[Monday:20:07:30] syntaxthetwisted: OMG COLBY!
[Monday:20:07:30] *** “Kathryn-Colby” signed on at Mon Dec 25 20:07:29 2006.
[Monday:20:07:35] syntaxthetwisted: OMGCOLBY
[Monday:20:07:56] Kathryn-Colby: MY TENN!
[Monday:20:08:04] syntaxthetwisted: -pouncetackleravishscuttleaway-

moments after i set the alert to tell me when she got on.

YAY!

&& yes rachel i stole yer scuttle.

EDIT: SHE TORTURES ME:

[Monday:20:07:30] syntaxthetwisted: OMG COLBY!
[Monday:20:07:30] *** “Kathryn-Colby” signed on at Mon Dec 25 20:07:29 2006.
[Monday:20:07:35] syntaxthetwisted: OMGCOLBY
[Monday:20:07:56] Kathryn-Colby: MY TENN!
[Monday:20:08:04] syntaxthetwisted: -pouncetackleravishscuttleaway-
[Monday:20:11:19] *** “Kathryn-Colby” signed off at Mon Dec 25 20:11:19 2006.
[Monday:20:11:44] syntaxthetwisted: well… fine then.
[Monday:20:11:44] *** Error while sending IM: This user is currently not logged on
[Monday:20:11:57] syntaxthetwisted: OMG COLBY!
[Monday:20:11:57] *** “Kathryn-Colby” signed on at Mon Dec 25 20:11:57 2006.
[Monday:20:12:02] syntaxthetwisted: OMGAGAIN
[Monday:20:12:19] *** “Kathryn-Colby” signed off at Mon Dec 25 20:12:19 2006.

EDIT THRICE:

things are well now. see?
[Monday:20:07:30] syntaxthetwisted: OMG COLBY!
[Monday:20:07:30] *** “Kathryn-Colby” signed on at Mon Dec 25 20:07:29 2006.
[Monday:20:07:35] syntaxthetwisted: OMGCOLBY
[Monday:20:07:56] Kathryn-Colby: MY TENN!
[Monday:20:08:04] syntaxthetwisted: -pouncetackleravishscuttleaway-
[Monday:20:11:19] *** “Kathryn-Colby” signed off at Mon Dec 25 20:11:19 2006.
[Monday:20:11:44] syntaxthetwisted: well… fine then.
[Monday:20:11:44] *** Error while sending IM: This user is currently not logged on
[Monday:20:11:57] syntaxthetwisted: OMG COLBY!
[Monday:20:11:57] *** “Kathryn-Colby” signed on at Mon Dec 25 20:11:57 2006.
[Monday:20:12:02] syntaxthetwisted: OMGAGAIN
[Monday:20:12:19] *** “Kathryn-Colby” signed off at Mon Dec 25 20:12:19 2006.
[Monday:20:15:40] syntaxthetwisted: OMG COLBY!
[Monday:20:15:41] *** “Kathryn-Colby” signed on at Mon Dec 25 20:15:40 2006.
[Monday:20:15:59] syntaxthetwisted: OMGAGAINAGAIN.
[Monday:20:16:02] Kathryn-Colby: XDD
[Monday:20:16:08] Kathryn-Colby: got it all worked out now
[Monday:20:16:13] Kathryn-Colby: my aim download was screwy
[Monday:20:16:17] syntaxthetwisted: yayyyy

[katrina's a bitch, fellows]

I read something today that very nearly made me cry, and is very-nearly causing me to cry as I think about it.

Colby’s alive. I’m certain of it- I know she has got to be because she lives in Mississippi. It doesn’t matter that she hasn’t contacted me. She can’t possibly live in Biloxi. So while I’m worried, I’m letting the statistics control me.

The phones are down.

Read this: http://claytoncubitt.com/blogs/usedfuture/2005/09/sisters-and-me-and-fats-domino.html#comments

To understand the following post, and why I’m lamenting.

The phones are down.

I have previously stated the ill feeling that makes ulcers a likely prospect even at this age. That deep-set, uncontrollable flower of anxiety, quite similar in nature to the three-foot-round ‘flowers’ in jungles that smell like rotting flesh. It overwhelms you, or worse, it does not.

It stays there.

Bothersome, cold, influencing everything you think about or do. Makes you tremble when you watch the news and see a corpse wrapped in cloth, makes your heart beat an increasing tempo, ever so slowly. So, slowly. It is a strange feeling, that fear. A sense of inevitability accompanies it, perhaps, the bass in a wicked orchestra.

It doesn’t matter what it is. It varies, and it is a fear I have not quite experienced so vividly. The last time I remember feeling this sense of… wrongness, was when I was seven. I’ll explain that later- but not even that compares, because it was a nightmare I had, one that still bothers me though.

The phones are down for Colby. I want to believe this. I want to believe that Linda Cubitt, Clayton’s mom (in the post I linked earlier) is having phone trouble as well. It’s a good, calming thought. And it’s also very likely- the phones are down everywhere in the areas affected by Katrina.

But for some, the phonelines are no longer down.

For some people, that thought is gone. There are those that have visited mortuaries and lifted the sheet-

Seen the dead eyes of one they knew, someone they quite possibly loved- never to open.

Don’t believe the people that say “It looked like they were sleeping!”, because I have been to a wake and a dead person does not look asleep. My great-grandmother died on September 11th of last year. She was a wonderful woman but I never knew her- I knew her, per say, but Alzheimer’s had taken it’s toll.

I don’t suppose I was really affected by the coffin. I was thirteen, man, on top of it all. I was mildly sad- but for my grandfather, really, because his mom, his Lizard, meant so much to him. No comments on her nickname, please- he’d call her Liz and Lizzie. I don’t know why, her name was… Damn, I know it but it’s evading me. I always called her Gramma Medd or Gramma Liz. She’s not named Liz, that I remember though.

And she was dead. I remember it now and it affects me more now, because she was not peacefully asleep. She was dead.

Her wrists bloomed with maroon bruises, because the dead are fragile. Her hand- her flesh- was chilling.

I touched her hand… The child next to me kept poking at her and I nearly beat the girl, I swear. If I had been this way then I would have beat the girl. Because life is suddenly thrown into a contrast.

I understood death before this, but no one ever fully understands it. And every once in a while, life bitchslaps us and gives us an epiphany, a greater understanding. I, for one, would like to remain a blind grub.

There are now thousands dead, and thousands more who mourn them. Others do not know, and that ignorance is not bliss. That ignorance is hell.

I know this didn’t make sense. It doesn’t need to. It makes sense to me.

The phones are down, readers, and they won’t be back up for quite a while yet. But the floodwaters will recede- and every time I see a worker on a telephone line, I’m going to praise the Lord for that person.

Colby’s alive. She lives! in Mississippi, and Mississippi wasn’t hit quite as hard as New Orleans. Our country is helping- not as fast as some would like. India is helping. Colby is alive… But others aren’t. Donate, maybe save a life. Offer your support- even if it’s not monetary. Words do a lot.

And off the proverbial soap box climbs Tenn, in a rare state of intellectual-ness.

Yeah, that last word killed it.

[colby...]

It’s getting harder to watch the news. Every damn time I get home it’s on. Every damn time I see bodies wrapped in sheets and flooded streets, the wreckage of homes in New Orleans.

And Mississippi.

Biloxi Mississippi is devestated.

Colby, one of my best friends- truly my best net-friend alive, and whom I care about a lot, has not signed on since Saturday. There have been no blog-posts. Nothing. I keep telling myself that she’s lost power.

I keep trying to focus, statistically, on the fact that she cannot be dead or injured or without help in some slum. That statistically, the one person I know there cannot be one of the casualties.

But there is always the thought…

What if she is?

Colby, please. If you’re reading this, comment or something. I’m e-mailing you now.

I just called you.

GOD I HATE THAT SOUND. Doo-do do! We’re sorry, all circuits are busy now. Please try again later.

They don’t fucking sound sorry. They don’t. Maybe I’m being stupid, but I want to find them and beat their faces in because they aren’t sorry.

There we are. That one didn’t say sorry. There are different ones.

Doo doo doo! “We’re sorry, all circuits are busy now. Please try again later.”
Doo doo doo! “All circuits are busy now. Please try your call again later.
The one with no cruel voice- “Doo doo doo” and when I look at my screen it says network busy.

That one hurt. It went through with two full rings, sounded like it was about too… then that damned tripletone.

Those that read this blog, please pray for my friend Kathryn-Colby, her sister, her brother, her mother and her father.

[whimper]

Damn the Paine.

Life-is-oh-so-flecking-great. Paine is oh-so-flecking-witchy.

Rules in Drill Squad:

1. No saying gun.
2. No pointing your rifle at others.
3. No dropping the real rifles.
4. No saying gun.
5. Keep your mouth shut.
6. Keep your hands to yourself.
7. No disagreeing with the commander. If 2+2=5, so be it. The Major is the Major and should be treated with respect. But if he says something about marching, ask Sergeant to verify. Major is Puerto Rican, that’s all we got to say.
8. No saying gun!
9. When you push, you push, and a rifle better lay straight on your back.
10. Various other rules when one of the ranking officers decides to instate. So anyway.

Notice the ‘gun’ part?

Our weapon is not a gun. It is a rifle. A M1903 A3. Or, in my case, an A1. Springfield. It is a rifle and should be treated with respect and if you say gun… well, just don’t say gun, got it?

Except Paine doesn’t get that. Paine said gun. Paine should have been in pain with at least twenty pushups and ten TVs, which I’ll explain later.

But Command Sergeant Major Albin was in the room. He’s a good guy. Very good (looking), pretty nice. Our Sunshine. But he’s also a hard-ass when it comes to particulars. So, our punishment was… yes, I said ours. Not Paine’s. Ours.

We were to drop to push up ready position. On the pavement, not to mention an ugly incline. He let us protect our palms with our rifles, though, considering it was scalding hot on the ground. So we held in ready position. For five or so minutes. Then did pushups and recovered.

Paine held her rifle over her head.

Big whoop.

Which was incidentally her attitude towards us. ‘Ten pushups, big deal. I did thirty yesterday.’ The difference being, of course, that she had deserved those pushups and the ones we did today. The difference being that she hadn’t done hers in the sun, on the pavement on an incline. The main thing was that she didn’t care. Someone offered if anyone had a razor that he would hold her down while we shaved her eyebrows or hair or something. Didn’t, of course, Zero-tolerance policy for such things at school.

CSM remarked that he’d march us down one of the darkened halls and let us discipline her. -Eye twitch-

My arms are killing me.

[advanced-ness]

Strange how life goes on…

Any rate. BCIS is a slacker course. Too darn easy and we’re not going fast enough because my classmates suck arse. So I complete the two page assignment in about ten minutes, go to tell the teacher I’m done and ask for permission to sign on to the net and work on my site. She’s shocked that I’m done so fast… So I leap to phase two which I was going to delay until after our test tomorrow.

I asked her if I could attempt completing a years worth of courses in a semester, BCIS 1, and take BCIS 2 second semester. Independently. She was thoughtful, warned me that she wouldn’t be able to walk me through…

And then said yes, on permission of the counselor. So now all I have to do is speak to Mr. Arthurs who is very nice, and ask permission to take the year-end test at the end of the semester.

[bleh]

Signing off now. Again. Colby. Speak to me. Pray for Colby and all those affected by Katrina. Which in essence is the whole country…

[fwee, bondage]

Okay, is this our fourth bondage session? Someone leave a comment and remind me, I can’t seem to remember. I’ll have to go over my journal entries and check the calendar etc. Well, whatever it was, it was great. Stashia hosted, as usual, and Olivia and I were picked up by Heather at 8.30ish. God, I woke up at 7.30 and it was worth it. But still. Early-ness. Painful, waking up at such an hour, but I managed it for the friends. Rachel was again unable to attend, as she didn’t respond to Stash’s calls and text messages.

Rachel, you beeyotch, get your ass to Stashii’s house the next time we have a bondage session!

We watched Escaflowne, all 8 discs and 26 episodes of it. Brilliant anime, it’s suddenly my favorite- ousting Cowboy Bebop, even. Stashii’s mother, being amazingly domestic and yet with the ability to run the house etc and conduct repairs, made us food. Yummy lunch included turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, creamed corn, sweet potatoes, and green beans. Lovely meal, though I didn’t touch the sweet potatoes- I’ve not liked them since kidnergarten and I haven’t the faintest idea why, other than being splattered with them at a meal. Something like that, anyway.

Oh yes, and then her mother made what we have officially dubbed “Oreo-Shit”. Great stuff- ignore the name, it’s quick-make oreo pie, and it’s luffly. She also made rum cake, and rum smells so good while cooking it’s nearly intoxicating by scent alone. This led me to say in a stupor “Ah, the sound of rum.” Yes, I’m dense at times. Super-Heather also made brownies.

Heather is cool.

[hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s off to school I go!]

School starts the 11^th of August, a Thursday. The 3^rd of August I must register, and the 4^th is what has been termed ‘Freshman Fish Camp’- orientation, in essence, given a fancy name. Whoever coined the term ‘Freshman fish’ obviously did not like freshman. I’m to spend the evening there, with my fellow J.R.O.T.C. cadets and the Sgt. Major. Sounds fun, I plan to braid my hair and keep it up because it’s violet, and it’s long, and it’s curly. They shouldn’t have a problem with it- I hope they don’t, at any rate. I’ve got to make sure my first-day-of-school clothing is washed and such.

Haven’t gotten anything new for the new school year, -sigh-, and it looks as though I probably won’t unless I purchase the items myself. Mom isn’t likely to pay my grandma this month, and such. I think I might have enough saved up for a back-pack. Then again, my grandpa probably will end up buying my stuff. I’m just going to use my school-supplies from last year and the years before, I’ve got stuff piled up and it’s fine. Except I’m probably going to need journals and such.

[tom riddle]

Newest book-infatuation-

Tom Marvolo Riddle, Teenage Lord Voldemort.

XD In the sixth book, there is quite a bit of Tom-characterization, so I’m doing a lovely roleplay with Colby, Tom/OC. Analyse is my made-up, an’ she was of the same orphanage Tom was until she was adopted at the age of ten. She got her letter to Durmstrang living in a Muggle house, and so attended Durmstrang until her fifth year, when she transferred to Hogwarts because the Potions department was better, and their Dark Arts professor encountered an unlucky curse by some unknown individual. –Smirk- Analyse is manipulative but quiet, and considered anti-social by the other Slytherins. She wanted Ravenclaw for the sole reason that Slytherins are expected to be wicked, and she didn’t want that sort of suspicion. However the Sorting Hat was more intelligent than that.

Anyway. Tom Riddle is awesome. And I am pathetic. However, it’s not an actual crush or anything, so don’t be calling me a fool. He doesn’t exist and I could care less about the guy that plays him, Coulson I believe.

I officially apologize to Catey for being an idiotic person that day when I shouted at you- I honestly wasn’t thinking about shmexy-evil-tom-goodness. -Nods-

[apologies]

Before I’m screamed at…

Yes. I know I haven’t updated in a while. There hasn’t been a hell of a lot of things to update on, except the typical teen-angsty-ness, and none of you need to hear my annoying rants. Okayyy. Anyway.

[more banner-ishy]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v87/Tenneniel/NikoleBanner.jpg

This is Nikole, from the site I and a friend are creating. Nikole is the Goddess of Battle. She kicks ass. I should mention that. Her brother Nikolai is the God of Light. I have their histories written up; I’ll link to them and the site once they’re done being under construction.

Have I mentioned I adore the winged picture? I adore it. It’s perfect.

[heatsink horrors]

My heatsink is failing, and therefore I have to operate on a 3:1 ratio. What that means is- the fan that cools off my CPU is acting all effed up. Since I don’t want the CPU to melt (read, catastrophe akin to the computer exploding), I can only be on for an hour and the PC must be off for three. This is all crap, I’ve been ignoring the 3:1 ratio, but yeah. Nanny is enforcing it to the max. My uncle was supposed to get it replaced last weekend.

Then last week.

He’s missed all three of his deadlines, and I’m getting pissed.

[-clings to colby-]

I can’t remember if I shouted about this girl being disappeared, but all is well. She was at Lake Junalaska or something, and her ‘net service was cut off, now she’s using an AOL disc and all. Whatever. The good thing is, she’s not dead.

[what the hell am I good for?]

Okay. No more happy stuff. This, m’dears, is a rant. Either take it or leave it, I don’t give a damn, this is my journal and what-not. I was going to put it in a private post, but then I realized if I was acting strangely around certain individuals who worry incessantly, it would be hells easier to direct them to this post.

Lately, around the house, I’ve felt /really/ inferior and what-not. Scene-

-Steps out onto stage, monologues-

A couple of days ago, my dad (grandpa) had an optometrist appointment. Because he would have his pupils dilated, Nanny (grandma) went with him. I stayed home, to baby-sit Evan. Being in an exceptionally good mood, I started blasting Weezer, and vacuumed.

The entire living room.
The entire family room.
The hallways.
Their bedroom.

This after I had gone military on my bedroom and bathroom. Everything was shiny, I tell you, shiny. So, I flipped over the couch that must weigh twice as much as I do. The leather one that Catey and Stashia have seen I’m sure. I vacuumed under there. I flipped the recliners. Everything. Vacuum vacuum vacuum. I went on to sweep the kitchen. Then to the living room again, where I dusted and polished the entertainment center, cleaned the glass doors and the television. I cleaned her glass tables- shined them and everything. They looked wonderful.

I go back to the kitchen, listening to The Killers now, my brother still playing Xbox in the other room. I do some dishes. I get tired. I mean, really exhausted. I’ve been working for three hours straight and such. So I do some, and put the rest in to soak since they’re really grody. (Hey Stashii, that’s the accurate spelling! Wow!)

…

So they get home. Dad had a hole in his eye; they lasered it, it’s better now.

‘Course, you’d think it was Nanny with the hole in her eyeball, because she notices nothing. I point it out. She says thank you. The next day, of course, she’s washing the dishes and starts screaming. At me. Me. The one who cleaned her house. “You could have done these! You’re just lazy. See if I do you any damned favors, you never do anything for me!!!”

Really loud too, and that’s the censored version. -sigh- I have very little to say on this. Except she’s menopausal.

[tertiary bondage session]

On the 13th, I’ll be gone nearly all day. Going to Stashii’s for our last bondage session this summer. Will leave at 12.00 PM, will not get back till 12.00 PM the 14th. Sorry, those I roleplay with.

W00t, this is gonna be fun. Our last session because on the 14th, Olivia leaves to I-dunno-where. Stashii is getting back from South Dakota on the 11th, I think? So tomorrow. Yeah. That’s it, I think she is. I hope. Anyway. I might have to leave at 7.00 PM for church, and then be back at 8.30 PM… we’re doing a program called American Survivor, and if I made it in I /have/ to attend. There’s a $500 dollar prize. Worth that, rather. There’s a game system and what-not. See, I /was/ gonna ask Dan-dan about who made it in and all today, but we didn’t go to church. o.o;; Well, I’ll call Josh or something. In fact, I really should. I’ve not called him back and I should, but I just haven’t felt like talking to anyone.

[sigh.]

Signing off.