Meme!

Three names I go by
1. Miranda
2. Ra
3. Mander

Three Jobs I have had in my life
1. Record/Clothing store employee
2. McDonald's cashier
3. Airport general employee

Three Places I have lived
1. North Pole, AK
2. Taos, NM
3. Las Cruces, NM

Three Favorite drinks
1. Apple Juice/Cider
2. Peppermint mocha
3. Arizona Green Tea

Three TV Shows that I watch
Not a TV person at all but...
1. CSI Las Vegas
2. House MD
3. NCIS

Three places I have been
1. Edinburgh, Scotland
2. The Arctic Circle
3. San Francisco, CA

Three favorite foods
1. Grilled Eel
2. Spaghetti
3. Smoked Salmon

Three Things I am looking forward to
1. Finishing my degree
2. Eventually moving out
3. Having a kitchen for the next month

Three Things that are always by my side
1. Pocket Knife
2. Lip Balm
3. Pen

Christmas Wish List

So yeah, here's my Christmas list for this year. I came up with as many things as I could to make it easy for people.

-       Comforter or Duvet (preferably with cover) for twin extra long bed

-       Pajamas (long pants, any sort of top)

-       Long skirts

-       Knee socks

-       Hedgehog toys

-       T-shirt with amusing/witty sayings on them

-       Amusing/witty coffee-mugs

-       Chokers, simple necklaces, earrings

-       Large scarves

-       Men’s or Women’s button-up shirts, preferably short sleeved

-       Cup head phones, preferably by SkullCandy

-       Small watering can with long neck

-       Pretty flower pots, 3-8 inch

-       Collars

-       Lap Desk

-       Small, sturdy non-stick frying pan

-       Garlic Press

-       Cookie sheet with raised sides

-       Proper tea pot, preferably small (2-4 cup capacity)

-       Tea cozy

-       Small French Press

-       Tea, loose or bagged (I prefer herbal or fruit teas)

-       Lap Desk

-       Snarky, amusing, witty, or wise buttons.

-       Body products (anything that isn’t intended for a bathtub) with citrus, mint, pine, or otherwise clean scents. Nothing flowery, please

-       iPod dock/ iHome, whatever

-       Radio transmitter for iPod

-       Books

- Second and Third books of the Hunger Games, by Susan Collins

- Waifs and Strays, by Charles de Lint

- Book 2 of the Sandman Chronicles (Doll’s House) by Neil Gaiman

- Mirror Mask, by Neil Gaiman

- Dark Lord of Derkholm, by Dianna Wynne Jones

- Chrestomanci Chronicles, by Dianna Wynne Jones

- Books with paperfolding/stuffed animal/hand sewing/indoor gardening/jewelry  making ideas.

- Books of floorplans

- Cookbooks, particularly baked goods and slowcooker recipes

- Travel books, especially from Lonely Planet

- Cooking fiction and nonfiction books

- Travelwriting

- No Plot? No Problem! By Chris Baty

- Books of writing prompts or author’s inspirations

-       CDs

- Soundtrack/Score to either Transformers Movie

- Soundtrack/Score to Avatar

- Soundtrack/Score to Princess and the Frog

- Trans Siberian Orchestra’s Night Castle

- Any Nickleback CD except Dark Horse

- Miranda Lambert

- Taylor Swift

- MIKA

- Dmitri Hvorostovsky

- The Band Perry

- Sugarland

-Soundtrack/Score to Alice in Wonderland (2010)

-Soundtrack/Score to Pirates of the Carribean (Any)

- Soundtrack/Score for Howl’s Moving Castle

- Gaelic Storm

-Shakira

- Jason Micheal Carol

- World Music

- Marimba

- Pink's Greatest Hits So Far

-       DVDs

- How to Train your Dragon

- Star Trek Movie (2009)

- Princess and the Frog

- The Cat Returns

- Alice in Wonderland (2010)

-Transformers Movie (2007)

- Cirque du Soleil

- Despicable Me

- Pixar Shorts

- House M.D.

- NCIS

- The Pacifier

- Take the Lead

- Monsters vs Aliens

- No Reservations

-Beauty Shop

-Yours, Mine, and Ours

- Fool’s Gold

Gift Cards

-Sonic

-Starbucks

-Victoria's Secret

- Barnes and Noble

- LushUSA

- Subway

- iTunes

That time again

It's that time again! Yes, NaNoWriMo is upon us and I'm already working. If you're interested in following my progress, you can go here: Cup of Tea

What happened last night

So last night was probably one of the worst I've spent in a long time. Not going into details here, but suffice it to say that I ended up sitting in bed, wanting to sleep but unable to, and there happened to be a journal and pen on the stand beside me. So I picked them up and scribbled until I could fall asleep. And this, dear readers, is what I wrote:

Sephiroth doesn’t know what to do what Angeal dies. He has never had anyone or anything to mourn before, and now the most important thing in his life is gone and he doesn’t know how to respond. Maybe, if he had ever had something taken from him so abruptly before this, he would know what he should do. All he knows is that there is a great big hole somewhere inside him, one that he doesn’t know how to close or fill or really do anything to at all except worry at it, making it ache.

When he is on duty, he acts normally, though he slips sometimes, instructing someone to talk to Angeal or take these papers to him or see how he executes a certain block. Then his breath catches in his chest when he remembers, and his throat tightened. Most of the time, whoever he is speaking with gets a pitying look in their eyes. He doesn’t understand why. He sits through meetings with Zack at his side now, instead of Angeal, because someone upstairs thought that Zack would make a decent replacement for the Commander, for all that the kid is young. Angeal had to be mentoring him for a reason, after all. Sometimes, Sephiroth thinks Zack really is Angeal, but only when he isn’t paying much attention to him.

Two weeks after Angeal’s death, Sephiroth suffers a reaction to his regular Mako shots.  There is no one there in the apartment to hold his head as he shudders and jerks and gasps on the floor, no one to pick him up and put him to bed until Zack comes in hours later to find him lying on the floor in a puddle of vomit, crying uncontrollably for reasons he doesn’t have words for. He can’t speak at all for the first few minutes, too terrified of some nameless thing and his throat too damaged by tears and bile and choking gasps to be of much use, so he gestures feebly, not sure what he’d trying to get across. Zack cleans him up and puts him to bed, but there is no great, warm, hairy presence in the bed when Sephiroth wakes up in the early morning, trembling and cold.

Sometimes, Sephiroth thinks he sees Angeal. He will turn his head and a tall shape with dark hair will walk down a hallway, or a blurry figure will cross a mirror. When it’s quiet, he hears Angeal laughing somewhere out of sight, or maybe talking to someone in the next room. He’ll smell Angeal’s familiar scent when he enters a room, or feel the brush of a large, callused hand over the back of his neck. There is never anyone there when he goes looking.

He dreams in a confusion of memories and events that never took place. When he wakes, he is screaming and sweaty, tears soaking his face. He cries in the dark for a long time, sometimes for more than an hour, before he can sleep again. Some nights, he can’t sleep at all, so he gets up and sits on the couch, watching the old movies Angeal liked so much until he just can’t keep his eyes open and he passes out.

Zack makes him eat. Zack reminds him to go back to his empty apartment and rest.  Zack takes his laundry out and does it himself, even folding Sephiroth’s socks the way he prefers. Zack offers night out, nights in, gifts, treats, hugs, bribes, sex; anything to make Sephiroth feel better.

Sephiroth takes the sex. It isn’t the way he wants it. Zack’s body is smooth and supple instead of hairy and heavily muscled, and he has little experience beyond the frantic rutting between two soldiers in an empty locker room. He doesn’t whisper foreign words in Sephiroth’s ear or squeeze him around the middle or press so close to him that they could be one creature. He comes too soon and has to finish Sephiroth with his mouth, and he wants to snuggle with Sephiroth afterwards. Sephiroth tries, but has to roll away from him and vomit over the side of the bed. There is no more sex after that.

He follows Angeal’s shadow into the mansion, down to the hidden places. He reads while Angeal’s shade watches him from the top of a bookshelf. He cracks under the strain. He cries when a sickly sweet voice pushes him out of his own mind and anchors itself in his place with filthy claws that sink deep into him and don’t let go. Only half aware, he charges back out into the world, and the shadowy man he thinks he might have known once follows him.

Finally, Angeal comes back to him. Sephiroth sees him, clear as day, striding towards him with a broad smile. They embrace. Angeal is warm and smells comfortingly of leather and sweat and cedar and apples. Something sharp lodges itself in his chest. He coughs. Angeal cups his face and kisses away the blood trickling from his mouth. Sephiroth closes his eyes.

He falls. 

After a long break....a list!

So I'm taking a Creative Writing class this semester, yeah? And most of the time it's a little silly and kind of below my level of education, but the instructor is awesome and he appreciates my snide remarks and muttered jokes. A few weeks ago, we were given an assignment: spend about 10  minutes writing a list. A list of anything. Then write a piece centered around it.

I admit it. I cheated. I spent a week and a half trying to write a list and failing miserably, and finally had to get a friend to write a list. And here is the list:
- A WWII bomber jacket
- A restaurant menu
- A partially emptied cup of coffee
- A mostly filled journal- the latest entry has not been completed
- A fresh long-stem rose
- A work cookbook held together with tape
- A bottle of wine
- A green glass vase
- A red and white checkered tablecloth
- An old locket with a folded paper in it
- A cider press (I didn't use this item)
- An old rolling pin
- An old poster written in French
-A potted ivy
- A ball of twine
- A pheasant feather
- A chunk of multi-colored glass
- A wrought iron paper weight

And here is the story I wrote with these things:

Morgan decided she liked the neighborhood. It had personality that the last one had lacked; there were flowers in window boxes and flyers on lampposts and a couple of buskers on the corner, singing softly in some language full of slippery consonants and mournful vowels. It felt like the sort of place that Zoe would be comfortable in.

Zoe’s building was a tall, narrow column of brick with a bright purple door that opened on an equally narrow hallway and a rather spindly staircase that paused briefly at each door on the way up, then continued to gain altitude until it terminated in a rusty hatch that probably lead out onto the roof. The door Morgan wanted, number 6, was the last one before the roof hatch. It was also painted an eye-burning shade of fluorescent green, with the six painted in white over it.

Morgan’s knock was answered by a lot of shuffling and bumping, and a sudden thump against the door.

“Zoe?”

“I got it, hang on.” More shuffling, and then the door swung open. Zoe grinned up at Morgan from the floor, where she was sprawled with a replica of a World War Two bomber jacket tangled around her feet. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself. What happened?”

“Unpacking happened.” She untangled herself and stood up, dusting her black wrap pants off.

Morgan picked her way around mounds of cardboard boxes, heading for an empty patch of space under a massive floor to ceiling window that took up most of one wall. The space was large enough for a red and white checked tablecloth to be laid out in it, as well as a few handmade pillows.

“So you’re doing okay, then?” Morgan asked, tucking her skirt underneath herself and dropping down to sit on a large, round pillow that looked like the top of a fairytale toadstool.

“Okay relative to what?”

“You know. Okay after…all of this.”

Zoe shrugged, choosing a box at random and carrying it over to the tablecloth. She put it in Morgan’s lap and went to get another one.

“I guess. Got the new place and new stuff to do. That’s definitely an improvement.” She didn’t sit down so much as she just crumpled, somehow landing neatly on another pillow. “Go though that, would you? Everything just got thrown into boxes and there’s all kinds of stuff I don’t want anymore.”

“How will I know what you don’t want?”

“Ask, of course. How else?”

Morgan shrugged and picked at the thin brown tape holding the box shut until a strip of it caught under her nail and she could peel it off with a satisfyingly loud tearing sound. The flaps popped up immediately.

“Wow. They really packed this stuff in here.”

Zoe nodded, turning a heavy iron paperweight over in her hands. It was shaped like a circus elephant up on two legs, complete with all the trappings. In spite of this, it was also ugly as sin. “I asked them to get everything in as few boxes as possible. God, why have I kept this thing around?”

“Um…because it was a gift from Jason’s mother?”

“Ew, right. Doesn’t matter now.” The elephant found a new home in a large box labeled ‘CRAP’.

Morgan giggled and rummaged in her own box, coming up with a large piece of multicolored glass. It was lumpy and uneven, the colors mixing in places to form muddy brownish shades that were far from attractive. A few holes had been drilled into it, presumably to put pens into. “Keep this?”

“Yeah, I love that thing. It’s just so ugly I can’t help it, y’know? Here, put this in the office box with it.” She handed over a softball-sized ball of fraying twine with no easily located loose end.

Ball and glass went into the office box. Morgan added a collection of fancy pens, a pheasant feather, a very well-loved leather-bound journal with a bookmark sticking before of the fourth to last page, and a mesh basket pull of little logic toys and puzzles. 

“Has he called or anything?” She didn’t mean to ask, but it just slipped out.

“Why would he?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’ll just want to talk or something?”

Zoe snorted, stretching across the tablecloth to pull a grey folder out of another box. She shoveled a handful of takeout menus into it, then changed her mind and upended the folder in her lap. Menus cascaded over her ankles in a wash of color and universally unsteady fonts. Taking a fistful of them at random, she sorted through them, tossing all but three into the CRAP box. One missed and skidded over towards Morgan.

“I thought you liked Loca Loca. Why aren’t you keeping this?”

“I never liked it. Jason did, and I said it was okay because it made him happy. Their menudo was terrible, the tortillas were tough, and the chile was never hot enough.”

Morgan shrugged and threw the menu into its intended box.

“Anyway, why would Jason want to talk to me about anything?”

“He could, you know.”

“Okay, fine. Why would I want to talk to him? He was a wannabe and a lousy boyfriend, and I should have broken it off and left him ages ago.” Perhaps two dozen menus remained once Zoe had finished her sorting, and they fit inside the folder without making it bulge obscenely.

“Um…”

“I wouldn’t. He’s out of my life and I’m happy.”

“Sorry, I was just wondering.” Morgan turned her box upside down. A tarnished locket slid out and landed in her lap. “Oh, hey. What’s this?”

Zoe looked over at it. “Huh. I haven’t seen that thing in ages. It got put away somewhere when I moved in with Jason and I couldn’t find it.”

“It’s pretty.” She pushed the catch and parted the halves of the locket. “There’s something in here.”

“Really? I never put anything in it.”

Morgan unfolded the slip of paper. “Oh, wow.”

“What?”

“Jason wrote a love letter on this.”

“He did what?”

“See for yourself.”

Zoe snatched the delicate paper from Morgan and squinted at the few tiny lines scrawled on it in Jason’s familiarly ornate handwriting. She read it twice, and scowled.

“He must have had this the whole time and never told me. Jackass.” She crumpled the paper up and threw it into the CRAP box. “And that’s a terrible way to try and get your girlfriend back. I got this locket from my grandmother, and I was absolutely sure that it was gone for good, and now I find out he’d been hiding it for two years? Yeah, that’s a great way to win me back.”

“I’m sure he meant well.”

“No, he meant to get his way. You need a new box?”

“Nah, I think I need to stretch first.”

“Go ahead.”

Morgan got to her feet and meandered into the kitchen. It was separated from the living and dining room by a breakfast bar of sorts, though the hand painted tiles were mostly hidden under even more boxes. The kitchen itself was rather bare, still being set up, but it had the usual appliances- stove, fridge, dishwasher- and evidence of Zoe’s ongoing effort to get things unpacked. An old cookbook leaned against the microwave. Whatever color the cover had once been, it was lost under pictures clipped from culinary magazines and a smooth layer of contact paper, and the spine was held together with duct tape and a prayer. A well-used wooden rolling pin lay abandoned on the counter beside the stove, kept company by a glossy black mug with WTF? Printed on it in large white letters. When Morgan leaned over it, she found that it still contained coffee, about half a cup of cold, toffee-colored liquid that only looked drinkable.

“Hey, take this and put that rose in it, would you?” Zoe waved a tall, thin vase over her head. The clear green glass caught the light coming through the window and sent it dancing around the room in emerald shards.

“What rose?”

“The one in the sink.”

Sure enough, there was a single long-stemmed rose lying in the sink. It had been stripped of leaves, though not of thorns, and it looked very out of place against the slightly dented stainless steel of the sink.

“Where did this come from?” Morgan picked the rose up and took it with her to take the vase from Zoe.

“Some guy from the building across the street. He brought it over while I was bringing groceries in.”

“That’s sweet.” The vase was just the right height for the rose. Morgan smiled at it and put it on top of the fridge to keep it out of the way. There was a bottle of wine up there as well, which she took down and examined. “Was this from him too?”

“Was what from rose-boy?”

“This wine.”

“Oh, that? No, it’s a welcome to the building gift from the woman in Apartment 2.”

“Nice of her.”

“It would be if I liked red wine. You want it?”

“Sure.”

“Great. Go ahead and take it.” Zoe put her box to the side and stood up, stretching. She had miniature ivy in a hand-glazed pot in one hand, the dark leaves draping over her hand and wrist like a scarf. “Mmm…I think I’ve been in here too long. Want to go for a walk? We can go find this little guy a friend or three.”

“Yeah, I can do that. Gonna start building a little plant army?”

Zoe laughed and settled the ivy on top of an empty bookshelf, carefully centering it under a framed poster for a French play Morgan had never heard of. It was the only thing on any of the walls. “You bet I am. Ready to go?”

“Ready when you are.”

“Let’s go, then.”

Their footsteps echoed in the stairwell, bouncing down to the ground floor before them. On the way down, Morgan noticed that each door was painted a different painfully bright shade, which hadn’t registered with her on the way up. It was sort of sweet, in a weird way, like finding pieces of beach glass in a plastic bucket full of drab sand and shells that a child had picked up without much thought.

Out on the street, the buskers had moved on into a lively sea shanty that had something to do with mermaids and how they made terrible wives. The rough, bawdy language made Zoe laugh, and she danced a few steps of something that might have been some kind of jig, to the great delight of the buskers. She curtsied, holding the outer edge of her wrap pants out like a skirt and managing to make it look a lot more elegant than it should have. Then she straightened and continued down the sidewalk like nothing had happened, the locket wound around her wrist glinting in the sunlight.

On Girl-Friends

Since I've been home from college, I have met with my darling Joru-chan around 6-630pm every Wednesday and Sunday. We have recently added the ineffable Mina to our ranks. Our goal is to learn hoop-dancing from Joelle and just generally have a good ol' time.

Our goal has changed. Joru and her fiance/boyfriend/housemate broke up for good and left her with a big, boy-sized hole in her life, not to mention a much less stable idea of where she's going to live come Fall Semester. Her job is painfully stressful, her future is uncertain, and life seems determine to pile problems on her. Mina and I are in charge of making sure she gets through it and can be the perky little bundle of fashionable sunshine that we know and love.
So. While hopping and excersise are still a major part of our twice-weekly meetings, we make room for girl-talk, ice cream, silly or sappy movies, nice dinners at our favorite restaurants, whipped cream, good music, and lots of laughs. Maybe we'll throw some nail-painting and hair care in for variety, and plenty of rants about how boys, work, employers, small children, tourists, and the weather are all nasty, rotten things that we'd all be better off without.

Funny thing is, while the whole point of the new goal is not intended to be theraputic for me, I'm finding that it is. Going home at 10 o'clock after frozen pizzas, green tea, and the world's largest rockyroad sundaes, consumed over Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (for those of you not in the know, it's not as naughty as it sounds), I feel at peace. Utterly relaxed, like I was the one being fussed over and pampered and encouraged for hours.

Thank goodness for girl-friends.

In college...

Inspired by Chris' mumbling about things she has learned this school year, I present a list of things I have learned in college.

Things I have learned in College

1. Pay attention in class
2. ...but only if there's something relevant going on.
3. Do not compare your professors to Muppets or Disney characters unless you are certain you can muffle your laughter. 
4. Do not question why your Iranian professor seems to have a Russian accent.
5. Don't let the idiot have the lighter in Chem lab.
6. You can have Oreos for breakfast. 
7. Don't have Oreos for breakfast. 
8. The heat will not be turned on until after the first miserable cold snap, and it will be turned off the week before unseasonably cold weather. 
9. Double-layered shower curtains are the devil.
10. Do not leave rubber bath mats folded up in the corner of the shower for months on end. 
11. Clorox + Black mildew/mold/whatever it was = LOTS of blue foam.
12. Do dishes regularly.
13. Wet leaves are slippery. 
14. The people in D patio apparently have interesting sex lives. 
15. Guitar practice should not take place after 10pm unless you are playing quiet songs and you are good at it. 
16. Smoking in a dorm room + shared vents = pissed off me
17. Wet bike seats suck.
18. Get to meals and lectures early. 
19. Always have an extra Scantron on hand. 
20. DO NOT LOSE YOUR ID
21. Try not to lock yourself out too often. After the third time, they start charging you. 
22. Check your mail often. 
23. At least once a month, clean like a mad person. 
24. The cafeteria food isn't as bad as you think. 
25. Carry more than one pen and pencil. Trust me.
26. Always look at the door handle or railing before you touch it.
27. Seriously. ALWAYS.

So....what I'm doing to myself next semester

Righto, y'all. Here's my class schedule for Fall 2010- all 18 credits. It's gonna be...interesting.

BLAW (Legal Environment of Business): TTh 1330-1425
ENGL (Intro to Creative Writing): TTh 0855-1010
HORT (Plant ID II): MW 1330-1420, M 1430-1700
HORT (Greenhouse Management): TTh 1020-1135, W 1530-1730
PE (Pilates): MW 1130-1220
SOIL (Soils): MWF 0930-1020


And I'm going to try and cram gym sessions, a job, NaNoWriMo, Hort Forum, evening yoga classes, Amtgard, craft projects, and my indoor gardening into the open spots.

And...a boot to the head

So. I recently got my hands on The Writer's Book of Days. It has a prompt for every day of the year. Starting on April 1st, I will attempt to write at least 500 words for each day's prompt and post it. If all goes well, this will continue until April 1st of next year, when I will have completed a full 365 prompts and written a minimum of 182,500 words. Wish me luck!

You can find the prompts here starting April 1st: Click Me!

Something beautiful

Well, I've fallen in love with something that I cannot have. Or rather, something that I cannot have anytime in the next few years at least. Good thing is that I accept that, but damn....these are beautiful.

I have discovered Asian Ball-Jointed Dolls. And I have seen what someone with characters in their head can do with them. Were I in a position to purchase one- because the things are pricy- I would probably design it to look like Takumi, or possibly Hughnin, and then save up to get some custom clothes and such to complete the look. It's probably the fangirl in me; the thought that I could have my character sitting on my desk or my bookshelf, watching me detail their life, that I could hold them and talk to them...it's a very appealing thought, even though I know it's not going to happen. But I can admire the art those people who have and love these dolls create. See below for some beautiful examples.

On the eating habits of teenage boys

Or Why Miranda was up at 4am today.

Hey there. Long time no see, huh? Life's been interesting. Anyway, what you are about to read if the product of three pages of scribbling between classes and four or five hours of frantic work this morning (yes, starting at 4am). I would like some honest critique on this, since the only other people who will be reading it are going to be critiquing it for a grade and I'm sure a few of them just ramble on to fill up the page requirements.

It was nearing midnight. The courtyard was empty and silent, dimly lit by the shabby lights running in a long line on the undersides of the upper-story walkways. Here and there, brighter light leaked around the edges of curtains from the rooms whose occupants were still awake. In one such room, Justin sat cross-legged on his bed, staring blankly at his laptop screen. An essay prompt took up the first few lines of the document he had open, but the rest was blank white.

Write an essay concerning a certain group of people with specific behaviors. Choose one of these behaviors and explain its significance. What is the driving reason for the behavior? Does it serve any kind of practical purpose? Is it time-specific? If so, what is the time?

He’d typed the prompt more than an hour ago, but nothing had come to him after that. It was just an essay, one for a freshman-level anthropology course. It should have been simple for him after the 300 level classes he had taken in previous semesters, but he was well and truly stumped.
“Stupid filler courses,” he muttered, and slid off the bed, hissing softly when his feet hit the cold bare tile. “Stupid humanities requirements.” He jerked his mini-fridge open and considered the collection of takeout leftovers for a moment, then selected a plastic container and slammed the door shut. “Stupid low-level expectations.” He put the container in the microwave, punched a few buttons, and pulled away to pace the length of the little dorm room. It was eight short strides from the door to the sink.
The door opened on his fourth circuit, nearly hitting Justin in the back.
“Still up?” Carlos asked, walking over to his bed and dropping his backpack on it.
“Working on that essay.”
“The one due tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
Carlos snorted.
“Good luck with that. Here.” He put a brown paper bag, darkened in spots with grease, on Justin’s desk. “Donna brought these home from work. Said there were too many for just her.”
“Thanks.” The microwave switched off with a cheery chime. Justin slouched over to it and took out his snack. “Going back out?”
“Uh-huh. There’s a bonfire out past the old quarry. Wanna come?”
“I’ll pass.”
“Your loss. Have fun with that essay.”
“Right,” Justin muttered, digging a plastic spoon out of the purple novelty glass he’d won a t a carnival last fall. “Fun.”
Leaning against the desk, he sampled the curry and made a face; it didn’t taste quite right. He took a plastic basket off the top of the microwave and proceeded to drown the curry in Tabasco sauce and ketchup.
Curry in hand, he went back to his bed and settled on it, ignoring his laptop in favor of eating. Halfway through the container, he stopped and actually looked at it. Mixing his seasonings in had turned the whole thing the color of rust, arguably the most unappetizing color on the warm side of the spectrum. This was why people didn’t like watching him eat; the general consensus was that the things he liked to eat were strange, unappealing, or downright gross.
Now that he thought about it, he’d picked up a lot of his preferences from his friends. Mischa had introduced him to curry in the first place, Ryan always had a bottle of Tabasco on him, and Ryoma just liked to eat weird food.
Justin sighed and put the remains of the curry down. He missed his friends. Graduation had scattered them all over, and now he had no one to accompany him on late-night quests for pancakes and coffee or to help him weight the merits of different donut shops. His fellow students didn’t seem to have much of an interest in sushi or Greek food or really phenomenal crepes made fresh by a street vendor. Nobody here ate dangerously, and, since it was no fun to do it alone, neither did he.
To be fair, most of the student body came out of rural or suburban areas, and the last time he had checked, sushi shops did not appear in cornfields and there were better places for all-night diners than down sitcom-esque cul-de-sacs. The opportunity to eat like he did was the privilege of the urbanite. And that was an idea.
“’s worth a shot,” he murmured, reaching out to pull the laptop up onto his knees. He stared at the keys for a minute, considering how to go about starting off, and then began to type.

Urban areas enjoy a greater ethnic diversity by virtue of the opportunities available in them. More employment is available in places with higher demand for workers, and more employment means more opportunities for the individual to make a place in the world. Where there is ethnic diversity, there is a wealth of foods both foreign and familiar. No one knows this better than the elusive creature that is the urban teenager boy.
*                     *                     *                      *                     *                    *                     *                    
“Starting today, I’m packing lunch,” Ryan muttered. “Did anyone actually try those enchiladas?”
“More importantly, did anyone survive the enchiladas?” Justin asked. He checked his watch. “I’ve got two hours before I have to be home. I say we track down some real food. All in favor?”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Only if I get to pick where we go. If I so much as look at another burger, I’m going to die.”
Justin hesitated, looking at Ryoma, then at his other friends.
“Uh…I guess that’s okay, but…nothing too weird, okay?”
Ryoma rolled his eyes.
“You’re such a wuss, Justin.”
“I am not!”
“I didn’t have anything too outlandish in mind anyway. Don’t get your panties in a wad. C’mon.”

Half an hour later, all four of them were crammed into a corner booth at the back of a cramped little place called ‘Muang Thai’. The sign was nearly wider than the grimy storefront, and it had taken Ryoma picking Ryan up and marching inside to get Mischa and Justin to follow him.
“Are you sure this place is safe?” Ryan demanded, fidgeting uncomfortably. “It looks like it should have been shut down by the city ages ago.”
“Ryan, I eat strange food, not bad food. I know where to get the good stuff.” Ryoma sipped at his drink, some milky coffee-colored thing that no one else had even considered ordering. “Finding a good hole in the wall is an art.”
“We could have gone for pizza.”
“Oh, quit being such a baby. It won’t kill you to step outside the box for a bit and try something that doesn’t fit with your middle-class all-American diet. And stop whining.”
“Or what?’
“Or I’ll use those photos I took on cross-dress day for the yearbook.”
“You still have those?”
“Of course I do.”
Ryan looked horrified. Justin and Mischa snickered, but chose to stay out of the argument.
Their waitress glided over and placed two massive plates on the table, turning to take a smaller dish from the kitchen boy who followed her.
“Enjoy!” she said brightly, and left them alone.
“What are these?” Mischa poked at the crisp brown balls on one plate. “Are these some kind of wonton?”
“Mmhm. Crab. Try one.”
Ryan and Justin watch as Mischa obeyed, dipping it in the pale pink sauce in one half of the smallest dish before taking a bite.
“Oh, God, that’s good,” he mumbled around a mouthful. “My mom’s aren’t even this good.”
“Fine, so the wontons are edible,” Ryan groused. “What are the sauces?”
“The pink one is sweet and sour. The red one is chile and garlic.” Ryoma dipped a battered shrimp in the chile sauce and began to eat. “Don’t ask questions. Just eat.”
It only took a few minutes for them to realize that not only were the wontons and shrimp edible, they were excellent. Then, in the way teenage boys tend to do, they demolished both plates.

Teenage boys everywhere will eat for any reason, at any time, and many of them will eat anything. Sometimes, however, they actually both to prepare their own foods instead of seeking out family members or fast food chains to do the work for them. These rare occasions are never without just cause and more than enough justification to avoid being labeled ‘girly’ or ‘gay’, which tend to be grievous insults.

They tended to hang out at Ryan’s house during school holidays, more for the convenience than for any other reason. The house was pretty far from any of the interesting parts of the city, situated in the kind of neighborhood that was mostly hidden behind walls and fences and trees that were older than anyone who actually lived in the area. The sole redeeming feature was Ryan’s room; when he was twelve, he had begun trying to convince his parents to let him move into the guest house, which was used only a few times a year. It made more sense to have a guest room or two in the house, so guests could actually spend time with the family instead of holing up in the backyard, he had pointed out. After four years of nagging, they had given in, and now Ryan had a bedroom, bathroom, open lounge area, kitchenette, and loft all to himself.
“I hereby call this meeting of the Terminally Bored Coalition of Lazy Asses to order,” Justin said, using Ryan’s calculus textbook to hammer on the table and get everyone’s attention. “The first order of business is deciding what we’re going to go for break. We’ve only got two weeks after tomorrow. We can’t spend the whole time lying around in here.”
“Do you have any suggestions, Einstein?” Ryoma demanded. He wadded up a sheet of scratch paper that was already covered in biology notes and bounced it off Justin’s forehead. “I know I don’t.”
“I hadn’t really come up with anything yet, but there’s all kinds of stuff going on in town.”
“The street festival on Temple Street starts on Friday,” Mischa suggested. “Have any of you ever been?” He coughed and retreated a little further into the blanket he’d taken off Ryan’s bed. “It’s really neat. And the dancing girls in the parade are gorgeous. On par with professional dancers.”
“Who cares if you’re never gonna get to talk to them?” Ryan demanded. He slid two heavy ceramic bowls onto the table. “Here. I’ve had this going since last night.”
Ryoma, Justin and Mischa all peered into the bowls. They contained chucks of meat and potato and carrot, along with smaller, less easily identified things. The smell rising from them was rich and meaty.
“What is it?” Justin asked.
“Irish stew.” Ryan returned with two more bowls and dropped into the only open chair. “I got the recipe from one of my mom’s cookbooks. She never makes it.”
“You can cook?”
“Got a problem with it?”
Ryoma shook his head and pulled a bowl towards him. He picked a piece of carrot out and examined it. “I’m just surprised, is all. You’re usually the one trying to retain your masculinity, and cooking just seems…out of character for you.”
“Gotta have something to eat when I’m up ‘til two doing homework. My parents hate it when I come into the house in the middle of the night looking for food. And the weather’s been rotten. I like stew on cold days.” Ryan dug into the stew, and was several hefty bites in when he realized that Ryoma was the only one who had even tried tasting it yet. “Just try it already. Hasn’t killed me.”
Justin sighed and took a bite. It was a little on the hot side still, but even a slightly burnt tongue couldn’t stop him from just closing his eyes and chewing for a minute.
“That’s….pretty good.”
“Thanks, man. G’wan, Misch, it’s good for you. Better than chicken soup for a cold.”
“But-“
“Just try it!”

Eating is a daily activity, something that the human body requires to be able to function properly. Even so, some ceremonies and events in the life of a teenager require a special kind of food or a certain way of eating or serving the food to complete them.

“Remind me again why we aren’t taking the girls out to dinner?”
“How many times are you going to ask, Ryan? Because there’s going to be a dessert bar at the dance and it was a vote of six to two in favor of going out for food afterwards instead.” Justin folded a slice of pizza in half and wolfed it down, careful of his jacket. The pizza had been late in arriving, so they had all lazed around in their tuxedos until it arrived.
“But it’s tradition!”
Mischa threw a packet of parmesan cheese at Ryan.
“But it would be silly. Why go and eat a full meal right before you’re going to have your pick of desserts from some of the best kitchens in the city? It’s pointless.”
“Besides, it’s more fun to make our own traditions,” Ryoma added, batting ineffectively at a long lock of his hair. “Dammit, this is going to drive me crazy all night.”
“Shouldn’t have worn it down, then,” Ryan sneered, pleased to have the upper hand on anything for a minute.
“Kristina likes it when I wear it loose, and I hardly ever do. Promising to leave my hair ties at home for one night isn’t going to kill me.” He tried to take a bite of his pizza, failed, and had to gather his hair up in one hand to hold out of the way before he could eat. “Although choking on my hair could.”
“You should get it cut. You’re getting close to the point of no return.” Ryan shook Tabasco onto his slice, not stopping until it gleamed dull red and all three of his friends could clearly smell the chile from where they sat.
“What point of no return?”
“Hippie status,” Mischa said helpfully. “Once you get to that point…there’s no coming back.”
“As if you would know.”
“I used to have hair almost as long as yours.”
“And you abused the hell out of it! It’s not the same!” Ryoma gestured with his pizza, jabbing it accusingly at Mischa. “Even I don’t have a different hair color every other week.”
“It was a phase!”
“Guys, chill. We have ten minutes before we have to pick the girls up.”

As with any culture, important dates on the calendar of a teenage boy are marked with the preparation and consumption of large amounts of food. These feasts can be in honor of achievements, to mourn a great loss- such as a favorite sports team losing an important match- or to bring an event to a close. Whatever the reason, such gatherings are often packed with diverse foods, which those involved with the feast consume without question.

Mischa’s backyard was full of people. Most of them were friends of someone’s family or obscure relatives, but there were a few of the boys’ classmates scattered throughout the crowd, milling around with a glass of punch, a can of soda, or a plate of food.
Mischa’s grandmother and Justin’s least favorite aunt had joined forces, trying to find the new graduates and heap unwanted embarrassment upon them.
“How long until the party’s over?” Justin moaned, pressing back against the trunk of the old oak tree they were hiding in. A half-finished plate of goodies sat forgotten near his foot.
“Another three hours.” Ryoma peered between two boards that had shrunk with age and weather, scanning the partygoers for signs of danger. “Misch, are you sure they can’t get us up here?”
“I used every bit of oldest sibling clout I have to make sure the munchkins are going to keep everyone away from the ladder,” Mischa promised, nibbling at a miniature quiche. “They all know that I have just short of three more months left before I leave, and that I can make the summer a living hell for them if I want to.”
“What did you threaten them with? I can never make my sisters do what I want.”
Mischa grinned evilly.
“Well, to start with, I promised that I’d play Rammstein nonstop from now until the day I drive off.”
“Oh, yuck! How can you stand that crap?”
“I like it. Just because you can’t appreciate a good-mrph!”
Justin smiled sweetly at Mischa and gave the blonde brownie he’d shoved into his friend’s mouth another push, to make sure it was properly wedged in.
“Can it. You’ve been trying to convert us all to that stupid metal band for years. You haven’t made any progress until now and a couple more months isn’t going to change it. Give it up already.”
Mischa began trying to chew through his impromptu gag, casually flipping Ryoma off when the taller boy went from amused snickering to outright laughing at his predicament.
“Kinda hard to believe that we’ve just got a couple more months left before we’re officially college students,” Ryan murmured. He turned a hot wing over on his plate, staring at the whorls of spices on the crisp skin. “It doesn’t feel like it’s been four years.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think it does.”
“Enlighten us, then,” Justin said, nudging his plate away. “Anyone want the last of my ribs? I can’t eat anymore.”
“Mine!” Ryoma pounced on the plate. “Anyway…when you think about it, we did so much. The play in sophomore year, remember? The rave-themed one?”
“I remember that,” Ryan chuckled. “You looked like such a girl in that makeup.”
“I resent that.”
“Cross-dress day, freshman year,” Mischa put in, swallowing the last of the brownie. “Spending all weekend digging through second-hand shops, looking for a skirt that would fit over my big hips.”
“Painting the guard shack for April Fool’s Day.”
“Trying to help Samantha get her dress back on when it fell down at junior prom.”
“Organizing junior prom.”
“Building trebuchets for physics and breaking the classroom window.”
“Bomb threat week.”
“Freshman orientation.”
“Scaring the new kids.”
“Duct-taping Principal Edwards to the gym wall for the Pep Rally.”
“Saving the pies when the culinary arts kitchen caught fire.”
“Actually winning the Powder-puff Game.”
“Mischa Azrael Tanner! Get down here right this minute and talk to your guests! Do you hear me?”
“Shit!” Mischa peeked over the edge of the tree house window. “We’ve been ratted out.”
“Who did it?” Justin demanded, joining him.
“Leilani. You little brat! It’s gonna be Rammstein for three months straight, do you hear me? Three months straight!”
*                     *                     *                      *                     *                    *                     *                    
Justin gave the freshly printed pages a quick tap against the desk to straighten them, stapled it, and put it down, smiling. Ten pages, all done with more than six hours to spare before he had to be in class, and completed in a single sitting over a bowl of curry.
He opened the bag Carlos had brought in and pulled out the top donut, a sticky chocolate frosted one with green shamrock sprinkles. It was still soft, smelling of yeast and the oil it had been fried in, giving easily under his fingers. He returned to his bed with the pastry and leaned back against the pillows, eating slowly, utterly content.
The lights in the courtyard had switched off, made obsolete by the sunlight creeping over the roof and lighting up the stark concrete and cobble common area. A few chickadees hopped about, exploring the discarded remains of a few wild weekends, chirping brightly in the echoing space.

The LIST

It has recently come to my attention that a large portion of this world has no idea how to give a proper gift. With a little thought, you really can find a gift for just about anyone. However, for the benefit of those who can't give gifts to save their lives, and for those who can but get asked by others what to get for so-and-so, I have assembled a list of things that I want/need/like/always appreciate. Hopefully, people will A) actually get me things off of it and B) make one themselves and put it where I can find it.

• Body pillow- $15+; a large, soft pillow at least 4.5 to 6 feet long, sometimes longer, to be cuddled, snuggled, and used to clobber people with. Color and pattern is preferred, or else an appropriate cover 
• Lap desk- $13+; exactly what it sounds like. A flat surface with a cushion underneath, designed to be put in the lap and used for a writing or balancing surface when a table or conventional desk is not available.
• Gift Card- $15+; we all know what these are. This is just one step away from the ultimate no-brainer gift, which happens to be just plain money. A plastic card with a set amount of money on it, to be used at a specific company. See any of the following establishments, and feel free to come up with something else: Starbucks, Barnes and Noble, Borders, Sonic, McDonald's, WalMart, iTunes, Joann Fabric, Major gas retailers, Subway, WetSeal, Old Navy, Amazon.com
• Books- $7+; seriously, folks, this is an easy one. I read like a maniac. Always have. Always will. Any of the following genres/topics is a-okay: cooking (fiction or fact), travel (fiction or fact), coffee-table-style books about dwellings or locations, gardening, writing tips, short stories, sci-fi, faeires (fact or fiction), vampires (fact or fiction), fantasy, urban fantasy, manga, crafts.
• Movies- $20+; I have an ever-growing collection of movies. I will watch almost anything. I prefer animated movies, sci-fi, and superhero films, but a good fantasy or romantic comedy is always nice. 
• TV Show collections: $20+; again, very simple. Any of the following will be greeted with delight: NCIS, CSI, Teen Titans, FullMetal Alchemist, the  ORIGINAL Yu-Gi-Oh!, Dr. Who
• Stuffed Animals- $5+; I go for interesting or realistic rather than cute, but plushies are fun no matter what they look like.
  
• Glass figurines- $3+; I have been collecting these for years. I only collect the ones that are small enough to sit in the palm of your hand (the smaller, the better), and love these even more because of how hard they can be to find.
• Buttons- $1+; you can find these all over the place. Most of them are roughly the size of a quarter, hook onto anything fabric with a little pin, and have some witty, belligerent, crude, or trendy saying on them. I LIKE these. I have lots, and I want more.
• Small scented candles- $3+; I live in a dorm. It is small and poorly ventilated in here, and I often have to smell whatever other people are microwaving due to shared vents. Fruit scents, cinnamon, pine, and mint are all welcomed. No flowers, please.
• Jewelry- $1+; I have two piercings in each ear, wear a ton of necklaces, have long hair, and will wear bracelets. That's a lot of options. Have fun.
  

Year-end Meme

MEME TIME.

1. What did you do in 2009 that you'd never done before?
- Participated in an Amtgard activity and actually got something out of it other than grass down my bodice.

2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
- I didn't make any for last year, but I certainly did for this one.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
- Heavens no.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
- Again, no.

5. What countries did you visit?
- Does Texas count as another country?

6. What would you like to have in 2010 that you lacked in 2009?
- Money.

7. What dates from 2009 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
- Ren Faire- being there in proper garb was just thrilling; the last day of the Vampire Game that I attended- there is nothing like being another person for a few hours; seeing Jake walking out of the Chem Building towards me- not knowing that he was coming to see me after weeks of having a whole state between us;  coming up over the pass from Alamagordo after summer break and knowing that I'm home agian, and driving home with my sister this summer.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
- Passing all my classes

9. What was your biggest failure?
- Losing the National Hispanic Scholar scholarship

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
- Not really.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
- No PLot? No Problem! Novel writing kit.

12. Whose behaviour merited celebration?
- Gabby's

13. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?
- Dani's

14. Where did most of your money go?
- School and groceries

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
- NaNoWriMo

16. What song will always remind you of 2009?
- You belong with me

17. Compared to this time last year, are you...
a) ... happier or sadder?
- Happier
b) ... thinner or fatter?
- Fatter
c) ... richer or poorer?
- Richer

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
- Writing

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
- Slacking

20. How will you be spending Christmas?
- Making tortillas on Christmas Eve, ignoring most of the family on Christmas Day

21. How will you be spending New Year's Eve?
- Working for 10 hours, doing a little writing, then going to bed early.

22. Did you fall in love in 2009?
- I did indeed.

23. How many one-night stands?
- One, if having a boyfriend for less than 24 hours counts. Otherwise, none.

24. What was your favorite TV program?
- NCIS

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
- Yes

26. What was the best book you read?
- Vampire Taxonomy

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
- Jason Michael Carol

28. What did you want and get?
- Books, clothes, craft supplies, and research materials.

29. What did you want and not get?
- Stuffed animals, toys, music, and plants.

30. What was your favorite film of this year?
- Avatar

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
- I had a bunch of friends over for dinner and a bonfire. I turned 19.

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
- Not having such miserable money troubles.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2009?
- Fashion? Pfft, what fashion?

34. What kept you sane?
- Writing

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
- Taylor Lautner

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
- Nothing in particular

37. Who did you miss?
- Joelle and Kristina

38. Who was the best new person you met?
- Jake

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2009:
- Tell someone, dammit, before it blows up in your face.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year (and a song for this new year)


Summing it up: 

Well we had a lot of dreams when we were younger

They thought we were crazy, but we had the hunger

We tipped a lot of friends, skipped a lot of class

Been on top of the world and knocked on our ass

We lost touch, we lost in love

We lost our minds when things got tough, but

Beatin' time is a losing fight, but

I guess I'm doin' alright

I'm Alright, Jo Dee Messina

For the New Year:

Wide open down a two-lane highway
It's about time that some things went my way
Throwing troubles out to the wind and
I'm praying that they never catch up again
I'm gonna say my worrying days are done
And this looks like a good day to run.

Good Day to Run, Darryl Worley