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Welcome to My Blog!
Ah, this is the story of my life, told in my own words and maybe a few pictures. There's drama! conspiracies! intrigue! romance! (well, not so much romance.) Um...yeah. That's it.
All About Me
Incoherent Ramblings [of the third kind]
Links to Visit
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Jul. 21, 2008 and to think,
Well, my favorite Television show
Avatar:The Last Airbender
has ended,
leaving us with many questions.
Where is Ursa?
What happened to Azula in the end?
Why did Zuko blush when Toph hugged him?
And of course, is Bumi immortal?
Haha. Well, anyway.
So I've been busy lately.
Candystriping, walking around,
reading, writing,
going to work with my dad.
(there was a really loud state patrol officer.
and a cute puppy. and funny quotes.)
but nothing really big or special.
So, yeah. Summer-way overrated.
BIG PLUS!
Band camp is this week,
which means next week,
we start hitting up band practice.
and maybe we won't get taffy thrown at our heads this time.
=] |
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Jul. 20, 2008 Watcher in the Woods: Dreamhouse Kings, Book #2
It's May 21st, time for the Teen FIRST blog tour! Every 21st, we will feature an author and his/her latest Teen fiction book's FIRST chapter!
 Robert Liparulo is an award-winning author of over a thousand published articles and short stories. He is currently a contributing editor for New Man magazine. His work has appeared in Reader's Digest, Travel & Leisure, Modern Bride, Consumers Digest, Chief Executive, and The Arizona Daily Star, among other publications. In addition, he previously worked as a celebrity journalist, interviewing Stephen King, Tom Clancy, Charlton Heston, and others for magazines such as Rocky Road, Preview, and L.A. Weekly. He has sold or optioned three screenplays.
Robert is an avid scuba diver, swimmer, reader, traveler, and a law enforcement and military enthusiast. He lives in Colorado with his wife and four children.
Here are some of his titles:
House of Dark Shadows (Dreamhouse Kings Book 1)
Comes a Horseman
Germ
Deadfall
Product Details
List Price: $14.99
Reading level: Young Adult
Hardcover: 304 pages
Publisher: Thomas Nelson (May 6, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1595544968
ISBN-13: 978-1595544964
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
At twelve years old, David King was too young to die. At least he thought so.
But try telling that to the people shooting at him.
He had no idea where he was. When he had stepped through the portal, smoke immediately blinded him. An explosion had thrown rocks and who-knew-what into his face. It shook the floor and knocked him off his feet. Now he was on his hands and knees on a hardwood floor. Glass and splinters dug into his palms. Somewhere, all kinds of guns were firing. Bullets zinged overhead, thunking into walls—bits of flying plaster stung his cheeks.
Okay, so he wasn’t sure the bullets were meant for him. The guns seemed both near and far. But in the end, if he were hit, did it matter whether the shooters meant to get him or he’d had the dumb luck to stumble into the middle of a firefight? He’d be just as dead.
The smoke cleared a bit. Sunlight poured in from a school-bus-sized hole in the ceiling. Not just the ceiling—David could see attic rafters and the jagged and burning edges of the roof. Way above was a blue sky, soft white clouds.
He was in a bedroom. A dresser lay on the floor. In front of him was a bed. He gripped the mattress and pushed himself up.
A wall exploded into a shower of plaster, rocks, and dust. He flew back. Air burst from his lungs, and he crumpled again to the floor. He gulped for breath, but nothing came. The stench of fire—burning wood and rock, something dank and putrid—swirled into his nostrils on the thick, gray smoke. The taste of cement coated his tongue. Finally, oxygen reached his lungs, and he pulled it in with loud gasps, like a swimmer saved from drowning. He coughed out the smoke and dust. He stood, finding his balance, clearing his head, wavering until he reached out to steady himself.
A hole in the floor appeared to be trying to eat the bed. It was listing like a sinking ship, the far corner up in the air, the corner nearest David canted down into the hole. Flames had found the blankets and were spreading fast.
Outside, machine-gun fire erupted.
David jumped.
He stumbled toward an outside wall. It had crumbled, forming a rough V-shaped hole from where the ceiling used to be nearly to the floor. Bent rebar jutted out of the plaster every few feet.
More gunfire, another explosion. The floor shook.
Beyond the walls of the bedroom, the rumble of an engine and a rhythmic, metallic click-click-click-click-click tightened his stomach. He recognized the sound from a dozen war movies: a tank. It was rolling closer, getting louder.
He reached the wall and dropped to his knees. He peered out onto the dirt and cobblestone streets of a small village. Every house and building was at least partially destroyed, ravaged by bombs and bullets. The streets were littered with chunks of wall, roof tiles, even furniture that had spilled out through the ruptured buildings.
David’s eyes fell on an object in the street. His panting breath froze in his throat. He slapped his palm over his mouth, either to stifle a scream or to keep himself from throwing up. It was a body, mutilated almost beyond recognition. It lay on its back, screaming up to heaven. Male or female, adult or child, David didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. That it was human and damaged was enough to crush his heart. His eyes shot away from the sight, only to spot another body. This one was not as broken, but was no less horrible. It was a young woman. She was lying on her stomach, head turned with an expression of surprised disbelief and pointing her lifeless eyes directly at David.
He spun around and sat on the floor. He pushed his knuckles into each eye socket, squeegeeing out the wetness. He swallowed, willing his nausea to pass.
His older brother, Xander, said that he had puked when he first saw a dead body. That had been only two days ago—in the Colosseum. David didn’t know where the portal he had stepped through had taken him. Certainly not to a gladiator fight in Rome.
He squinted toward the other side of the room, toward the shadowy corner where he had stepped into . . . wherever this was . . . whenever it was. Nothing there now. No portal. No passage home. Just a wall.
He heard rifle shots and a scream.
Click-click-click-click-click . . . the tank was still approaching.
What had he done? He thought he could be a hero, and now he was about to get shot or blown up or . . . something that amounted to the same thing: Dead.
Dad had been right. They weren’t ready. They should have made a plan.
Click-click-click-click-click.
David rose into a crouch and turned toward the crumbled wall.
I’m here now, he thought. I gotta know what I’m dealing with, right? Okay then. I can do this.
He popped up from his hiding place to look out onto the street. Down the road to his right, the tank was coming into town over a bridge. Bullets sparked against its steel skin. Soldiers huddled behind it, keeping close as it moved forward. In turn, they would scurry out to the side, fire a rifle or machine gun, and step back quickly. Their targets were to David’s left, which meant he was smack between them.
Figures.
At that moment, he’d have given anything to redo the past hour. He closed his eyes. Had it really only been an hour? An hour to go from his front porch to here?
In this house, stranger things had happened. . . .
Review: As much as I loved the first book in this series, I would have to say that I liked this one better. The characters are more developed, and some new ones were intorduced to make this a highly entertaining, fast-paced read. I can't wait for the next book.
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Jun. 20, 2008 Mixed Bags
It's June 21st, time for the Teen FIRST blog tour!(Join our alliance! Click the button!) Every 21st, we will feature an author and his/her latest Teen fiction book's FIRST chapter!
and her book:
Zondervan (May 1, 2008)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
In sixth grade, Melody Carlson helped start a school newspaper called The BuccaNews (her school’s mascot was a Buccaneer...arrr!). As editor of this paper, she wrote most of the material herself, creating goofy phony bylines to hide the fact that the school newspaper was mostly a "one man" show.
Visit the Melody's website to see all of her wonderful and various book titles.
Don't miss the second book in this series: Stealing Bradford (Carter House Girls, Book 2)
And one of her latest, A Mile in My Flip-Flops will be featured on FIRST Blog Alliance on July 1st!
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Mixed Bags (Carter House Girls, Book 1) Melody Carlson
“Desiree,” called Inez as she knocked on the other side of the closed bedroom door. “Mrs. Carter wants to see you downstairs.”
“The name is DJ.”
“I’m sorry, but your grandmother has instructed me to call you Desiree.”
DJ opened the door and looked down on the short and slightly overweight middle-aged housekeeper. “And I have instructed you to call me DJ.”
Inez’s dark eyes twinkled as she gave her a sly grin. “Yes, but it’s your grandmother who pays my salary, Desiree. I take orders from Mrs. Carter. And she wants to see you downstairs in her office, pronto.”
DJ grabbed her favorite Yankees ball cap and shoved it onto her head, pulling her scraggly looking blonde ponytail through the hole in the back of it.
“You’re wearing that?” asked Inez with a frown. “You know what your grandmother says about — -”
“Look,” said DJ. “My grandmother might pay you to take orders from her, but I’m a free agent. Got that?”
Inez chuckled. “I got that. But you’re the one who’ll be getting it before too long, Desiree.”
“DJ,” she growled as she tromped loudly down the curving staircase. Why had she let Dad talk her into living with her grandmother for her last two years of high school? She’d only been here since last spring, late into the school year, but long enough to know that it was nearly unbearable. Boarding school would be better than this. At least she’d have a little privacy there and no one constantly riding her — -telling her how to act, walk, look, and think. She wished there were some way, short of running away (which would be totally stupid), out of this uncomfortable arrangement.
“There you are,” said Grandmother when DJ walked into the office. Her grandmother frowned at her ball cap and then pasted what appeared to be a very forced smile onto her collagen-injected lips. “I want you to meet a new resident.” She made a graceful hand movement, motioning to where an attractive and somewhat familiar-looking Latina woman was sitting next to a fashionably dressed girl who seemed to be about DJ’s age, but could probably pass for older. The girl was beautiful. Even with the scowl creasing her forehead, it was obvious that this girl was stunning. Her skin was darker than her mother’s, latte-colored and creamy. Her long black hair curled softly around her face. She had high cheekbones and dramatic eyes.
DJ noticed her grandmother smiling her approval on this unhappy-looking girl. But the girl looked oblivious as she fiddled with the gold chain of what looked like an expensive designer bag. Not that DJ was an expert when it came to fashion. The woman stood politely, extending her hand to DJ.
“I’d like to present my granddaughter, Desiree Lane.” Grandmother turned back to DJ now, the approval evaporating from her expression. “Desiree, this is Ms. Perez and her daughter Taylor.”
DJ shook the woman’s hand and mumbled, “Nice to meet you.” But the unfriendly daughter just sat in the leather chair, one long leg elegantly crossed over the other, as she totally ignored everyone in the room.
Grandmother continued speaking to DJ, although DJ suspected this little speech was for Taylor’s mother. “Ms. Perez and I first met when my magazine featured her for her illustrious music career. Her face graced our cover numerous times over the years. Perhaps you’ve heard of Eva Perez.”
The woman smiled. “Or perhaps not,” she said in a voice that was as smooth as honey. “According to my daughter, kids in your age group don’t comprise even a minuscule part of my fan base.”
DJ smiled at the woman now. “Actually, I have heard of you, Ms. Perez. My mom used to play your CDs. She was a serious Latin jazz fan.”
“Was?” She frowned. “I hope her taste in music hasn’t changed. I need all the fans I can get these days.”
Grandmother cleared her throat. “Desiree’s mother — -my daughter — -was killed in a car accident about a year ago.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
DJ sort of nodded. She never knew how to react when -people said they were sorry about the loss of her mother. It wasn’t as if it were their fault.
“Desiree,” said Grandmother, “Would you mind giving Taylor a tour of the house while I go over some business details with her mother?”
“No problem.”
Grandmother’s recently Botoxed forehead creased ever so slightly, and DJ knew that, once again, she had either said the wrong thing, used bad grammar, or was slumping like a “bag of potatoes.” Nothing she did ever seemed right when it came to her grandmother. “And after the tour, perhaps you could show Taylor to her room.”
“Which room?” asked DJ, feeling concerned. Sure, Taylor might be a perfectly nice person, even if a little snobbish, but DJ was not ready for a roommate just yet.
“The blue room, please. Inez has already taken some of Taylor’s bags up for her. Thank you, Desiree.”
Feeling dismissed as well as disapproved of, DJ led their reluctant new resident out to the foyer. “Well, you’ve probably already seen this.” DJ waved her arm toward the elegant front entrance with its carved double doors and shining marble floor and Persian rug. She motioned toward the ornate oak staircase. “And that’s where the bedrooms are, but we can see that later.” She walked through to the dining room. “This is where we chow down.” She pointed to the swinging doors. “The kitchen’s back there, but the cook, Clara, can be a little witchy about trespassers.” DJ snickered. “Besides, my grandmother does not want her girls to spend much time in the kitchen anyway.”
“Like that’s going to be a problem,” said Taylor, the first words she’d spoken since meeting DJ.
“Huh?” said DJ.
“I don’t imagine anyone is going to be exactly pigging out around here. I mean aren’t we all supposed to become famous models or something?” asked Taylor as she examined a perfectly manicured thumbnail.
DJ frowned. “Well, my grandmother did edit one of the biggest fashion magazines in the world, but I don’t think that means we’re all going to become famous models. I know I’m not.”
Taylor peered curiously at her. “Why not? You’ve got the height, the build, and you’re not half bad looking . . . well, other than the fact that you obviously have absolutely no style.” She sort of laughed, but not with genuine humor. “But then you’ve got your grandmother to straighten that out for you.”
DJ just shook her head. “I think my grandmother will give up on me pretty soon. Especially when the others get here. She’ll have girls with more promise to set her sights on.” At least that was what DJ was hoping.
“Has anyone else arrived?”
“Not yet.” DJ continued the tour. “This is the library.” She paused to allow Taylor to look inside the room and then moved on. “And that’s the sunroom, or observatory, as Grandmother calls it.” She laughed. “Hearing her talk about this house sometimes reminds me of playing Clue.”
“What?”
“You know, the murder game, like where Colonel Mustard kills Mrs. Peacock with a wrench in the observatory.”
“Oh, I never played that.”
“Right . . .” Then DJ showed Taylor the large living room, the most modern space in the house. Grandmother had put this room together shortly after deciding to take on her crazy venture. Above the fireplace hung a large flat-screen TV, which was connected to a state-of-the-art DVD and sound system. This was encircled by some comfortable pieces of leather furniture, pillows, and throws.
“Not bad,” admitted Taylor.
“Welcome back to the twenty-first century.”
“Do you have wireless here?”
“Yeah. I told Grandmother it was a necessity for school.”
“Good.”
“This house has been in our family for a long time,” said DJ as she led Taylor up the stairs. “But no one has lived here for the past twenty years. My grandmother had it restored after she retired a -couple of years ago.” DJ didn’t add that her grandmother had been forced to retire due to her age (a carefully guarded and mysterious number) or that this new business venture, boarding teen “debutantes,” was to help supplement her retirement income. Those were strict family secrets and, despite DJ’s angst in living here, she did have a sense of family loyalty — -at least for the time being. She wasn’t sure if she could control herself indefinitely.
DJ stopped at the second-floor landing. “The bedrooms are on this floor, and the third floor has a ballroom that would be perfect for volleyball, although Grandmother has made it clear that it’s not that kind of ballroom.” She led Taylor down the hall. “My bedroom is here,” she pointed to the closed door. “And yours is right next door.” She opened the door. “The blue room.”
Taylor looked into the pale blue room and shook her head in a dismal way. “And is it true that I have to share this room with a perfect stranger?”
“Well, I don’t know how perfect she’ll be.”
“Funny.” Taylor rolled her eyes as she opened a door to one of the walk-in closets opposite the beds.
“I try.”
“It’s not as big as I expected.”
“It’s bigger than it looks,” said DJ as she walked into the room and then pointed to a small alcove that led to the bathroom.
“Do I get any say in who becomes my roommate?”
“I guess you can take that up with my grandmother.”
Taylor tossed her purse onto the bed closest to the bathroom and then kicked off her metallic-toned sandals. “These shoes might be Marc Jacobs, but they’re killing me.”
“So, you’re really into this?” asked DJ. “The whole fashion thing?”
Taylor sat down on the bed, rubbing a foot. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look good.”
DJ felt the need to bite her tongue. Taylor was her grandmother’s first official paying customer to arrive and participate in this crazy scheme. Far be it from DJ to rock Grandmother’s boat. At least not just yet.
“Well, thanks for the tour,” said Taylor in a bored voice. Then she went over to where a set of expensive-looking luggage was stacked in a corner. “Don’t the servants around here know how to put things away properly?”
“Properly?” DJ shrugged.
Taylor picked up the top bag and laid it down on the bench at the foot of one of the beds and opened it.
“Don’t you want to go down and tell your mom good-bye?” asked DJ as she moved toward the door.
Taylor laughed in a mean way. “And make her think she’s doing me a favor by dumping me here? Not on your life.”
“Here are some more bags for Miss Mitchell,” said Inez as she lugged two large suitcases into the room, setting them by the door.
“Put them over there,” commanded Taylor, pointing to the bench at the foot of the other bed. “And don’t pile them on top of each other. This happens to be Louis Vuitton, you know.”
DJ saw Inez make a face behind Taylor’s back. But the truth was DJ didn’t blame her. Inez might be a housekeeper, but she didn’t deserve to be treated like a slave. Suddenly, DJ felt guilty for snapping at Inez earlier today. She smiled now, and Inez looked surprised and a little suspicious. Then DJ grabbed the largest bag, hoisted it onto the bench with a loud grunt, and Taylor turned around and gave her a dark scowl.
“Thank you,” she snapped.
“Later,” said DJ as she exited the room with Inez on her heels.
“Mrs. Carter wants to see you downstairs, Desiree,” announced Inez when they were out on the landing.
“Again?” complained DJ. “What for?”
“Another girl just arrived. Your grandmother wants you to give her a tour too.”
“What am I now?” asked DJ. “The official tour guide?”
“That sounds about right.” Inez gave her a smirk.
DJ wasn’t sure if she could stomach another fashion diva with an attitude problem, but on the other hand, she didn’t want to risk another etiquette lecture from her grandmother either. Once again, she clomped down the stairs and made her appearance in the office, suppressing the urge to bow and say, “At your ser-vice, Madam.”
“Eliza,” gushed Grandmother, “This is my granddaughter, Desiree Lane. And Desiree, I’d like you to meet Eliza Wilton.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Desiree.”
DJ nodded. She could tell by how formal her grandmother was acting that Eliza Wilton must be someone really important — -meaning extraordinarily wealthy — -even more so than the Mitchells. And that’s when she remembered her grandmother going on about “the Wilton fortune” this morning at breakfast. Of course, that must be Eliza’s family.
“Nice to meet ya, Eliza,” DJ said in a purposely casual tone. This girl was pretty too, but not like Taylor’s dark and dramatic beauty. Eliza was a tall, slender, impeccably dressed, blue-eyed blonde. She wasn’t exactly a Paris Hilton clone — -and she didn’t have a little dog as far as DJ could see — -but there was a similarity, except that Eliza’s face was a little softer looking, a little sweeter, but then looks could be deceiving.
DJ wondered if the Botox was starting to wear off, as her grandmother studied her with a furrowed brow, probably comparing her to Miss Perfect Eliza. Naturally, DJ would not measure up.
“Eliza is from Louisville,” said Grandmother. “Her parents are presently residing in France, where her father just purchased a vineyard. But Eliza’s grandmother and I are old friends. We went to college together. When she heard about what I was doing up here in Connecticut, she encouraged her daughter to send dear Eliza our way.”
“Lucky Eliza,” said DJ in a droll tone.
Eliza actually giggled. Then Grandmother cleared her throat. “Desiree will give you a tour of the house,” she said. “And she’ll show you to your room.”
“Which is . . . ?” asked DJ.
“The rose room.”
Of course, thought DJ as she led Eliza from the office. Next to her grandmother’s suite, the rose room was probably the best room in the house. Naturally, someone as important as Eliza would be entitled to that. Not that DJ had wanted it. And perhaps her grandmother had actually offered it to her last month. DJ couldn’t remember. But she had never been a flowery sort of girl, and she knew the rose wallpaper in there would’ve been giving her a serious migraine by now. Besides she liked her sunny yellow bedroom and, in her opinion, it had the best view in the house. On a clear day, you could actually glimpse a sliver of the Atlantic Ocean from her small bathroom window.
DJ started to do a repeat of her earlier tour, even using the same lines, until she realized that Eliza was actually interested.
“How old is this house?”
“Just over a hundred years,” DJ told her. “It was built in 1891.”
“It has a nice feel to it.”
DJ considered this. “Yeah, I kinda thought that too, after I got used to it. To be honest, it seemed pretty big to me at first. But then you’re probably used to big houses.”
“I suppose. Not that I’m particularly fond of mansions.”
“Why aren’t you with your parents?” asked DJ. “In France?”
“They’re concerned about things like politics and security,” said Eliza as they exited the library. “In fact, they almost refused to let me come here.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I think they felt I was safer in boarding school. If our grandmothers hadn’t been such good friends, I’m sure they never would’ve agreed.”
“So, you’re happy to be here?” DJ studied Eliza’s expression.
“Sure, aren’t you?”
DJ frowned. “I don’t know . . . I guess.”
“I think it’ll be fun to go to a real high school, to just live like a normal girl, with other normal girls.”
DJ tried not to look too shocked. “You think this is normal?”
Eliza laughed. “I guess I don’t really know what normal is, but it’s more normal that what I’m used to.”
“But what about the whole fashion thing?” asked DJ. “I mean you must know about my grandmother’s plans to turn us all into little debutantes. Are you into all that?”
“That’s nothing new. Remember, I’m from the south. My family is obsessed with turning me into a lady. That was one of the other reasons my parents agreed to this. I think they see the Carter House as some sort of finishing school.”
Or some sort of reformatory school, thought DJ. Although she didn’t say it out loud. Not yet, anyway.
Review:
I generally don’t read this genre, so Mixed Bags was a bit out of my comfort zone. I had trouble understanding the girls’ mindsets and motives, and overall, preferred the guys in this book over the girls. Mixed Bags kept me entertained for a while, but I think I’ll be skipping the next book in this series. But maybe it’s just me.
Product Details:
List Price: $9.99
Paperback: 224 pages
Publisher: Zondervan (May 1, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0310714885
ISBN-13: 978-0310714880
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Jun. 13, 2008 If we are the body,
Wow. Haven't posted in a while.
Well! I'm just in from youth camp.
It was pretty awesome.
We rock climbed, swam in a creek,
rafted and swam the ocoee,
rode horses, mountain biked,
had swimming contests in the spring-fed pool,
praised God,
took pictures, line-danced (to really fast music)
and etc.!
Still, as fun as it was, I'm glad to be back.
At least the girls won't wake me up at 5 now.
Though I love my bunkmates, 5 am is not a good time for me.
And tomorrow will be fun too!
More soon.
-b- |
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Jun. 5, 2008 And over-analyze your words,
the truth is. I've never fallen so hard.
Wow. Haven't posted in forever.
Sorry about that.
We went to St.Louis for vacation.
It was awesome, except for the tornado
we almost got caught in.
Next week I go to Youth Camp.
Then the summer's pretty empty.
I haven't seen the new Indiana Jones movies yet,
but I desperately want to.
Prince Caspian was amazing, I've seen it twice.
I would go again, but there's always Indy.
Oh well.
Maybe I can see Prince Caspian again
and then see Indy.
Well, whatev.
More later.
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May. 21, 2008 House of Dark Shadows
and his book:
Thomas Nelson (May 6, 2008)
Robert Liparulo is an award-winning author of over a thousand published articles and short stories. He is currently a contributing editor for New Man magazine. His work has appeared in Reader's Digest, Travel & Leisure, Modern Bride, Consumers Digest, Chief Executive, and The Arizona Daily Star, among other publications. In addition, he previously worked as a celebrity journalist, interviewing Stephen King, Tom Clancy, Charlton Heston, and others for magazines such as Rocky Road, Preview, and L.A. Weekly. He has sold or optioned three screenplays.
Robert is an avid scuba diver, swimmer, reader, traveler, and a law enforcement and military enthusiast. He lives in Colorado with his wife and four children.
Here are some of his titles:
Comes a Horseman
Germ
Deadfall
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
“A house of which one knows every room isn't worth living in.”
—Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa
Prologue
Thirty years ago
The walls of the house absorbed the woman’s screams, until they felt to her as muffled and pointless as yelling underwater. Still, her lungs kept pushing out cries for help. Her attacker carried her over his shoulder. The stench of his sweat filled her nostrils. He paid no heed to her frantic writhing, or the pounding of her fists on his back, or even her fingernails, which dug furrows into his flesh. He simply lumbered, as steadily as a freight train, through the corridors of the big house.
She knew where they were heading, but not where she would end up. In this house, nothing was normal, nothing as it appeared. So while she knew in advance the turns her attacker would take, which hallways and doors he would traverse, their destination was as unknowable as a faraway galaxy. And that meant her taking would be untraceable. She would be unreachable to searchers. To would-be rescuers. To her family— and that realization terrified her more than being grabbed out of her bed. More than the flashes of imagined cruelty she would suffer away from the protection of the people who loved her. More than death.
But then she saw something more terrifying: her children, scrambling to catch up, to help. Their eyes were wide, streaming. They stumbled up the narrow staircase behind her attacker, seeming far below, rising to meet her. The thought of them following her into the chasm of her fate was more than she could stand.
“Go back,” she said, but by this time her throat was raw, her voice weak.
The man reached the landing and turned into another corridor.
Temporarily out of sight, her son yelled, “Mom!” His seven-year-old voice was almost lost in the shrillness of his panic. He appeared on the landing. His socked feet slipped on the hardwood floor and he went down. Behind him, his little sister stopped. She was frightened and confused, too young to do anything more than follow her brother. He clambered up and started to run again.
A hand gripped his shoulder, jarring him back.
The boy’s father had something in his fist: the lamp from his nightstand! He past the boy in the hallway. His bare feet gave him traction.
Thank God, she thought.
He reached her in seconds. With the lamp raised over his head, he grabbed her wrist. He pulled, tried to anchor himself to the floor, to the carpeted runner now covering the wood planks. But the brute under her walked on, tugging him with them. The man yanked on her arm. Pain flared in her shoulder. He might as well have tried pulling her from a car as it sped passed.
She caught a glimpse of the bizarrely shaped light fixtures on the corridor walls—mostly carved faces with glowing eyes. The bulbs flickered in time with her racing heart. She could not remember any of the lights doing that before. It was as though the electrical current running through the wires was responding to a disruption in the way things were supposed to be, a glitch in reality.
“Henry,” she said, pleading, hopeful.
His grip tightened as he stumbled along behind them. He brought the lamp’s heavy base down on her assailant. If the man carrying her flinched, she did not feel it. If he grunted or yelled out, she did not hear it.
What he did was stop. He spun around so quickly, the woman’s husband lost his grip on her. And now facing the other direction, she lost sight of him. Being suddenly denied her husband’s visage felt like getting the wind knocked out of her. She realized he was face to face with the man who’d taken her, and that felt like watching him step off a cliff.
“Nooo!” she screamed, her voice finding some volume. “Henry!”
His hand gripped her ankle, then broke free. The man under her moved in a violent dance, jostling her wildly. He spun again and her head struck the wall.
The lights went out completely . . . . but no, not the lights . . . her consciousness. It came back to her slowly, like the warmth of fire on a blistery day.
She tasted blood. She’d bitten her tongue. She opened her eyes. Henry was crumpled on the floor, receding as she was carried away. The children stood over him, touching him, calling him. Her son’s eyes found hers again. Determination hardened his jaw, pushed away the fear . . . at least a measure of it. He stepped over his father’s legs, coming to her rescue. Henry raised his head, weary, stunned. He reached for the boy, but missed.
Over the huffing breath of the man, the soft patter of her son’s feet reached her ears. How she’d loved that sound, knowing it was bringing him to her. Now she wanted it to carry him away, away from this danger. Her husband called to him in a croaking, strained voice. The boy kept coming.
She spread her arms. Her left hand clutched at open air, but the right one touched a wall. She clawed at it. Her nails snagged the wallpaper. One nail peeled back from her finger and snapped off.
Her assailant turned again, into a room—one of the small antechambers, like a mud room before the real room. He strode straight toward the next threshold.
Her son reached the first door, catching it as it was closing.
“Mom!” Panic etched old-man lines into his young face. His eyes appeared as wide as his mouth. He banged his shoulder on the jamb, trying to hurry in.
“Stay!” she said. She showed him her palms in a “stop” gesture, hoping he would understand, hoping he would obey. She took in his face, as a diver takes in a deep breath before plunging into the depths. He was fully in the antechamber now, reaching for her with both arms, but her captor had already opened the second door and was stepping through. The door was swinging shut behind him.
The light they were stepping into was bright. It swept around her, through the opening, and made pinpoints of the boy’s irises. His blue eyes dazzled. His cheeks glistened with tears. He wore his favorite pajamas—little R2D2s and C3P0s all over them, becoming threadbare and too small for him.
“I—“ she started, meaning to say she loved him, but the brute bounded downward, driving his shoulder into her stomach. Air rushed from her, unformed by vocal chords, tongue, lips. Just air.
“Moooom!” her son screamed. Full of despair. Reaching. Almost to the door.
“Mo—“
The door closed, separating her from her family forever.
1
Now
Saturday, 4:55 P.M.
“Nothing but trees,” the bear said in Xander’s voice. It repeated itself: “Nothing but trees.”
Xander King turned away from the car window and stared into the smiling furry face, with its shiny half-bead eyes and stitched-on nose. He said, “I mean it, Toria. Get that thing out of my face. And turn it off.”
His sister’s hands moved quickly over the teddy bear’s paws, all the while keeping it suspended three inches in front of Xander. The bear said, “I mean it, Toria. Get that—”
At fifteen years old, Xander was too old to be messing around with little-kid toys. He seized the bear, squeezing the paw that silenced it.
“Mom!” Toria yelled. ”Make him give Wuzzy back!” She grabbed for it.
Xander turned away from her, tucking Wuzzy between his body and the car door. Outside his window, nothing but trees—as he had said and Wuzzy had agreed. It reminded him of a movie, as almost everything did. This time, it was The Edge, about a bear intent on eating Anthony Hopkins. An opening shot of the wilderness where it was filmed showed miles and miles of lush forest. Nothing but trees.
A month ago, his dad had announced that he had accepted a position as principal of a school six hundred miles away, and the whole King family had to move from the only home Xander had ever known. It was a place he had never even heard of: Pinedale, almost straight north from their home in Pasadena. Still in California, but barely. Pinedale. The name itself said “hick,” “small,” and “If you don’t die here, you’ll wish you had.” Of course, he had screamed, begged, sulked, and threatened to run away. But in the end here he was, wedged in the back seat with his nine-year-old sister and twelve-year-old brother.
The longer they drove, the thicker the woods grew and the more miserable he became. It was bad enough, leaving his friends, his school—everything!—but to be leaving them for hicksville, in the middle of nowhere, was a stake through his heart.
“Mom!” Toria yelled again, reaching for the bear.
Xander squeezed closer to the door, away from her. He must have put pressure on the bear in the wrong place: It began chanting in Toria’s whiny voice: “Mom! Mom! Mom!”
He frantically squeezed Wuzzy’s paws, but could not make it stop.
“Mom! Mom! Mom!”
The controls in the bear’s arms weren’t working. Frustrated by its continuous one-word poking at his brain—and a little concerned he had broken it and would have to buy her a new one—he looked to his sister for help.
She wasn’t grabbing for it anymore. Just grinning. One of those see-what-happens-when-you-mess-with-me smiles.
“Mom! Mom! Mom!”
Xander was about to show her what happened when you messed with him—the possibilities ranged from a display of his superior vocal volume to ripping Mr. Wuzzy’s arms right off—when the absurdity of it struck him. He cracked up.
“I mean it,” he laughed. “This thing is driving me crazy.” He shook the bear at her. It continued yelling for their mother.
His brother David, who was sitting on the other side of Toria and who had been doing a good job of staying out of the fight, started laughing too. He mimicked the bear, who was mimicking their sister: “Mom! Mom! Mom!”
Mrs. King shifted around in the front passenger seat. She was smiling, but her eyes were curious.
“Xander broke Wuzzy!” Toria whined. “He won’t turn off.” She pulled the bear out of Xander’s hands.
The furry beast stopped talking: “Mo—” Then, blessed silence.
Toria looked from brother to brother and they laugh again.
Xander shrugged. “I guess he just doesn’t like me.”
“He only likes me,” Toria said, hugging it.
“Oh, brother,” David said. He went back to the PSP game that had kept him occupied most of the drive.
Mom raised her eyebrows at Xander and said, “Be nice.”
Xander rolled his eyes. He adjusted his shoulders and wiggled his behind, nudging Toria. “It’s too cramped back here. It may be an SUV, but it isn’t big enough for us anymore.”
“Don’t start that,” his father warned from behind the wheel. He angled the rearview mirror to see his son.
“What?” Xander said, acting innocent.
“I did the same thing with my father,” Dad said. “The car’s too small . . . it uses too much gas . . . it’s too run down . . . ”
Xander smiled. “Well, it is.”
“And if we get a new car, what should we do with this one?”
“Well . . . .” Xander said. “You know. It’d be a safe car for me.” A ten-year-old Toyota 4Runner wasn’t his idea of cool wheels, but it was transportation.
Dad nodded. “Getting you a car is something we can talk about, okay? Let’s see how you do.”
“I have my driver’s permit. You know I’m a good driver.”
“He is,” Toria chimed in.
David added, “And then he can drive us to school.”
“I didn’t mean just the driving,” Dad said. He paused, catching Xander’s eyes in the mirror. “I mean with all of this, the move and everything.”
Xander stared out the window again. He mumbled, “Guess I’ll never get a car, then.”
“Xander?” Dad said. “I didn’t hear that.”
“Nothing.”
“He said he’ll never get a car,” Toria said.
Silence. David’s thumbs clicked furiously over the PSP buttons. Xander was aware of his mom watching him. If he looked, her eyes would be all sad-like, and she would be frowning in sympathy for him. He thought maybe his dad was looking too, but only for an opportunity to explain himself again. Xander didn’t want to hear it. Nothing his old man said would make this okay, would make ripping him out of his world less awful than it was.
“Dad, is the school’s soccer team good? Did they place?” David asked. Xander knew his brother wasn’t happy about the move either, but jumping right into the sport he was so obsessed about went a long way toward making the change something he could handle. Maybe Xander was like that three years ago, just rolling with the punches. He couldn’t remember. But now he had things in his life David didn’t: friends who truly mattered, ones he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with. Kids didn’t think that way. Friends could come and go and they adjusted. True, Xander had known his current friends for years, but they hadn’t become like blood until the last year or so.
That got him thinking about Danielle. He pulled his mobile phone from his shirt pocket and checked it. No text messages from her. No calls. She hadn’t replied to the last text he’d sent. He keyed in another: “Forget me already? JK.” But he wasn’t Just Kidding. He knew the score: Out of sight, out of mind. She had said all the right things, like We’ll talk on the phone all the time; You come down and see me and I’ll come up to see you, okay? and I’ll wait for you.
Yeah, sure you will, he thought. Even during the past week, he’d sensed a coldness in her, an emotional distancing. When he’d told his best friend, Dean had shrugged. Trying to sound world-wise, he’d said, “Forget her, dude. She’s a hot young babe. She’s gotta move on. You too. Not like you’re married, right?” Dean had never liked Danielle.
Xander tried to convince himself she was just another friend he was forced to leave behind. But there was a different kind of ache in his chest when he thought about her. A heavy weight in his stomach.
Stop it! he told himself. He flipped his phone closed.
On his mental list of the reasons to hate the move to Pinedale, he moved on to the one titled “career.” He had just started making short films with his buddies, and was pretty sure it was something he would eventually do for a living. They weren’t much, just short skits he and his friends acted out. He and Dean wrote the scripts, did the filming, used computer software to edit an hour of video into five-minute films, and laid music over them. They had six already on YouTube—with an average rating of four-and-a-half stars and a boatload of praise. Xander had dreams of getting a short film into the festival circuit, which of course would lead to offers to do music videos and commercials, probably an Oscar and onto feature movies starring Russell Crowe and Jim Carrey. Pasadena was right next to Hollywood, a twenty-minute drive. You couldn’t ask for a better place to live if you were the next Steven Spielberg. What in God’s creation would he find to film in Pinedale? Trees, he thought glumly, watching them fly past his window.
Dad, addressing David’s soccer concern, said, “We’ll talk about it later.”
Mom reached through the seatbacks to shake Xander’s knee. “It’ll work out,” she whispered.
“Wait a minute,” David said, understanding Dad-talk as well as Xander did. “Are you saying they suck—or that they don’t have a soccer team? You told me they did!”
“I said later, Dae.” His nickname came from Toria’s inability as a toddler to say David. She had also called Xander Xan, but it hadn’t stuck.
David slumped down in his seat.
Xander let the full extent of his misery show on his face for his mother.
She gave his knee a shake, sharing his misery. She was good that way. “Give it some time,” she whispered. “You’ll make new friends and find new things to do. Wait and see.”
Review:
I'll just go ahead and say it: I loved this book. From the first page, I was enthralled. Fast-paced and full of surprising plot twists, it held my attention to the last. The characters were believable, if a bit melodramatic (but what teenager isn't?), and the settings were suitably dark. It was very easy to get into the story. In fact, when my mom knocked on my door halfway through the book, I jumped, fully expecting it to be one of the characters from the book. I would reccomend this book to people who enjoy sci-fi, fantasy, traditional ghost stories, and anyone else who enjoys a good book. Be warned, though. It's rather dark, and it may scare some people.
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May. 16, 2008 I'd always choose,
my friends over you.
Yeehaw!
I'm going to see Prince Caspian tonight.
It'll be lots of fun!
I have Honor Society today too.
Which isn't as fun.
But I'll survive until seven.
Also,
yesterday was my last day of Spanish 2.
I'm gonna miss all my classmates!!
It was the third best class I'd ever had,
first being Mr.Broom's, when we studied World War 1
and had to build trenches out of desks, army crawl into the room after lunch,
and stay entrenched or risk being hit in the head with a "bullet" (little erasers)
and sometimes wear our "gas masks" [those dust masks you wear when cleaning or mowing.]
Second being either Mrs.O'Kelley's or Mrs.Free's,
because Mrs. Free had a sock hop, a pioneer journey,
a time machine history lesson in which we built a time machine,
and an Around the World Christmas.
But Mrs.O'Kelley was just awesome.
And week after next,
we go to St.Louis!
I cannot wait.
Plus, I found a cool band called "New Found Glory"
andI'm loving them.
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May. 11, 2008 Failure's Not Flattering,
Mm. Haven't updated in a while.
Well, I'm currently sick. It's a throat infection.
Blehh.
I never finished talking about Down Home Days?
Oopsie.
Well, it was pretty much awesome.
But no one would buy me a bunny.
We never got a walking taco, but we went to Cici's.
The Elvis Shortcake would have been delicious,
and the junk from Coco Bongo's was not exotic at all.
But the Hawaiian Ice was yummy,
as were the cookies at church.
I talked to a bunch of people,
and watched everyone climb the rock wall.
The marching band was great-as usual.
The concert was country music, so I didn't go.
Still, it was awesome.
Anyway, we're seeing Prince Caspian on Friday!
Kaelan's gotta buy Taylor's ticket. Wonder if he'd buy mine?
Either way...
Also! Best Royai moment ever:
Royai! Yayness!
Yup.
That's all for today.
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May. 4, 2008 If you want communication,
A poem!
By me!
The title is tentative...
but tell me what you think!
It has a story behind it...
but it's too long to type out.
But, anyways!
Static
Shut up, stop babbling.
All you’re doing is causing a scene
And I thought that’s what
you were trying to avoid.
Stop it, I’m not listening,
I can’t decode the mixed signals you’re sending.
You’ve jumbled the words and hidden the meanings,
I think I’ll stop trying to understand.
Listen up, I’ll say this now,
you can’t stop, you don’t know how,
we should throw on the brakes and walk away,
But we both know we’ll end up right here again.
Say it, you don’t mean it
I’ll call your bluffs, you call my hits,
We both know what you mean,
Even if we don’t speak.
Hold on, did you mean what you said,
Or was it a message I misread?
You seem to be the now or never type,
And now is turning into never, what do we do then?
The end; it’s over.
There’s no time left at all,
we’ve built ourselves up so high,
we’re broken from the fall.
Anyway, yesterday was Down Home Days! It was amazing!
No one bought me a bunny though, which is sad.
Alex would've...but my bunny was gone.
Also, I got shaved ice
complimented random people
got some lemonade from a little kid's lemonade stand,
harrassed the Gordon Lee Band
worked in the rain
danced to YMCA in the middle of the street
went to Cici's Pizza
ate ribbon fries
and much more, coming soon!
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May. 2, 2008 She's a lady...
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Oh my gosh!
I just got robbed.
No, seriously.
My cell phone must have fallen out of my pocket,
because next thing I know, this group of middle school boys had it
and one yelled
"Here lady, your cell phone"
or something along those lines
and goes to hand it to me.
But another takes it and pretended to run off with it
and the guy who handed it to me "rescued it"
and gave it back to me
the whole time they were calling me lady!
I feel strangely satisfied.
It's certianly a life experience I won't forget!
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Apr. 22, 2008 and my way, my way with words!
We got photoshop!
For free!
Now, I'm not really that good yet, since we've only had it a few days.
But I've seen my friend Taylor work with it enough that I can do basic things.
Like make signatures for forums.
I made a blog header for my mother yesterday
and a signature with Bella and Edward from Twilight.
Not bad for a first try, eh?
In other news, we saw 21 the other day.
Good movie. It inspired us.
We decided to go to the mall in absurd costumes and act like we don't know each other,
introduce ourselves by fake names, and give each other secret hand signals.
My alias is Never Wilbanks.
I work at a tabloid, and my motto is:
Never Gets It Right!
yeah...
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Apr. 21, 2008 Chosen (The Teen FIRST review)
It's April 21st, time for the Teen FIRST blog tour!(Join our alliance! Click the button!) Every 21st, we will feature an author and his/her latest Teen fiction book's FIRST chapter!
and his book:
Thomas Nelson (January 1, 2008)
 Ted is the son of missionaries John and Helen Dekker, whose incredible story of life among headhunters in Indonesia has been told in several books. Surrounded by the vivid colors of the jungle and a myriad of cultures, each steeped in their own interpretation of life and faith, Dekker received a first-class education on human nature and behavior. This, he believes, is the foundation of his writing.
After graduating from a multi-cultural high school, he took up permanent residence in the United States to study Religion and Philosophy. After earning his Bachelor's Degree, Dekker entered the corporate world in management for a large healthcare company in California. Dekker was quickly recognized as a talent in the field of marketing and was soon promoted to Director of Marketing. This experience gave him a background which enabled him to eventually form his own company and steadily climb the corporate ladder.
Since 1997, Dekker has written full-time. He states that each time he writes, he finds his understanding of life and love just a little clearer and his expression of that understanding a little more vivid. To see a complete list of Dekker's work, visit The Works section of TedDekker.com.
Here are some of his latest titles:
Adam
Black: The Birth of Evil (The Circle Trilogy Graphic Novels, Book 1)
Saint
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
 beginnings
Our story begins in a world totally like our own, yet completely different. What once happened here in our own history seems to be repeating itself thousands of years from now,
some time beyond the year 4000 AD.
But this time the future belongs to those who see opportunity before it becomes obvious. To the young, to the warriors, to the lovers. To those who can follow hidden clues and find a great
treasure that will unlock the mysteries of life and wealth.
Thirteen years have passed since the lush, colored forests were turned to desert by Teeleh, the enemy of Elyon and the vilest of all creatures. Evil now rules the land and shows itself as a painful, scaly disease that covers the flesh of the Horde, a people who live in the desert.
The powerful green waters, once precious to Elyon, have vanished from the earth except in seven small forests surrounding seven small lakes. Those few who have chosen to follow the ways of Elyon now live in these forests, bathing once daily in the powerful waters to cleanse their skin of the disease.
The number of their sworn enemy, the Horde, has grown in thirteen years and, fearing the green waters above all else, these desert dwellers have sworn to wipe all traces of the forests from
the earth.
Only the Forest Guard stands in their way. Ten thousand elite fighters against an army of nearly four hundred thousand Horde. But the Forest Guard is starting to crumble.
one
Day One
Qurong, general of the Horde, stood on the tall dune five miles west of the green forest, ignoring the fly that buzzed around his left eye.
His flesh was nearly white, covered with a paste that kept his skin from itching too badly. His long hair was pulled back and woven into dreadlocks, then tucked beneath the leather body armor
cinched tightly around his massive chest.
“Do you think they know?” the young major beside him asked.
Qurong’s milky white horse, chosen for its ability to blend with the desert, stamped and snorted.
The general spit to one side. “They know what we want them to know,” he said. “That we are gathering for war. And that we will march from the east in four days.”
“It seems risky,” the major said. His right cheek twitched, sending three flies to flight.
“Their forces are half what they once were. As long as they think we are coming from the east, we will smother them from the west.”
“The traitor insists that they are building their forces,” the major said.
“With young pups!” Qurong scoffed.
“The young can be crafty.”
“And I’m not? They know nothing about the traitor. This time we will kill them all.”
Qurong turned back to the valley behind him. The tents of his third division, the largest of all Horde armies, which numbered well over three hundred thousand of the most experienced warriors, stretched out nearly as far as he could see.
“We march in four days,” Qurong said. “We will slaughter them from the west.”
Review:
I did not get to read this book because I joined a little late, which is really annoying, because any book with the word "slaughter" in the first chapter is my kind of book. I will be reviewing all books after this, however.
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Apr. 11, 2008 Petals drop from tips of roses,
Well, I really have nothing exciting happening
so I'll just post this lovely picture I drew yesterday
after I finished "BlueBird's Illusion"
(a fan FMA game, only 100 copies ever made. I found an online version)
I ended up turning Ed into Pride.
Any way you play, Alphonse dies, so...
Anyway! Here's my picture of
Winry Rockbell
in Edward Elric's Black Coat
and here's an actual picture of Winry, for comparison:
My picture isn't much like the one above, but I cannot for the life of me find a good quality picture of Winry in the manga, which is what I was basing it on.
Anyhow, I have an Ed picture which goes along with my Winry picture, so I'll be uploading it later. Maybe then I'll bring out that old picture of Ren from Shaman King. Haha. As soon as I'm done drawing Havoc...
Eventually I plan to have a story to go along with the FullMetal pictures. But like I keep saying, eventually.
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Mar. 31, 2008 If you want to be the one he's thinking of,
Here's another tag, done in the bored hours of the day when I'm still recuperating from my surgery. And from falling off of the fourwheeler. But that's another story. Anyway, here's a tag I stole from Gacktfangirl:
Whats Your Favorite:
Shirt: Hmm. I really like the blue one that Ty always steals, but I think the grey Rock Lee one is my most comfortable. As for long sleeve shirts, my red one that says "Love" in gothic lettering is awesome too.
Shoes: My red preppy ones are my current favorites, followed by my black ones with the bows.
Color: Red, Blue, and shades of Yellow.
Food: Barbeque Potato Chips and Popcorn. No contest.
Drink: Cherry Coke. It's addicting.
Smell: Um, I don't really know. I mean, I do, but I can't describe it, it's that natural sweet smell some people have. Pheremones?
Car: Ford Mustang, preferably red.
Animal: Cat-any sort. And pandas.
Season: Summer, because it's awesome.
And fall because I can bother my band friends all I want. Ahaha.
Holiday: Christmas or my birthday.
Book: The Hollow Kingdom Trilogy, Tithe, Valiant, and Ironside, and The Faerie Chronicles. FMA mangas, Shaman King, Imadoki Nowadays, and Final Fantasy. also, .//hack. And House of the Scorpion. And...the list goes on for ages. Haha.
Number: 3. I don't know why.
Band: I don't have a favorite band, but I like pretty much everything except country. I even listen to celtic. Haha, Celtic Rock...
Singer: David Archuleta. He is the awesomest.
CD: TieDie and Alex Loves Sassie Soup
(CDs burned for me by my friend. I didn't name them, don't ask.)
Song: Hmm. I like Kryptonite, You're the Voice, Holding Out for a Hero, Bye Bye Beautiful, Code Monkey, and many many many more.
Sport: Hmm. I don't really do sports, but basketball and football. Basketball is for number 4. Football...go number 88!!!!
Basketball team: Um, Gordon Lee? ...*sweats*
Basketball player: Huh? Number 4, Maryville. His name's Andrew. hahaha. That was a great great day.
Football team: Georgia Bulldogs and Tennessee Volunteers. Go...Volundogs!
Football player: Number 88. No question about it.
Baseball team: Huh? what is this sport you speak of?
Baseball player: Haha. You expect me to...answer...that?
TV Show: FMA, Project Runway, American Idol (DAVID ARCHULETA IS THE PWNSOMEST!), Naruto, Boondocks (let's kidnap Oprah!), Robot Chicken(dance dance counterrevolution) and...A:TLA and...Teen Titans..
Video game: Final Fantasy. There is no other.
Phrase: Dude. Quick it up.
Super hero: Does Raven from Teen Titans count?
Super Villain: hmm. So, so many.
Movie: Rent, Enchanted, Anna and the King, 12 and Holding, Tristan and Isolde, I Am Legend (don't remember much about it, I talked through the entire movie haha)
Animated movie: Howls moving castle, FMA The movie, And pretty much any Final Fantasy movie, plus Teen Titans:Trouble in Tokyo, Naruto: Ninja Clash in the Land of Snow, Samurai X, Princess Mononoke, um...
Movie trilogy: I dunno. They make movie trilogies?
Actor: Hmm. So many choices!
Actress: Again, I have no idea.
Yeah, feel free to steal this tag. I did. Haha.
(and to anyone who's been wondering, I've been getting the titles of all my posts from lyrics of songs I listen to. Today's lyrics are from "Bridge and Tunnel" by The Honorary Title.) |
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Mar. 28, 2008 When friends and lovers, landlords, and your own blood cells betray.
Ow. Ow. Ow.
I had my wisdom teeth taken out today.
What a joyous way to begin spring break, eh?
Even though I'm suffering through an obscene craving for french fries
and the restraints of a liquid diet
(which prompted my mom to buy me a "World Class Chocolate" milkshake
from Baskin Robbins, although that might have been to try to make me stop
crying from anasthesia. The milkshake was good though, so no complaints there.)
Luckliy, my other friends have better fortunes, and great sympaty for me.
Alex is sending me a picture of him at the beach in Panama City
and possibly bringing me back a sea shell
if he's not too busy keeping our other friend, Ryan, out of trouble. 
Taylor has nothing to do
and is coming over to watch TV with me
and suffer through a liquid diet with me.
when I feel better, she intends to drag me out to do something exciting
for our first spring break of high school.
But knowing us, it'll be excitingly stupid
like plugging a hair straightener into the sockets
on the lightposts in our downtown
and filming a comercial or something.
I always knew there was a reason she was my best friend.
Haha.
Kaelan will be at his dad's most of the week,
but he offered to buy me a cherry coke next time we're out anywhere.
That's an extremely nice gesture from him, which is odd in itself,
but it's even stranger because that he will never buy me a cherry coke.
He'll buy me regular coke, but never cherry coke,
because I only drink cherry coke as a developed taste
due to the fact that most of my friends who steal my food
hate cherry coke.
And that included him until very recently.
In other news, I just read Tithe, Valiant, and Ironside by Holly Black.
Those are really good books!
Not as good as Wicked, but good nonetheless.
Also, Rent is ending it's twelve year run on Broadway in June,
which is very depressing as I actually wanted to see it onBroadway one day.
I mean, the movie is amazing, but I'd still like to see the original.
Same with Wicked, it's not ending it's run,
but without the original cast,
it has no chance in my mind.
Plus, who's going to get me to Broadway?
Maybe I can just see "Chicago"
it's cool, and in town.
Hmm...
Well, happy spring break to those of you that get it this week/next week!
I hope you have fun and ABSOLUTELY NO TEETH PULLINGS!
Haha. Oh yeah, and to all you who don't get spring break soon...
Have a happy week anyway!
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Mar. 17, 2008 My pulse is flat-lined as I'm running towards you...
Friday night, we went to the Follies-
the talent competition for the local school system.
It was pretty awesome, I I do say so.
Four renditions of "Tim McGraw" by Taylor Swift
kind of ruined it, but...
Jonathan, my friend's brother, did yo-yo tricks.
He should have placed, he had yo-yo's flying everywhere.
Seriously, he even had one that came off the string
and he'd catch it on the string in midair!
There was another guy, Tyler L., who played
"Don't Call Me Peanut"
by Bayside
on his guitar, and sang. He did well-should've placed, too.
Ashley, captain of the colorguard, did a colorguard routine on stage.
Three dances, twirling of sabers, flag, and rifles, and plenty of dramatic posing.
She got third. I wouldn't have thought...I mean, she always wins first.
However, first was captured this year by a guy who had too much testosterone
and a song about loving the south and shooting squirrels.
Ugh. Honestly, that's how you can tell it's a Georgia talent show.
He also got a contract to sing country and gospel at the local tractor show.
What an accomplishment!
Second place went to a guy who did bike tricks on stage.
He deserved it, of course. He flung his bike between bleachers
rode it up bleachers, jumped on stage from a standstill, and everything else.
There were some other acts, of course-some more singing, and some more instrumentals.
By the time the show was over, I knew all the words to at least three Taylor Swift songs-
something I don't really enjoy.
Anyway, after that, my friend's mom, who had given us tickets to begin with took us to McDonald's for ice cream. It was really fun!
(the band must sell them, and Taylor M. is in colorguard, so her mom is a band booster.)
(most band students sell their tickets to people and do something interesting that night, but TM decided to go with us, and Ty, TM and I were there for like, three hours.)
The next day, we went and got Ty's hair cut.
Then we went to McDonald's, and to WalMart.
Later, we went to Walmart again, this time with Laura, because we had been told the wrong movie time,
then Laura's mom took us to Fazoli's!
We had some cool discussions about spiking spaghetti with cinamon and giving it to Jonathan, Laura's brother, the risque romance novels at walmart, and how that the book Inkheart would always reming us of Alex and Jordan trying to conduct a wedding ceremony for Kaelan and Taylor in Mr.Broom's class,
and Mr. Broom condoning allowing it!
We then saw 10,000 BC.
Good movie.
I ended up getting home around midnight!
Can't wait for this weekend-
Ty's birthday!
I made a music video for her,
and I have to go over around 2 to help Lynn blow up balloons!
It's gonna be great!
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Mar. 4, 2008 ¨just like yesterday, tomorrow is far away...
Well, it's time for this week's rambling session!
Topic:
anything and everything I can think of!
First off, David Archuleta-again.
He did extraordainarily well this wekk,
but last week he was unbelievably Heavenly
so it sounded kind of lame in comparison.
But, he deserves to go on, because for one,
he can sing well,
secondly,
he's so sweet and kind,
three,
he can sing well,
and oh, did I mention he can sing?
Secondly- I have a newfound obsession.
Final Fantasy.
I mean, I was already really into the movies
and the shipping and the plotline
and I'd played a little bit before,
enough to know about Yuna and Tidus
and Cloud and Aerith
and all that stuff.
You know, the who's dating who saving who
killing who until they all fall down.
But oh my gah.
I found Crystal Chronicles, which is for Gamecube.
And I am hooked. You can barely tear me away from it.
I've beaten four out of five years of caravan,
I have a fave guy named Striker,
who is a white cap Clavat.
I've beaten all but two levels as him,
with a little help from Carter the bandanna Selkie
and Linear the Wolife Selkie
and, oh, Raven the Long-haired girl Clavat.
Thanksies to Alex for the help with the Goblin's Lair...
ahahahaha. I can so totally beat him now,
Also, um,
Vote David Archuleta,
he's still amazing.
Play Final Fantasy,
it will have you addicted.
Read .hack//
it's almost as cool as Final Fantasy
(but not quite)
And, more coming as soon as I can think of it!
WooT.
Of crumbled inns, few reminisce,
its faulty beams will not be missed.
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Mar. 4, 2008 Oh noes! Don't vote off David Archuleta!!!
Fave color:
-Red or Navy. I'm not sure.
Least fave color:
-um, maroon and nasty purple.
Color of your pants:
-pink and grey and white.
they're pajama pants.
Color of your shirt:
-grey with a black sketch on it. It's cute.
Color of your fave CD:
-white, it's a burned CD. shh.
Color of your dream car:
-red. and it's a mustang. yeahh.
Color you want your mom to dye her hair:
-neon orange. Ahahaha! Just kidding.
Color of your computer:
-silver-grey
Color of your best friend’s brother’s eyes:
-none of my best friends have brothers. They all have sisters.
I'll just name my best friends' eye colors:
Taylor-grey
Kaelan-Hazel
Alex-dark dark brown. They're gorgeous, cause they look like mine. hehe.
Lindzie-hazel
Color of your dream pet Zebra:
-red and grey. That's good, I guess.
Color of your phone/ipod:
-white cell phone. it looks like an ipod haha
whit Mp3 player, too. Still good.
Color of the last thing you ate: -lettuce colored. Why is this relevant?
Find what color you answered with the most, divide it by blue: grey...becomes... huh?That is your lucky color. You MUST tag as many ppl as there are letters in this color, if you do not, you may turn that color for the rest of your life. I tag: -POTCgirl
AshW
blessed with 2 angels (mom...) |
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Mar. 1, 2008 A short note put in by your mother which will be quickly erased, I'm sure
Feb. 28, 2008 Wow, that's kind of...
Haha. Wow.
My last blog post was where I kind of went off topic about how Alex resembles David Archuleta, but not much...and of course, using my propaganda skills, I picked the exact pictures they don't look alike to prove my point. Of course, this has to be the post picked up by The Insider....
So like a good friend, I show Alex the posts...
and he starts raving about how now everyone can see how he looks like David Archuleta...
So I told him how that everytime David got a compliment, Alex's opinion of how much he looks like him goes up.
(His sisters agree with me on that point, though. )
But it's cool I got featured, even for such a stupid thing...
though the fact I hate American Idol might not go over well,
seeing as I just bought Idol merchandise?
Eh, call me a hypocrite....
but it's fun, either way.
Anyway! This weekend, my granparents are having their anniversay dinner...yay?
I don't see the thrill of going out to the Epicurean with five grandkids and the adults,
but each to his own I guess!
The only thing is, it's interfering with mine and Ty's skating plans.
Normally, no big deal, but,
we've been trying to go skating for three months
(well, longer, but three months of actual planning-somehting we hardly ever do)
and something always comes up!
This weekend is no exception.
Also, I was thinking about inviting my friend Zan over to play video games,
but forgot to call him until right now, and it's probably too late,
although Mrs.Darla would probably send him over anyhow.
That kind of stinks, 'cause he's hilarious when you actually get him to talk.
I think last time he was over, I tried to shoot him with a nerf gun...or was it a cap gun I had?
eh, whatever. He can do an awesome British accent!
Well, I better eat...ugh, taco night.
I hate tacos.
Maybe I'll just eat some BBQ chips and act like I like the tacos?
Yeah, I really hope my mom doesn't read this... |
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