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"Here's the day you hoped would never come, Don't feed me violins
just run with me through rows of speeding cars.
The papercuts, the cheating lovers, The coffee's never strong enough
i know you think it's more than just bad luck

There there baby, it's just text book stuff
it's in the ABC of growing up
Now, now darling, oh don't lose your head
cause none of us were angels, and you know I love you yeah

Sleeping pills know sleeping dogs lie never far enough away
Glistening in the cold sweat of guilt
I've watched you slowly winding down for years, You can't keep on like this...
now's a bad a time as any

There there baby, it's just text book stuff
it's in the ABC of growing up
Now now darling, oh don't kill yourself
cause none of us were angels, and you know I love you"
-Imogen Heap

I never thought I'd be one of those people, with one of those stupid little testimonials, stressing out because I had a friend leave me over something as personal as a sex change. To be honest, I always thought my friends were better than that--- Always thought I made better choices. Guess I was wrong.

But I'd never be as low as spitting on her, telling her she was a 'fake lesbian' after
I found out she willingly made out with my fiance. Sober.

I won't say I'm not happy-- at least that it happened when it did. I have other friends now that aren't five years old. I won't lie-- it was a good run. Glad I was a great a substitution to her as she was to me. Still, never touched ground with anything Sam had in my life. To this day I miss her, with Lindsey, it's only been a few hours and I'm already over it. But maybe it's because there was more closure. Who knows. Maybe if I could've told Sam off when I was sober things would be------- No wait. I wouldn't have told Sam off sober. Because she never deserved it. A hug and a "I'll miss you" would've been fine enough. Even if we were mad. Not with Lindsey. "Go fuck yourself, have a nice life." was perfect.

Fairly well, journal of live.
I'll be ditching this journal in a bit. I've been planning on doing so for a while. I just don't see the point of it-- these days I don't have much news, other than good things that may happen. And to be honest, despite my few posts-- not much whining to do either. Everything is much better--- it's time to move on. Time to stop using this as a portal to talking to people I've blocked everywhere else. I know they read these--- I'm not stupid. If they didn't read them-- why would I make new entries?

I've made all the points I want to make. Said all the things I've needed to say.

I'll be making a blogspot for my art and writing only. A place where I can put my sketches, work, etc. Won't be a personal word in sight. I'll be posting the link to there shortly-- if anyone would be interested. Doubtful, since many of the friends that watch this journal are online-dead now.



I drew one today.


I've been working balls to walls on my stupid website


8( Feel free to check out my progress--- but it isn't finished yet. Figured I'd just let everyone know why the hell i haven't said much in the last 48 hours.

Im gonna go pick up the house nao.


I guess I owe some kind of an update :O

Where to begin... ah yes, Anna!
MWEEEE Anna comes up soon. Which, I am bery excited about-- by the way. It will be so good to get to talk with an old friend. Mrrr.... We're going to Mackinac City for a day--- muss around and buy some fudge. And aside from that I'm hoping to just spend alot of relaxation time together <33

Also, I will probably have to get her shitfaced, of course. I'd be stupid and selfish not to! ;P

Mr. Fucking Diddles.
Blake's stupid cat. I hate it. That is all.

We got rid of my poofy kitty cat--- my sweet, sweet, lovey cakes-- thinking that it was -him- pissing in our new house. (Aside from the fact mrs.asscancer next door didnt like it when he was put outside, and called animal control on us.... oh btw, we just found out she has dementia. That explains alot). Only to find out-- that--- ITS FUCKING MR.DIDDLES. You know. I probably wouldnt mind cleaning up after this cat as much if she let me hold her and rub her belly every once in a while..... But she hates me, and won't even let me come near her.

I can't take her to the pound. No.... I cannot take a -second- cat to the pound. Especiallly because well, unlike Zero, she is uglier than fucking sin, and she'd never get adopted. We even spend like hundreds of dollars on this stupid special cat litter that's supposed to be "no miss"

Right, right, right.....

Whatever. So mad.

My ass is raw from kissing.
So I uploaded that silly 'cat drawing' commission. "Rasche Luft" Yeah... you know the one i'm talking about.

Five minutes after uploading it to DeviantART it's on the front page with 500 favorites. This is, more favorites, mind you, than MOST of my deviations. By the end of the day, it sat at 968 faves, and got me about 100+ new fans.

Aside from what any other artist will tell you--- Yes, I pay attention, yes I get hugely flattered at favorites. I'm not going to fucking lie. It was pretty fucking awesome. However.... I'm still trying to figure out -how-. Because to be honest--- I didn't think it was that great? there are only a select few of pieces i actually -like- and...IUNNO MAN IUNNO.

It's weird. That something like that.... would get -that- kind of attention. o.o I just dont understand D8

FTM Crap
So i officially have to "run home" to use the bathroom. Should I be proud? LOL I'm not sure. But I'm officially scared of 'not passing' as a chick. It feels good yes--- but let me tell you that is -hard- shit to do after drinking a liter of coke during a movie at the theatre.


FTM Crap that's more interesting than MY FTM crap...
We have these friends--- Don and Rachel. They've been our friends -forever-. We know them, -very- well. But you see--- we've never gotten them shitfaced.

Until last weekend. ... or a few weekends ago. Something.

Don has been suspecting for a while, that Blake is gay. Well-- it's because he is, but the only person we've told are onlinies, and Lindsey (lolblessherheart). Anyway.... Don got a little drunker than usual.... and said something most strange:

"Blake is gay. Steph is gay and has a prosthetic penis. I want to have boobs. Rachel is hnnnng."

Whoah Whoah--- wait.... Don.

Did you.... did you just come out of the closet?

"...I want to have boobs:"

Don, you just came out of the closet.

Get this. never once have we told him -anything- about either of us. I'M NOT SURE HOW HE KNOWS ABOUT MY PROSTHETIC. but that's besides the point...

We never talked about it after we got sober but uh. I think our friends may have the same thing going on as Blake and I do (Which would explain why rachel never shaves). And that makes me feel. So. Coolinside.

evoli@mac.com (12:11:52 PM):     urk, brb


Canishybridia (3:28:37 PM):     A WILD SNORLAX APPEARS
evoli@mac.com (3:29:12 PM):     INFALLE SENT OUT HITMONTOP
Canishybridia (3:29:21 PM):     OH SHIT WILD SNORLAX RUNS AWAY
Call me passionate, but I just woke up about ten minutes ago from a dream after only four hours of sleep.... and I just had to write it down? Mark my time, it was 5:30 in the morning when I started writing this, and also, I have a hangover.

Like most dreams I have--- I myself wasn't involved. Ah! The crazy people I meet in my sleep.


               I woke in a warehouse, one I can't say I was unfamiliar with. Betwixt the flickering overhead light outside and the musty smell of old cement, that for some reason, I was by far used to. It was an empty place now, ten years back I wouldn't have been able to say the same. An antique place to build planes, with four levels of concrete flooring, and an arena below big enough to fit a jet. Most of the elevators there were broken, which to my dismay, may have been the reason I had awoken.
               There was a grinding sound I was all too familiar with; the sound of the last working elevator finally breaking down after a very short trip down the four stories of walkway. However, I couldn't understand why maintenance, or anyone else for that matter, would be working the shop at this time of night.
              I reached over for my glasses, and made sure I was still wearing pants. God only knew why three nights out of my five day shift they'd always manage to somehow breach the bottom of my bed. Luckily, on this occasion, I found them fastened perfectly around my waist, and then proceeded to zombie myself out of the cot. I grabbed the keys, thinking that I may need them to go down four flights of stairs, and I grabbed my best choice of tune. "Fields of Gold," by Sting, was my choice of the early morning, and to ease my nerves, I muffled the lyrics under my breath and let them echo down the cement hallway outside of my room.
              While the large overhead shed lights kept the warehouse bright enough to see weller than well in the middle of such a night, they were also the same reason it was so hard to fall asleep. One of these twelve industrial sized iridescents had been flickering on and off the entire week, buzzing a bit as it struggled to stay lit. None of us would fix it, it was simply too high. And on a more honest note, one that I would beg you'd not tell my boss, my time wasn't worth it. 
              A woman I knew well was outside, a bit down from my room, leaning over the railing looking down at the flat room below where unfinished jets used to dock. She knew I was there, 'Fields of Gold' was far from over, and me seeing her standing there wouldn't make me stop singing. Especially mid chorus. I sway my keys to and fro, in my mind to the rhythm of Sting, but in her mind-- it was mere random copper clanking together in a scribble of melody.
              "You know," She said, as her words echoed down the gray fairway of warehouse, against the sound of the grinding elevator what appeared to be two floors down. "Just because you've forgotten doesn't mean I have."
              I continued on with the second verse, unsure of whether or not I had a response. However, I was man enough to at least come closer to her.
              "What you said about seeing this place alive again. What happened to all of that? You stay here every night, James a floor down, and yet still this place is a dump. What do you do during the day? Why don't you simply come home."
               We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky, as we lie in fields of gold.
              "Would you stop singing for a moment, please?"
              Admittably, she finally had my attention. "You come stay here, we will fix the light together." I said, hoping she'd find the reference to the flickering light somewhat admirable. But then I forgot, she hadn't slept with it stuttering in her eyes five days a week.
              "I'm not going to help you fix a warehouse light. I'm a journalist, I have better things to do with my time now."
              "Then why are you here?"
              She turned to me, eyes glossed over with a layer of terrible news, and her lips quivering with a story I had never heard. "I was hired to write an article in the paper last night, about this building, because they're tearing it down."
              "Tearing it down you say? Seems strange considering I havena heard word of this.... 'tearing down,'" The news was silly. "They canna just come tear my building down."
              "It's not 'your' building. Forget you have a boss sometimes, nyeh? Nay, he exists, and he damnwell signed a 'tear it down' form just the other night at the township meeting. Figured you'd find it most interesting that even he has lost faith in you fixing this place into something better." She squinted a bit. "Find something new to do with your time."
              I continued my song from where I had left off, somewhere around the line 'Many years have passed...,' and tried not giving her the benefit of sharing this bad news with me. Since we had been away from each other so often lately, she'd like to find things to try and amuse me with, trying desperately to get a response from me. Unluckily for her, I was not that sort of person. I sashayed over to the metal door, that was working fine the night before, elevator and all, and I gave it a kick in frustration. Of course, it wouldn't help matters in the least-- but I must admit, the grinding sound of my last hope was beginning to drive me a little mad.
             Casually, I changed pace and walked over to the stair exit instead, opening the door as I found the right key to do so. It was a shame we had to keep the emergency exit locked, even more of a shame there were a couple hobos who decided they had to live inside of it one weekend. I'll remember them when the building is on fire, and I'm struggling to climb down from the fourth floor. Sadly for me, it didn't seem that'd be happening between now and it's destruction.
             My lady did not follow me down the stairs, as I expected. She would come down in forty-five minutes, when the memory of my seeing her there had passed. I had locked the door behind me as I came down, so it was curious to me how she'd find her way back to the surface. It was obvious that she'd broken my final elevator, whether it was by accident or not. Needless to say, her options of getting down were slim, especially since she hadn't been a limber young man.
              I continued mumbling my song, looping back to the beginning after finishing it completely. As I came closer to the broken-down elevator, the grinding became louder and louder--- but I was no longer interested. I reached the bottom floor, and locked that door back up as well, then, carried on to the parking garage below me.
              At this point, I had a shameful thought, one I wasn't absolutely sure of at first. You see, the elevators had maintenance entrances below, where they were oiled and fixed. James and I, being two men of little constitution, lazily tried to fix these elevators earlier in the year by lubing them up with actual motor oil. It was no sane thing to do, but when we were drunk and desperate to fix broken moving machines, it was the first thing on our minds. I could only imagine that by this time, the ropes and danglies of the inner elevator were still covered in thick motor oil.
              Call me crazy, but I thought of taking light to them, and murdering my dear. Thank you for the bad news.



I would like to thank the academy....

For these ridiculous photo edit-avatars of my favorite actors dressed up as my characters.

P.S: Why does Spade look like the meth-addict version of Bert McCracken?


Love. Pure love.

Also, this pointless chatlog:

miiya11:  how are you?
Canishybridia:  *squints* gooood.
miiya11:  squint?
Canishybridia:   *continues squinting* thar be a mighteh storm a'comin
Canishybridia:  could be two fields long, maybe three
Canishybridia:  we best be gettin outside to tarp up the cornfields
Canishybridia:    they'll be floodin bah morning.
miiya11:  omai
miiya11:  will we be getting any help?
Canishybridia:     Not especially. *wheattooth*
miiya11:    or is it just the two of us
Canishybridia:  *squints* hard t'say
miiya11:   right then
miiya11:  we better get started
Canishybridia:    mmmmmmmmhm.
miiya11: and after these fields be tarped up
miiya11:   we gonna keep the cattle in?
Canishybridia:   the cattles be down the valley. dont think thar be much hope for em at t'moment.
miiya11:   i see.
Canishybridia:   i presume they'll be flockin in to locked shed doors hour after she comes. but that be hard to tell at this'n point miiya11: and them sheep be doin the same?
miiya11: and dont you think ole joey would help us tarp up these fields?
Canishybridia:   *lookover squint* Yer ol
Canishybridia:   *cough*
Canishybridia:   *lookover squint* Yer ol Joey be blockin that thar hole in the wetroom. Gonna be a fine ten years afore he finishes, seein as he is mentally retarded.
miiya11:    orly.
 can i ever have a -normal- conversation with you??