Archive for September, 2010

The Forsaken Prince(ss)

I was but a doll. A body with no soul.

She tripped on the corner of the desk, knocking the lonely kunai, cutting the back of her hand. Slowly moving her hand around the floor, she located the weapon and placed it back on the desk, getting onto her feet in the process. No one would help her because she lived alone in the apartment. She knew it wasn’t luxurious in accordance with the fortune her father’s clan people had. They had just wanted to get rid of her from the clan house because of what she was. Unpure blood. Blind. Useless. For a long time, she believed that due to the depth of hate and disappointment they showed her when her father wasn’t around. The Forsaken Princess of the Mesumire Clan, the violet-eyed people.

“Ow,” she whispered to herself, cupping her hurt hand into the other to stop the blood from flowing onto the rug. With her feet and hands stretched out, she slowly made her way to the bathroom, knowing there was a roll of bandages on the sink since she knew she would get hurt a lot at a place that was unfamiliar to her. She had yet to memorize the apartment completely. It was slow progress because for so long in the Mesumire Clan house, everything was given to her and there was always someone there to help her do what she wanted. Now, she had only herself to depend on.

Quickly, she wrapped her hurt hand in enough bandanges, ripped off the rest, and saved it into the sleeve of her long shirt. She would probably need it later.

Music soft and whispery entered her ears. For a moment, she paused to listen to the beautiful sound because it was achingly eerie. She stood up to her full height, and walked to the other room – her bedroom, living room, and kitchen all-in-one. “Who’s there?” she called, going forward into the room. The music sounded like it was coming from the window, so from the breeze, she calculated the window was to the right. The princess turned that way, all the while, folding her arms to reach for the weapon in the other sleeve of her long sleeved shirt, opposite of the one holding the bandages.

The music stopped and by the rustling, the person probably had turned towards her. “Peace, princess. I mean no harm,” he said. His tone sounded like he was laughing at her. The girl didn’t relax her guard, but simply placed her arms back to her sides. “Who are you and how did you get in here?” “I came through the window,” he replied, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Ask a silly question. “And I am Ice, your temporary sensei.”

She meant to walk forward to him like she knew what she was doing, but tripped on the end of the rug on the ground. Before she could crash into him, he caught her in his arms. The princess took this moment to place her hands on his face, her fingers touching him to make out the shape of his eyes, his nose, his cheekbones, his lips, his hair, and finally ended up resting near his ears. “Sensei…” She had felt his face was smooth, shaved. His cheekbones were sharply chiseled, lips were thin, eyes were almost shaped, eyebrows perfectly bowed, and his hair stood out in spikes at the front while the rest fell down behind him. “To teach me to be a good ninja, yes?”




Life is never good… without the bad.

When I was a little girl, I found a mask by the canal I often played by near our house. It was quite horrific in a beautiful kind of way. When I showed my mom, she yelled at me to throw it out.

I couldn’t, so I hid it in my room.

I was attracted as I was disgusted by it, yet couldn’t understand why. Maybe because every time I looked at it, the inner part of the mask would have wisps of moving pictures within its shiny corral coating. Or maybe it’s because the black outside face would change into many expression of horror. Sometimes when I slept, I felt like I could hear screams, but I was never quite sure.

There were two things I was sure of: that I should never put it on, and that the owner would come for it. I just knew for some odd reason. I wished I hadn’t been so right. For when the owner of the mask would come for it, my life would change forever. I didn’t know it at the time.

Lucky me.

01: The Moon Deity
And all the tides bow to her wishes…

“Yoo hoo. Earth to Diana.” The snapping fingers and waving hands in front of her face snapped her out of her reverie. She furrowed her brows at the person in front of her, her best friend, before her expression smoothed out to smile at her friend. “What, Ky?” Kyten’s eye twitched in exasperation, then she rolled her eyes. “You were doing it again. And I was talking!”

Diana looked over at where she had been looking. “Sorry, its…” she stared pointedly at what caught her attention. Her friend turned to look too. Her eye brows raised quickly. “No wonder,” she murmured. “Have you seen them before?” asked Diana. Her friend only shook her head in a ‘no’. “Although…”


You Have Me Suicidal


I was 16 when I first met her. That’s when everything became dark, cold, and painful. Her and me.

Everytime I would cry, she would be there to comfort me. Everytime I was angry, she would listen as I ranted about my life. All the words that she spoke fed the hate, fed the hurt. She was the only one I could depend on.

And I hated her too.

She was more beautiful than me. Her hair straight, went down to her waist in a brown waterfall. There were no split-ends. Her body was not slender, but she wasn’t fat either. She was what books would describe as voluptuous. Skin was a beautiful tan shade that seemed to glow. Her eyes were a brown that was plain, but there was a spark to them that made people want to stare. Her face wasn’t heart-shaped, but oval, little baby fat left in them. Brows were perfect. Pink lips were full. Nose wasn’t perfect, but it seemed to fit on her face. I always wanted to claw that bitch’s face for the sake of it everytime I saw her. She made me feel ugly, like dung compared to her.

She had more confidence in herself. She knew what she wanted to do in her life. Maybe not a complete plan in detail, but it was a plan. Better than what I had. Hell, she was better at everything. I often screamed at her at why she had to shove these things in my face. And then I’d starting sobbing, curling myself into a ball. The self-loathing overwhelming again. She was there, though didn’t say anything.

How could she when she was… me.

Locked Summer: Part 1

I was a regular girl. I could say normal, but the definition of normal differs from person to person. I had my parents, who loved each other, and my two younger brothers. We were not a perfect family. In fact, my dad hadn’t lived with us until I was in 1st grade. As for my brothers, we had our fair share of sibling fights. Through thick and thin, we made it as a family.

Both my parents worked at the time. Its not that we were poor, but we weren’t rich either. We had clothes, food, a roof over our heads, lots of toys, and some spending money when our parents felt like giving us some. Those days seemed quite simple really. So, anyway, we had a babysitter back then. She was a lady from church, who needed the money because she was an illegal immigrant from Mexico. She asked mom if she could bring us, my two younger brothers and me, to her house out in the country. It would be a lot easier for her. Mom agreed. So, we spent the summer, from morning until afternoon, at her house, which she shared with her children and her sister’s family. 10 people and adding us 3 was 13 people altogether.

But that was okay. This was the country and they had a big backyard, which was heaven for my brothers and I, and the boy, Christian, who was our babysitter’s nephew. The backyard had a small playground that was fenced in. Outside the bench was mounds of dirt, large piles of wood, broken down cars, and a large vegetable patch. My brothers, Chris, and I played all kinds of things together from house to Tarzan to streetcar racing. That boy was special to me then because he would always play anything with me even if my brothers refused. The great times.

And this was the time I was starting to get out of my pre-pubescent stage. I was wearing bras, but I didn’t start my period until a few years later. Neither at school or at home had we been taught about that stuff yet. How was I to know exactly what was going on?

All I knew was that the first time it happened felt wrong. It. Was. Wrong. I felt so dirty, and I couldn’t say anything because I was scared. I put it out of my mind, thinking of it as an accident. So I stayed silent.

And couldn’t stop the dread that overcame me each time I had to go back to the babysitter’s house until the end of summer.

Locked Summer: Part 2

I’m unsure how he was related to my babysitter’s family, but he was an uncle figure to the children there. He wasn’t young or old, and I never knew his name because that summer was the first and last time I saw him. “Locked Summer” because I chose to forget this time in my life, to lock it deep in my mind, in my heart, wanting myself back in my normal world. Little did I know that a past you never reconcile yourself with truly haunts you. It wasn’t until I was older that all this came back, and I found out how this would affect me more than I knew.

It was subtle. That’s why I kept trying to say it was an accident. He was kind of friendly and casual to everyone, so being the same with my brothers and me was something everyone else thought was okay. The first time, a few of us were talking outside in the parking space for cars. Everyone’s attention was turned to the elder nephew of my babysitter because he’d gotten his motorbike fixed up, trying to run it. Everyone was smiling and joking. The “uncle” put his arm around me so I was pulled near him. I was alright with that since I was comfortable with everyone else there. Why would I have worried? And then his hand started caressing and groping my chest. Subtle. No one was looking and he was hugging me, and no one knew or saw. I wanted to run away at that point, but I moved away to the elder nephew and started asking questions about the bike, which I could care less about. I just needed an excuse.

I guess you could say I was a protected child. I’ve always trusted the adults around me because they all loved me. My real name means “beloved” and so I took all that for granted. They were the adults and made all the decisions. Sure I hated some of the things they said or did, what child doesn’t? But I was protected nonetheless. And I was scared if I told. Would I be hated? Would they not believe me? Will I have to stop coming over to see Chris some more? I really did like him a lot as a little girl. I couldn’t say the words. Any of them.

It was later in the afternoon when mom picked us up, that I would convince myself that it had all been a fluke. He wouldn’t do that. It was an accident is all, even if it felt nasty.

I couldn’t think of it as an “accident” anymore when there were more incidents after that one.


I avoided him as best as I could ever since that day. I would find excuses or be with anyone else. Never alone. Then, one day, I was asked if I would go with “uncle” to pick some cherries from an orchard they had down the road from where they lived. I said ok.

But inside I was shaking. I was screaming.

With my family, I could get away with saying ‘no’ sometimes, but with other people, I was always obedient. I was a guest, afterall. You can’t exactly say ‘no’, and not have it mentioned to your parents later, who would either lecture or discipline you later at home. I didn’t want that, so I took my chance.

Guess which one was the lesser evil?

So, off we went, him and me, in this old scrap heap truck and down a rocky road. The ride there was short, but even that was 1 second too long. He was touching my leg, running it up and down. That sure didn’t feel like comfort! Not even when he squeezed a couple times. I was able to suppress my shudder and disgust by shifting away and looking out the rolled down window.

Even though I had lived in central California all my life, the agricultural center of the U.S., that didn’t mean that I got up close and personal with orchards of any kind. Oh, I saw them all the time and they were natural for me, but I just had never been deep in one close enough to pick the fruit.

He got the ladder from the back of the truck, set it near a tree, and was picking them, while I held a basket out to get them. After a while, he let me climb the ladder, smiling at me. I was excited. Look at me! Look at me! These trees are beautiful! I’m helping!

I didn’t notice for a while after he picked me up around the waist, that as he set me down on the ground, his hands went down below, and lingered there. He removed his hands and got the ladder to another tree. “Uncle” said I could grab more. He “helped” me up the ladder this time, but his hands were at the side of my chest, his fingers kneading the front until he put me back down again. After this time, I told him I didn’t want to pick anymore. Told him I was slow, that he was better at choosing the best. Lies. I just didn’t want him to touch me anymore and go back to the house.

I hate cherries till this day.

Withering Roses

Suffice to say, things like this happened for the rest of that summer. I was getting anxious whenever people got close to me. I smiled and laughed like everything was alright. And it wasn’t! You might think, “Oh, nothing happened to her. She’s being dramatic.”

But abuse is abuse. The people who are at the wrong end are afraid. That is the truth. It’s never a pretty picture.

The last and most clear memory of this summer was the week before school started. Between the main house and the side house, there’s this walk way, and in the back of the side house is a door. This door leads to a room that is for storage. There’s bikes, tires, paint, and all that. This is also the room where they kept a large freezer for extra food.

I walked into this room, looking for some frozen food that our babysitter would make for us. It was dark, so I turned on the light to find my way. There was a lot of junk that I could trip easily on. I was reaching over the fridge, moving stuff, and didn’t notice that someone else had walked in. Not until he was right behind.

So close that I felt something hard at my butt because I was still bent over. I froze. And it wasn’t just the freezer that was making me go cold. I was too scared to do anything. I wanted to cry.

I didn’t need to look back to know who it was. In Spanish, he told me to be quiet. That he wasn’t going to hurt me. Maybe not, but it was still scary for a bigger man to be almost on top of me at a vulnerable position. I didn’t nod or anything, not like it mattered because he was running his hands all over me. That hard thing at my back didn’t go away.

I was trembling in fear. I don’t believe it mattered to him. One of his hands slid over my stomache, and went under my shorts, under my panties. And…

…You can pretty much guess just what he was doing. I don’t think I need to explain it to you.

All I was thinking was that I wanted my mom. I wanted to go home. I wanted to forget this happened. Someone save me. Anyone.

My prayer was answered. They were calling me. He removed his hand and stepped back. But before I could open the door, he grabbed my hand. His eyes were cold and angry. That frightened me because I had never seen him like that. Then he let me go. And I ran.

They asked me if I had found anything in the freezer. I told them, yeah, but I wasn’t sure what would’ve been good. Then I excused myself to the restroom, where I hid for at least half an hour, hugging myself on the toilet. I didn’t dare cry. I only wanted to forget it all. Everything. The whole summer.

The rest of the week was a blur. I mostly hid myself. So, summer was over, the roses withering. And part of my innocence gone.

I forget it all for at least 5 years.

Middle of Nowhere

Before I get into my suicidal period, I want to mention two incidents that would play at later in my life. You may not think them important at all and a bunch of phooey, but they did effect me. This is one of them.

When I was in 7th grade, my dad told us we were moving. We wouldn’t have to pay rent, electricity, or gas. And my dad would be home more. All we had to do was move in a house next to the dairy, which was out in the country.

There wasn’t really any neighbors except one, who didn’t have kids. We didn’t even hang out with my dad’s boss’ kids. So, here we moved to this yellow house about 25 steps away from the cows in a pen. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go.

And a new school that was small too. The thing about small schools, especially an elementary school from grades Preschool to 8th grade, is that everyone knows everyone else. Eventually, I was known more or less, and I would grow to become close to this new school real quick.

I would hate it too. 7th and 8th are when I went teenager. That’s when I started looking at my outside more and caring what people thought. I started seeing myself as UGLY, and when the others of my age would say something hurtful, well, yeah, I wouldn’t take it so well.

So, I developed a mask. A facade. The smiles on my face were faked. They even called me “Sunshine” because I would always smile, my dimples flashing. It was all becoming a lie.

It didn’t stop there. My family would become the next part of that lie.


My years at elementary school were over. This was high school now. An in-town school where a few of my classmates from my elementary school attended and a lot of the people I had known from other schools went. I was kind of glad to recognize some of their faces. I at least knew one person in each of my classes during my freshmen year.

I never knew her before, not even in passing because she was two years ahead of me. I saw her after school and later, before school. We took the same school bus route.

One afternoon, we were waiting for the bus to arrive so we could take out seats and wait to go home. She was standing there, talking to her other friend, and holding her binder to her chest. Lo and behold, there was anime on it! Me, being a shy person, finally talked myself into going up to her and asking if I could see her binder. She said okay. I was excited! While living out in the middle of nowhere, I got into an anime addiction via Sailor Moon. She wasn’t a moonie-fan, but I was interested nonetheless.

The bus arrived and I asked if I could sit next to her. She said yeah. We started talking about the anime that was on her binder, what we had seen, and if we drew. Ronin Warriors was her favorite anime. I didn’t know what it was about, having never heard of it, but she told me to visit a website that was a forum. It was called the Ronin Lounge. And then she had to get off at her stop.

Since I was one of the people who got on very early on the bus, I saved her a seat the next day. We resumed our conversation. Morning and afternoon. She even introduced me to her other friends, one who I would be close to as well.

Online and offline. School and on the Ronin Lounge. We would become that close. We became best friends, almost like long lost sisters. Fights, drama, laughter, and all. I was so happy.

And then she graduated. I didn’t realize until Junior year how much I would miss her.

Teenage Mom

When I was 13, one of my cousins was giving birth to her first baby. My mom was so happy. She wanted more babies because she had stopped at 3. The baby’s name was Eve. We had her for half a day.

My cousin regretted her decision of giving us the baby. It tore my mom’s heart out. I remember her crying a lot. I never like to see my mom cry because she’s like the rock of our family.

A year later would come Danny. Same cousin. Danny would be the sickest baby out of them all. (Yes, there were more.) It took about a week for us to take him home. My cousin had been doing drugs while pregnant with the baby. Everytime we would see him, we had to wash our hand, dress up in a hospital uniform, and watch him outside this incubator he was in. He was so small. In wonder I would watch because I was 14.

14 and I would start learning the truth about babies. It was tiring. Every night, every hour, he had to be watched, changed, fed, burped, and then start the cycle again. I was okay with it at the time. It was only one baby and mom had taken time off work. I could still get the best grades and watch the baby at home. In those years, I didn’t care about going out much into town or using phones. I grew up slightly a tomboy. I hated shopping and talking on the phone. I watched football and wrestling with my brothers, and fought with them because they were the only ones to play with.

16 would be the age I was when Kate was born. Same cousin, again. This time, though, mom wouldn’t help much.

Yes, 16 would be the age that I would feel myself tied down and sinking in an ocean of blackness. I could hardly go out and see my best friend, who was now in college. I had no internet to even talk to anyone. Cells were popular then, but I didn’t have one yet. Inside, I was getting sadder and choking by how much piled on me. My always-perfect self stopped caring about doing my best in school. Even my attendance became so bad. I didn’t care anymore. I had a newborn baby to watch almost all the time while my mom went to sleep and worked in the day. I was still a virgin, but I’d become a teenage mom. They weren’t even mine!

The Brother I Love and Hate

Make no mistake, I’ll always love my brother. We’re one year and a week apart, and he wishes he was oldest. He wasn’t like my best friend, but he grew up with me just the same and we did things together almost all the time because of how we grew up. My parents didn’t treat any one of us with more love than another. We shared everything.

The sibling fights got bad in our teens. I don’t know if my mom noticed them or what, but my brother was having anger management issues. I don’t know why because my brother is not one to start talking about feelings. Anyway, the fights were becoming abusive. He actually choked me one afternoon that it left imprints on my neck. I don’t recall what the fight was about. I try not to remember it too much.

I had developed a fear and hatred of my brother. It was so bad I burst out crying out of nowhere while in one of my classes in High School.

His anger problems went hand-in-hand with his depression. He was doing really poorly in school, both in behavior and work. My mom finally took him to see therapist, bought his medications, and worried about him.

And she didn’t see that I was falling as well.


Someone I knew once explained to me how his depression felt. With mine, I told him, it was me choking, drowning in a cold, black ocean. I couldn’t breathe because everything was piling on me, sinking me further down.

Since I was little, I can remember trying to be perfect. Less than was not an option. I did a lot that was asked of me. The best grades. The best student. The best friend. The best person. Nothing in the world could stop the smiles I had everyday. If something didn’t go right, I would just try it again until I got the result I wanted. I stayed up during school nights just because I needed to finish my work as best as I could. Perfect was my goal.

But even I was not Supergirl. One event after another just started cutting me down. Childhood was easy; I know that now. I still wanted to be perfect, but the truth slowly started becoming clearer to me.

I didn’t know anything… and it crumbled my world.


I couldn’t stand it anymore. Everything was piling up on me. I had no idea what to do with myself. Where to turn to. I was not the kind of person to burden others, like my parents. And my brothers? Would they understand? Back then, unlike now, I had a cell phone, but what I could do was limited. No net and not really any texting. Nothing. Not many contacts since I had recently got it.

I was holding onto myself in the bathroom, fingernails digging into my flesh. ‘Wow, that hurt,’ I thought. For a while, it took my mind off things as I looked at my arms. Bleeding a bit. Some skin peeling off. That was enough for me to stop my incessant shaking. I did it again. And again. I had scratches down my arms, but… I was calmer. Being able to go to my room was easy since it was night. I looked for a long sleeve shirt, but I didn’t have one. My mom did and it was black. For a moment, my thought was, ‘I don’t think I have anything black.’ I didn’t. My clothes had been light. But I donned that black, long sleeve shirt, and…

…that’s when part of me died and another was born. I’m not saying I turned goth or anything of the like. I simply became more comfortable later wearing black, when I used to wear whites. Symbolic, right? Well, that’s what happened. Of course, I wear more colors now that I’m not so depressed, but hardly will I wear a light-colored shirt.

Pain and cutting eventually became part of my routine. Whenever I would feel that I’d lose it, I resort to this pain method. Physical pain for mental anguish from home, school, and… relationships. I did not go from boy to boy, but boys usually became my friends. Sometimes our friendships became ruined. Most times, I tried not to go over a line, which was easy physically because I disliked people touching me and emotionally because I was quieter.

Night Walk

I feel alone again. Its as refreshing as it is saddening. The air outside is cool….. and I’m glad to be out of the house. But I’m out here walking nowhere for a reason.

The things hope makes you feel…


Accepting Good from the Bad

So, yesterday was our 4th Monthsary. I remember telling him it had been 3 months… and he said “Already?” How time flies. But this is what he said to me this time:

[Sep 24, 2010 12:26 AM] Zak: Love you too<3333

[Sep 24, 2010 12:27 AM] Zak: Happy Anniversary<333

[Sep 24, 2010 12:27 AM] Zak: Still gotta get you a gift

[Sep 24, 2010 12:28 AM] Zak: Ill try to get it sent by christmas

Made me like…… very smiley :) I didn't ask him for anything, but he feels guilt at having gotten a gift from me, so I don't mind then. I'm pretty sure I'd get very emotional though if I received it. Ha ha. I am not used to many gifts. Family…. Friends sometimes, but its not a lot and especially for no reason. And they mean A LOT to me from when its special people.

You know, I am glad things went the way they did. Some people might look at the bad all the time, but I like to look at the good that came from that bad. People don't realize how fortunate they are to be forgiven, to be able to learn from a mistake, to learn from life in general. My relationships are few, very view, and yes, I am no expert. But what I gained from past relationships, from fights, from tears and so on, has taught me to see things differently and change what I wanted to what we want. Its hard. Its very hard sometimes. So hard I would like to give up.

But don’t give up.

Life isn’t High School. High School relationships annoyed me. Most relationships were all drama. He said, she said. There was no sitting down. No being rational and talking it out. It was all anger and jealousy and calling each other names and never speaking to one another again and having friends go talking behind your ex’s back.

No. Don’t be like that. That’s pathetic. Talk things out if you really want to make it work. If he/she won’t be rational, just walk away until they are OR until you’re not as angry back.

There have been quite a few times I just had to walk away and cool down. I can be rational, but I also get angered a lot. Multiple things. Mostly stress. Talking while angry can have you say things you can never take back and the other person can never forget. Especially if it’s something very painful. I don’t get kicks out of hurting people, and although sometimes you have to, there are other times its best to not say anything.


Its in the Name

When I first started around the internet, when I was 13, I used girl-ish usernames. I was a girl afterall. Why would I go around with a boy name, right? So for a couple years I was fine this way. Was. Some things happened… I guess I started to change. I hadn’t noticed before, but even before my depression era when I was 16, it started happening a couple years before. I’m unsure what it is exactly. Becoming a teenager? The quick transition from child to adult? I do believe that the responsibilities were handed to me too early. I never did things that I heard my friends bragging about. My self-esteem took a nose dive. What mattered little to me before because I was a child……. just started all the worry.

So, then my depression hit. I had never worn or owned black before, but then I started aquiring a collection until I had no color. My world was like this. No color. Wait, that’s not true. The only color left for me was…


Yes, so I turned into a cutter. A pain freak. Which still affects me today, in a way. Masochism.

Anyway, back to the usernames, thing, I aquired a new online identity for a few reasons: My terrible self-esteem, my anti-social nature, my interest in a new character/story, and my continuing interest in Revolutionary Girl Utena. So, the Macabre Prince was born. He is both me and my character. Well, guess they’re both me. For a lot of websites, I went by this name and no other. For years…

…But its slowly ending. My old online persona. I’m slowly reverting back from guy to girl. I hadn’t noticed….. until I could not remember what username I began using for websites. Melanistic is starting to become the true me now. Back to girl. And not only is it just online, its myself in person. Where everything is black, I’m getting my color back. And no, not white. Forever will white be associated with my younger self. I’ve actually gotten a rainbow now. Where I used to hate certain colors, I love them all….. together.

Its funny in a way, don’t you think? The transitions of myself. Like the metamorphosis  of a butterfly.


Firsts, Dentists, Bugs, and Cheesecake

So, the week started with Labor Day. We (and by “we” I mean my mom, my best friend, the three kids, and I) and some people from our church went to a lake some 45 min from our hometown. It was really nice to just listen, hang, and do nothing. Yeh, found it better with my best friend there. I’m not really social with the other church youth. My bff and I were only able to get 3/4 of the way through The Bounty Hunter. LOLz. The other times she was on my phone “playing games” supposedly. I love my bf’s secret so much I deleted it off my phone cus she is really nosy.

So, just as my little brother gets over his sickness, I get mine on Tuesday, the next day. I had a really, really bad sore throat that just got worse everyday until this morning (tho its still pretty bad.) I was so tired, mouth dry, couldn’t swallow or drink anything cus it just hurt. Even now, when I spit, its just half blood. That’s how bad it become. Anything cold was the worst. I tried tea with honey, pickle juice, salt-water, etc. When I got my prescriptions yesterday, the woman working at the pharmacy told me its best to get the spray with phenol. Tasted nast-ae. But cherry-flavored flu medicine that burns a hole in your stomach is worse, I guess.

Thursday, I had a dentist appt. I was hoping to get my wisdom teeth pulled. But they’re almost finished growing out. I need them out though because they’re messing up the rest of my teeth. Anyway, my dentist told me it was probably an infection in the back. I am not surprised, just slightly disappointed. When I first started talking to the guy who is my bf now, he had his wisdom teeth taken out and was in major pain for a month after…and still kinda is but because his teeth are realigning back. I’m half afraid due to that, but I’d feel relieved were they gone for good.

Yesterday, I finally got my glucose blood test. I’ve been half dreading it because 1) Last time I went, they took 4 shots at different times and 2) I have a phobia of needles. I almost always have to turn my face away as people put a needle in me or I’d get as shaky as a leaf. The woman only gave me one shot tho (and got enough blood for 3 vials instead of the 2 *shudders*).

So, after we came home, I took a nap and in the evening, everyone had to help start cleaning for today. Today is actually my only nephew’s first birthday :) Such a cutie and eats VERY well. He was in a really good mood today and feeling better. Seems like everyone is getting sick.

Funny thing was that everyone left the birthday cake alone and ate my mom’s strawberry cheesecake instead.Sky LOLz

Sky is…blue? LOLz



Wow, it’s been a while since I’ve been on dA. I was just checking the fb update and wondering what it meant. Forgot about it (lol) cus I noticed this deviation. Very smexy.

Haven’t drawn lately… No great inspiration and not happy with what comes out. I need to go back to school not because I’d learn more, but it seems when I’m busy and not worried about home, I’m able to draw. More free time to myself and not about others.

One Step Closer

Hm, so guess I lost my phone shopping-ginity last night. First time I got to actually look and choose. *gasp* I’m not much of a shopper, but when it comes to phones… Yeh, would rather have a new/better phone to a game or an iPod. Its not exactly the most new model of Blackberry *coughTorchcough* but my old one was so outdated even AT&T was having problems when I called.

Speaking of calling, I had to call AT&T in the morning complaining why I couldn’t make a blackberry phone email. Brand new phone. FML, right? Gawd, I hate talking on the phone. Would rather email, IM, or text, but I was so irritated to get my phone how I wanted it. Phones are ♥. Smartphones are ♥♥♥.

Just like my internet, I refuse to go back to slow and dull. Any smartphone like Blackberry, iPhone, or Android would have been A-OK, but nothing else. Sorry, but I look at my mom’s phone (Pantech btw) and its like… No. Hell, no. Wish AT&T had better phones. Found myself wishing we had Verizon or even T-mobile just for a certain phone. Alas, will just have to wait.

So, I went around looking for themes for my new phone. :”( Sadly, I was only satisfied more or less with a few. Not like my old one. “Beautifly Black” was the most simplest, perfect theme on my old phone. But I’m okay with “The Collector”. Though, keep hoping there will be a tokidoki theme out there that will make me drool. Oh, well. Maybe I’ll make one myself.

Screenshot - The Collector

The Collector

Screenshot - Beautifly Black

Beautifly Black


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