooms, et all.
Or my French penpal, from whom I learned all the lovely curses in the entry below.
I really don't think people with buttons for eyes are going to mess up my mind, much.

However, one obliges those that are partially responsible for their existance. I do love dad.
Thus, my pet good-horror-novel penchant has been shoved into the closet.
Literally.
I read in the closet now.

DECEMBER:
Loyal and generous. Sexy. Patriotic. (I'm an anarchist) Active in games and interactions. Impatient and hasty. (What'dyameanI'mhasty?) Ambitious. Influential. Fun to be with. (Only when high on life, which is often, due to the incense.) Loves to socialize. (EE! PEOPLE!) Loves praises. Loves attention. Loves to be loved. (All shall love me and despair, bints.) Honest and trustworthy. Pretending. Short tempered. Changing personality. Not egoistic. Romantic. Take high pride in oneself. Hates restrictions. Loves to joke. Good sense of humor. Logical. (Isn't this contradickting in-forr-ma-tionne?)
(Hahaha contradickting. I amuse myself.)
(Just now realized how wrong that sounds. "Contradickting" and "amuse self". I will now wash my mind in the gutter.)

The rest, I shall cut for Bizarre and Self-searchingish rambling. Only, I comment on all my analysies. Rudely.
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Help! Murder! Police!
Not really.
But can someone please help me with the mood icons thing? I found one I like, but it's not on the drop-down menu thing.
I feel amazingly stupid.
Also, I am having the period from hell.
So, here is my offer:
Help me figure this out or I will cut off your ears in the night with a pair of gardening shears.
Just joking.
*hides shears*

Look ma, a Violent Feminist Animation!
With my mad kitty!
(It only takes about 3 minutes to load, loves.)
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P.S. If you watched it, please oh please comment. It's one of my more difficult forays into procrastination. I will love you forever if you comment.