thewingedword

My camera has a self-timer. Whole new realms of narcissism are opened to me! I am probably the vainest self-insecure person I know. Really, I just want one picture of me that actually looks like me, and not some stranger with dark hair and dark eyes and a queer hard sort of smile. Also, my nose is fucking enormous, what gives? *laughs*

Wore new shoes yesterday, and they turned out to be a bit slippery in the soles; I tried to turn on a waxy patch of floor and landed on my ass. Or rather, not my ass; that would have been far preferable, having at least a bare minimum of padding. Instead I landed simultaneously on my bone-sharp knee and hip, the former of which swelled up and bruised spectacularly. I also have aches on my opposite ankle and inner thigh, and of all places, my ribcage. I'm a giraffe, people. When I go down I go down HARD.

It's raining today, which at least breaks the vicious humidity we've been having. My hair loves moist weather, it goes soft and fluffy and the fine strands around my face curl becomingly, but I still hate the oppressive, close-hanging feel of it. So today was in the high eighties and the rest of the week will hover in the fifties and sixties; not perfect, I'd rather have the average, but it'll do.

New layout soon! And new icons. I keep saying that, but premade_layoutsdid a really cute lime-themed summery layout, and I picked up some more bandom icons from someone, so I'm finally actually good to go. S2 makes this so much more hassle-free, I swear.

Yesterday I caught My Chemical Romance on Steven's Untitled Rock Show on Fuse and was incredibly amused. It was just Gerard (lead singer, frontman) and Frank (rhythm guitar), actually, but they were clean and well-dressed, which are not things one expects of a band currently in the middle of a tour. The amusing part was them completely geeking out over things- Gerard was all twitchy that his comic was being colored by the guy who colors Hellboy, they described their complete lack of nonchalance when Linkin Park invited them to the Projekt Revolution tour, Frank was wearing a hat. That last was less amusing than distractingly hot, but to much the same effect; I was greatly cheered. And therefore, as well as in an effort to make up for the utter boringness of this personal post, have a picture of Frank and Gerard being bad for my health!


I swear to god, his hips will be my downfall.

AHAHA what?! Someone posted a picture of William Beckett, the pretty guy from my last post, and the girl keytarist from Cobra Starship sharing a microphone onstage with the caption "they should mate." My first thought was "Eeeeew, het! And babies, yuck!" My next thought was "Good lord, I shall never have a boyfriend." 

It's a very good thing that my desires can't mold the world, or the human race would die out. I'm glad that for every person of my view, there are a hundred thousand like Benedick in Much Ado, who wholeheartedly believe that "The world must be peopled!"

But enough of my random prejudices against reproduction! I have had a splendid weekend that involved both shopping and sleep! Now I have two pairs of shorts, a denim miniskirt that is very nearly indecent but not quite, a gorgeous ladylike black-and-white toile sundress, cute red nearly-flat wedges, flip-flops with little skulls, and a large logo-y Japanese purse. The best part is that after having bought the dress, I got invitations to both a friend's brother's graduation party and a parents' friend's son's fiancee's bridal shower, both of which are suitable occasions for sundresses. Fantastic.

I'm planning a complete icon revamping to reflect my newfound obsession with hot band guys. I am seriously, guys, I am still high off that "new fandom" feeling. It's like the smell of a freshly opened bag of potato chips, it never ever gets old.

Wood-soled wedges are officially the most amazing things ever! They were my impromptu rhythm section all day long, and then I could do guitar riffs with my fingers and still sing! I probably annoyed the hell out of people, with my manic punk-rock tapdancing, but what the hell, I had a blast.


So I had a whole long thing to say about bandfiction, about how it's basically like all other fanfic and writing and poetry and scratches in the sand, just another philosopher's stone to bring us immortality. About how this week's top 40 band is next week's breakup, scandal, suicide, stolen girlfriend/drugs/hearts, the same way one episode is enough to turn canon on its head and Joss everyone. And the only way to remember things as they are is to fix them as they are, in writing.

I can tell I've been thinking too much in math-language lately because the only way I can express that is as a tangent, something a part of reality and yet wholly seperate. It's absurd to assume that a tangent expresses the entirity of the graph, but for that single moment, it is the absolute truth. We write fiction to set tangents to reality at pleasant points, lines to continue happily into infinity and comfort us with their existance when the real world takes a nosedive. Bands being some of the most transient and changeable things in existance, it only makes sense that the desire to record their happiness should be almost frantic.


OH MY GOD, guys, I brought home an orange scone from Au Bon Pain. It has orange frosting and smells like God's gift to the senses and I keep sticking my face in the bag to inhale and then make orgasmic noises. I'm saving it for tomorrow, because I have an AP Calc study session from eight to twelve and I'll need something to cheer me up in the morning, but God is it testing my willpower.

School has officially begun driving me crazy. Literally, quite insane. There are some bright spots; I got a 92 on the Neil Gaiman research paper. The teacher's main problem was that I set out to prove my thesis all on my lonesome and didn't bring in quotes from experts who agreed with me, although I did use quoted data to back up my conclusions. I can understand that, because I did. In my defense, it's hard to find experts who agree that Neil Gaiman's writing showcases the strange conflict between ancient gods and the modern deities of a developing technological religion. I do my best.


I'm still \o/ over my ACT score. For all y'all who aren't from the Midwest, the ACT is basically our version of the SAT, only it's scored out of 36. A score above a thirty gives you a good shot at a great college, so I'm very excited. Granted, most colleges outside the Midwest also like an SAT score, but if I can do this well on that I've nothing to fear.


Why I love Red.

Me (after watching the video for All American Reject's "Time Stands Still"): I have seen proof of God's love for mankind in that he saw fit to give Nick Wheeler an acoustic guitar. And also two Gibson Firebirds, one in the tobacco sunburst and another off-cream-ish one. And also Tyson Ritter, like a kind of bitchy cherry to top it all off.

Red: Although I have my doubts about God's involvement in guitars and gay subtext, if they are indeed His works, that is a religion I can get on board with.

And then we rambled on a bit about whether this religion would go door-to-door with pamphlets, and if so would they be the kind of pamphlets you'd have to hide under your bed like a teenage guy with Playboy. It makes me happy.


Randomly, Our Lady of Sorrows is definitely a Gerard Way Saves Lives song. "Stand up fucking tall/ Don't let them see your back/ Take my fucking hand/ and never be afraid again." Very much that sort of lyric. It's also a lovely song, although Honey has more foreshadowing of his developing vocal talents.