The Sweetest Guy Ever.

Weaver - Bah. Bleah. Ugh. Erg. Grr. Fuck. says:

And learning generally entails not making the same mistakes

Weaver - Bah. Bleah. Ugh. Erg. Grr. Fuck. says:

Not making the same mistakes and not caring about them

--- says:

i want to not care, Trust me

--- says:

if theres one guy whos the most sensitive piece of shit about everything, its me.

Weaver - Bah. Bleah. Ugh. Erg. Grr. Fuck. says:

*hugs* well you may disagree, but that's a good thing.

Weaver - Bah. Bleah. Ugh. Erg. Grr. Fuck. says:

Do you know how many fucking zoned out uncaring fuckers are out there? Too goddamned many

Weaver - Bah. Bleah. Ugh. Erg. Grr. Fuck. says:

"You owe it to yourself, you owe it to the world. To care."

--- says:

But who the fuck cares!!!!! DO you know!!! how WELL how fucking AMZINGLY i would treat any special girl who fell for me?!?!?!? do you know how fucking slim the chance of me ever hurting her would be, im not a bonehead. i know what love is, for one, and i would never abandon it, i would never cheat it. i would show up a million of those fucktards i swear it, id show them Exactly how its done cause they dont know how to do shit but look skin-deep at a girl and fuck her then leave her crying herself to sleep. and they call it Love, thats the mass of fucking Guys for you!!!! i hate it, and no one can see how much i am dying to give out anything and everything to one a girl who would just Fall for me and not bail out half way through!! i know how to love, i know how to care. unlike SO many fucking people

Weaver: She doesn't deserve him. Not by far. And he deserves much better than what he has.

Lah.

Another Boy Rant.

Voice: Oh, joy. Boys again. You know, even I get tired of hearing about the boys in your life, occasionally. And boys in general.

Weaver: Just hear me out. At least this time it's not about me and a boy. Rather, it's about a friend (who, at her request, shall remain Anonymous) and a boy. I'm just not entirely sure what to think of the situation. And of course, being me, I want to rant and think about the topic. Besides, it might help her out to at least hear a few different thoughts.

Voice: And lucky me, I get to have the whole thing bounced off of me so that you can figure it out.

Weaver: Right you are! Give the... er... mist... a prize!

Voice: Okay then. So, what's the situation with Anonymous?

Weaver: The usual drama... Basically, her boytoy is going away for the summer. And of course, he chose my birthday party yesterday to talk to her about what would happen to their relationship when he did. It's actually quite funny... Almost everyone there talked to someone else about something important last night. At one point everyone was separated into 'talking' groups with their persons. Including me, but that's another story.

Voice: Stay on task. I want this to be done before you fall asleep.

Weaver: Right. Sorry. Tired and all. Only got a few hours of sleep. And I just got back from work.

Voice: FOCUS!!!

A gust of cool mist abruptly swirls around Weaver, dousing her face.

Weaver: Thanks. Really. Okay. So from what I understand, neither of them is fully sure how they feel about the other. They're kinda opposites and I don't know whether it's a good thing or a bad thing in their case.

But anyways. Let's skip all the possibilities of their compatibility as a couple and get straight to the point. He told her that he wanted to take a break for the summer, since he wasn't going to be around anyways. Reasonable, no? After all, they're only going to be 'going out' in name for that period anyways.

Voice: If so, then where's the confusion?

Weaver: I'm getting there. It's not the whole request thing, but WHY that's so ambiguous. See, the reason he wants to break up for the summer or whatever is because he wants her to be happy.

Voice: I think I speak for everyone when I say... "Huh?" I don't see the connection. Explain further.

Weaver: Okay. I'm not 100% on the reasoning here, but apparently he thinks that 'summer romances can be fun' and such things like that, and he doesn't want her to feel that she has to stay faithful to him when he's not even in the same province as her. When she protested that she wanted to stay faithful to him, and if by some random chance met the man of her dreams while he was away she would tell him, his response was that he didn't want her to feel she had to stay glued into a relationship that was only in name anyway.

Rough translation, in Weaver's opinion: If she can't last two months without having sex with him, he wants her to feel free to do someone else.

Or, the sweet version: He'd rather she be happy with someone else than unhappy and pining for him.

Or something along those lines.

Voice: It doesn't take an idiot to figure that out, then. Two easy deductions: One, he's the one who wants to be free to have a 'fling' or whatever. Two, he's trying to put it in a way that seems like it's all for her sake. Which makes him a cork soaker.

Weaver: Normally, I would agree. In fact, if it were anyone but this particular boy (or maybe Tristan), I most definitely would agree. But she has some pretty good arguments for the home team. For one thing, he's really nice, and probably sincere. Before you say, "Denial much?", let me just say that I agree, for once. I consider both of them to be good friends, and he's a pretty straightforward guy, not to mention a nice one. It's exactly the kind of thing he would do, in fact. This is when our opinions started to diverge. And thus, here's where the rant part comes in.

Warning: This gets a bit harsh. I mean no offense. I love you, dudes!

Anonymous was mostly kinda sad and confused about the whole thing. You know, the typical girl reaction: "Oh my gawd, he doesn't want to date me anymore but he doesn't want to hurt my feelings by breaking up with me he likes someone else he's gonna forget all about me over the summer how the hell will we pick it back up once school starts" etc etc etc. I zoned out after a while, to be honest. Because you know what? Whether or not he's being sincere, If I were in her place, I think I'd probably be kinda mad.

For one thing, what the fuck? Sure, if you look at it the 'sweet version' way, it's a nice sentiment. But either it means that he truly loves her, enough to want to put her happiness far before his own.... or that he doesn't care enough about her to feel supremely jealous at the thought of her with another guy. And even if he does truly love her that much, he still wouldn't be respecting her... or at least not enough to believe that she can stay faithful in that unbearably long two-month absence.

We were talking about this with another friend--

Voice: Let me guess. She wants to remain anonymous, too.

Weaver: As a matter of fact, it doesn't really matter. Unless she reads this and asks me to remove her name too. But until then, for clarity's sake, let's only have one Anonymous, okay?

Right. So we were talking with Becca, who said that her brother once did the same thing to his girlfriend. But aha! There's a twist! You see, as I understand it, her brother knew that his girlfriend had already been unfaithful, and I'm not entirely sure on this one either, but I believe the whole thing was his way of letting her get away with it/seeing if she'd fess up...? Either that or the whole breakup without making it seem like you're broken up to spare the mess.

Voice: Well, has your friend cheated on her boyfriend, in this case? Perhaps the situations aren't so different as you thought...?

Weaver: I'm about 99% sure that she hasn't. For one thing, when Becca told the story it was pretty obvious that the thought hadn't even crossed my friend's mind. Also, she was just as confused as before, so obviously questions were not answered.

Voice: Wait wait wait. A thought just occured to me. Did he want the 'summer breakup' to begin immediately, or when he actually left?

Weaver: It seems great minds do think alike, after all! That's the exact same thing I asked her, and apparently it's the exact same thing she asked him. Unfortunately, he said that he meant when he actually left.

Voice: Why is that unfortunate?

Weaver: For her sake, it isn't. But if he had said 'immediately', then I think it would have been fairly obvious that he was actually doing the mess-avoiding breakup after all. But no! Dammit, why doesn't anything ever have a simple answer?

I'm sorry, but this whole situation just bugs me to no end.

And I seem to have run into the brick wall, finally. All of the lack of sleep and partying and such has caught up to me, because I can no longer think about it. And my head hurts.

Bah on boys.

And bah on girls too.

Bah on everyone.

Except Mr Dearden, because he's using my King Kong entry as an introduction to the Diploma Exam prep on my birthday. As a model essay, if I recall the words of the email correctly...

*feels better*

Gnight.

Lah.

Love And Monsters.

I'm not sure if the comic is big enough to be read. If not, here's the link.

Beware: English Nerd Moments Galore in this Rant. And spoilers, I suppose. Supposing that you know nothing of King Kong.

Recommended Reading: Rose and the Beast, by Francesca Lia Block.

First of all, I didn't know Kong died at the end. I actually kinda did think that he climbed back down or something. True Love prevails and all that. Maybe Ann Darrow stays with Kong. Before I read this comic, that is. It's one of my favourites, nonetheless.

I just watched Kong. The new one, that is. And while I haven't seen any of the others, I am not such a shelled being as to not know the story. Besides, my favourite movie in the world is the Rocky Horror Picture Show. So I've always known it, as most people have, as the ultimate tale of male/female, innocent/violent, ultimate delicate beauty versus ultimate primal strength. Man is the real monster, etc etc.

If you read my blog regularly, you'd know that I have a fascination and abhorrence for taboo. If you knew me, you'd know that I have a fantasy kick. I adore fantasy novels, and the more recent movies. If you really knew me, you'd know that I have a monster kick. Not the same way Becca likes superheroes, but true monsters. Not the human kind. I mean Michael at the end of Underworld kind of a thing. Now, if you really, really knew me, you'd know that all of these combine together to form a fascination and attraction to that which is wholly, purely inhuman.

What makes a monster?

What constitutes love?

Whenever you hear about King Kong, you hear about Fay Wray/Anne Darrow as a representation of the sacred feminine. You hear about Kong's love for her, and possibly her talent of screaming dramatically. Since I was little, I always wondered about more than that. Did she love Kong back? Did she scream because she wanted to escape him? Certainly she must have been afraid. But was she afraid for her fate at the hands of King Kong, or did she fear the machine guns? Did she fear for herself, or for him?

Like I said, I haven't seen any of the other Kong movies. But this one was marvelous. They didn't just turn her into a screaming lady for him to capture and carry around and such. She wasn't a hostage. She went to him, again and again, even when they (all of the large succession of theys) were shooting. She stood in front of him.

The purest of emotions is love. I believe that with all my heart, and the words resonate as an Absolute Truth. Sure, love is the passionate makeout, the risking-your-life-to-save-hers, the winning of the fair maiden's love. But it's also being held safe in the arms of someone stronger (be it man or woman) and being held in return. It may be pure, but it's never simple. Between humans, there's always doubt that creeps in eventually. Little hurts and bitternesses, the occasional fight, and the ability to hurt another person as deeply as one can be hurt.

This is what it means to be human.

But the simplest passions... Not animal lust, but animal love. Beauty and the Beast. I used to stop the Disney version before the end, you know that? Why? Because I couldn't bear to watch the Beast turn back into a Prince. It's the same as watching Anne Darrow go to Jack Driscoll at the end of Kong. He also climbed the Empire State for her, I admit. It was from the inside, through the elevator, breaking through police tape and such. Another symbol. The movie was loaded and loaded with them. He went through human boundaries, the boundaries on the inside, to get to her. Kong forgoed all of that by just doing it the animal way. He grabbed her and climbed. It's too blunt for humanity's subtle poison. They shot him down. The bullets never even went near Driscoll, inside the heart of the building.

I'm not saying that Driscoll's love was less true. Nor were his methods less valid. He used the means available to him. To quote my favourite line in A Man For All Seasons, by Robert Bolt: "God made the angels to show him splendor... animals for innocence and plants for their simplicity. But Man he made to serve him wittily in the tangle of his mind." And so we do. And we outwit ourselves. Perhaps that's why 'monsters' fascinate me so much. Beings that are not necessairily animals, but that contain no 'humanity', as we call it. Why do we deem humanity to be one of the most important traits a being can have? One could say that humanity is a definite motif in King Kong. In fact, one could even state that it's the theme; whether man, in attempting to destroy 'monsters' (i.e. those possessing no humanity) has indeed lost its own humanity and become the true monster.

I say: fuck humanity.

Kong's actions and feelings weren't touching because they were almost human. To call it humanity would be selfish, implying that the ability to love, to feel, are solely human. Are we the center of the universe? Heck no! We're but one more part of a delicate structure, a balance of life. Just because Kong was big, didn't mean that he had to be vicious, incapable of thought or delicate feeling. We often make the mistake of assuming that being capable of building civilisations and destroying other cultures means that we are superior. Capable of intricacies of thought that 'animals' are not.

But that's a completely different essay altogether. Back to the topic.

The simplest moments, in the midst of turmoil and fighting and confusion, are those that create the tangible love between Darrow and Kong. Curled up against one another, absorbing the beauty of the jungle. Sliding around the ice. Even the parallel moment atop the Empire State, where they look out at the concrete jungle below and see the same beauty in it. There's Beauty in the Madness. There's Beauty in the Beast. There's Beast in the Beauty. Don't believe me? Imagine your own people ripping apart the one that saved your life and loved you with all his heart, that you loved in return, and tell me that bitch wasn't angry as all hell.

But in the end, the anger melted away to a pure understanding of the intrinsic nature of not only her own kind, but of animal feelings, 'monster' feelings, as well. Did Kong know that he was going to die, cornered atop the Empire State Building? I believe so. That's what was one of the meanings of the Beauty motif in the story.

"And lo, the beast looked upon the face of beauty, and beauty stayed his hand. And from that day forward, he was as one dead."

I admit that I don't quite 'get' this quote. Perhaps he was dead by human standards, or at least severely weakened by that which we call Love. But was it not a death of the clinging to superficialities? Because once he finds Love, all else fades. He becomes alive on the most basic level. For all intents and purposes, he has found the meaning of life. For what good is life without Love? That's why he climbs the frigging building. To gain those last moments of peace. Of love. Of pure feeling, before the machine guns and complications and basic reality of humanity sets in.

Nevermind. I do indeed 'get' the quote.

And thus, the last line of the film:

"It wasn't the airplanes. It was beauty killed the beast. "

This line pissed my mother off to no end. "Of course it was the [frigging] airplanes!" she yelled at me and the screen. And usually, I would agree, and yell right along with her. But I could understand, a little, that motivation. Kong did not go gentle into that good night, but he was, after all, a creature of instincts. That's what Dylan Thomas was telling us to do when he wrote that marvelous bit of poetry; he was telling them to follow their instincts, to grab onto life with two hands and to not let go.

For all Kong may have known that he would die at that moment, he would not sit and let Death take him. If not for himself, then for Love: it was a last hurrah against those who threatened him and his beloved. But ultimately, he would never have been able to keep Ann Darrow. Not once he had been brought to America; that action was the seal of Doom on their love. Or maybe it was sealed from the moment she chose to go to him of her own free will, back on Skull Island.

I suppose that in a way, the Beast killed Beauty too, because I can guarantee you that whether or not she ended up with Jack whatsisface at the end of the day, there would be times when she was alone, staring out over the sea and seeing a jungle, remembering a monster.

And wishing she had never been rescued.

Lah.

Strange Confusing Post

Weaver: Sorry, give me a second. I've severely distracted. O.O *she stares at a TV screen*

Voice: I thought you didn't watch TV...?

Weaver: Showcase on Friday night is the exception, whenever it happens to be on nearby. Fridays Without Borders are funny, interesting, and despite being mostly chaste, somehow manage to be more sensual/erotic than a full-length porn video.

Voice: Perhaps because they're real?

Weaver: I think that's probably it. They're real-life stuff, for the most part. And this episode of Sin Cities Unleashed is WEIRD. It's all flashbacks from previous episodes.... this one focuses on nudity. Well, good for it! Goes well with my "Dance Naked In The Streets" post, which is all about nudity. Hey. Ashley (the main character in the latter and better two seasons) isn't actually all that unattractive, in a nerdy kind of way. My nerd could beat him any day in the looks department, but then again, I'm biased I suppose.

Voice: I must mention that this post, while strange, isn't all that confusing.

Weaver: Oh, this post wasn't actually supposed to have anything to do with Sin Cities or FWB. It was actually supposed to be a post that I wanted to make so that I could talk over my mind with the Mists, but that I didn't really want people to read unless they really felt they had to. Thus, a confusing and rather strange post. It's... er... deviated a tad from that, I think. But I guess it's for the best, since everyone would have read it anyway and poop would ensue. And more confusion. And possible unhappiness. Luckily, --

Whoops. Commercial over.

Told you it was distracting.

Lah.

Wanted: One Slow Dance

It's a familiar, slow, melody. Already in his arms, her arms move up to surround his shoulders even as his move down to encircle her waist. All of the cliches about slow dances, special moments, and the lack of rythm required to slow dance pass through her head and fade as she looks up into his eyes. The music envelops them, and as it becomes the entire world, she rests her head on his chest. An eternity passes. She glances up, only to find him watching her. They smile at the same time, and she quickly glances back down. Her embarassment fades as the song continues and they rotate in place, forever...

But then she glances up again, only to find that there's no dark room, only grey thick mist. And she's dancing with a ghost.

--

She spins and spins, losing herself in the music, but alone this time. The mist begins to fill the empty space she's spinning in, and when it reaches her body it fills her too. It's a cold, cold feeling, and it numbs her from deep inside out.

When she finally stops, it's a sudden, harsh stop. Nausea abruptly overtakes her, and she reaches to steady herself on him, to anchor herself to what has never been there before: another person, waiting.

But he spins away as she touches him. He begins to glow, but ti's not a comforting sight. He is an alien creature in the mist, and it is rejecting him. It reaches out for her again, this time not slowly taking her over but burying her, smothering her.

She cries, and her tears melt the mist away. Warm arms encircle her, not fantasy arms but real, strong, solid arms. She leans back into him and lets the tears flow.

Dance Naked In The Streets!

Weaver: Although you may be arrested for public indecency, I mean what I said in the title. Follow your instincts, follow your dreams. Love above all things and open yourself to the gorgeous force of Nature. We were created to live! Live, I tell you! Live! And to live fully and naturally. Voodoo, by Godsmack just came on. A song to make you twist your hips, sinuate your body to the music, and lose yourself to the dance. Drop that towel, do it naturally. Lose yourself in the feeling, in the absolute love of the moment. Live as you were meant to be, completely at one with the universe. Be at peace with yourself. VIOLATE PROPRIETY!!!!

Happiness, Thy Name Is Bugspray. Or, The Eyebrowless Wonder.

The sight of Weaver appearing this time is quite a different one. She's wearing a long black lace skirt that swirls around her legs while she walks, complimented by a shorter dress over the top, patterned with orange designs and flowers. Her hair is a blue so dark it appears black. The innumerable silver rings lining both of her ears stand out a stark silver against the darkness of her hair. But perhaps most strange of all, instead of the dark eyebrows usually present above her eyes, there is a pattern of swirling dark lines imitating and mocking the absent hair.

Voice: While curious, I'm also almost afraid to ask what your newfound appearance has to do with bugspray.

Weaver: As it turns out, absolutely nothing. I just happened to be at the mercy of a million bugs when I began writing this entry, and retaliated by coating myself from head to toe in heavy duty Off!, thus happiness. Of course, since I am no longer outside, having been forced to return Brian's laptop to him so that he could (horror of horrors!) work, it's no longer relevant.

Voice: Moving on, then. Although I think that the new look is definitely a nice one, I must ask the reason for the sudden change. It has something to do with the previous crappy mood?

Weaver: Don't assume. Ass and all that. And partly. It was more of a spur-of-the-moment thing. Of course, the dye was over two years old and I've never permanently died my hair a dark colour before... so I didn't know that black dye isn't actually black. I was afraid the dye had expired or something and was going to turn my hair green. Then I considered it to be an interesting prospect, and waited a while longer. Boy, did it work.

Voice: And the eyebrows...?

Weaver: Oh. Those came yesterday. See, I'm sure I've talked about Dallis and all that.

Music plays.

"...Some things you lose, and some things you just give away..."

Weaver: Jack Off Jill's "Strawberry Gashes".

Er... That made no sense to that majority of you, I'm sure. Ask me about it and I'll tell you.

Maybe.

Voice: Can I ask?

Weaver: No. You already know.

Voice: Of course I don't-- Oh.

Weaver: See?

Voice: Yes, yes. Go on.

Weaver: Okay. So now those of you who aren't banging your head against the wall in confusion all know who Dallis is. Dallis is, well... he's strange. And apt to do stranger things when bored. Like shave off half of his goatee, moustache, and both of his eyebrows. And then, when he realizes what he's done, he laughs it off. Lucky dude. Anyways, so he asked me to let him shave off my eyebrows. I shrugged and agreed, figuring he'd forget by the next day.

Voice: I've heard this scenario before.

Weaver: Don't rub it in. As you may have guessed, he showed up at the cafeteria the next day with his face fully shaved (the whole half-half thing wasn't working). He looked like a creepy demon, because his hair is black and really thick, and it framed his hairless face, emphasizing the whole dealio. Not unattractive. Just creepy.

Voice: Back to the whole moustache thing. Errr... wait. Eyebrow thing. Eyebrow.

Weaver: Indeed. Back to the whole eyebrow thing. So he was fully prepared, complete with men's shaving cream and posse of girls that follows him around. I was cornered... And besides, what was the harm? They'd grow back. So off to the girl's changing room we went. And less than three minutes later, I was eyebrowless... and surprisingly not that different-looking. As I grabbed my handy-dandy kohl pencil from my bag--

Voice: You attempted to draw on new eyebrows and instead gave yourself a permanently suprised/angry look?

Weaver: Hardy har har. No. In fact, I did the same thing I did now (albeit a different pattern). I didn't attempt to mimic normal eyebrows. Instead, I drew pretty lace designs where they used to be. Actually, not all that many people have noticed.

Voice: Not that many people have chosen to comment to your face, you mean.

Weaver: Same difference. There are only a few people whose opinions matter, anyways.

Voice: One of whom is your mother. How did she react?

Weaver: Oh, she hated it on sight. Told me so, too. Said I looked ridiculous and stupid and she didn't like it and although it's my face and she can't control what I do to it, she "suggested" that I never ever ever ever do it again. Also, they apparently might not grow back. As is disputed by the stubble I already have.

Voice: For the record, I like it. But are you going to take her 'advice'?

Weaver: Er... I know she will read this... But no. I like it a lot. I'm going to experiment with different looks and different eye pencils. Perhaps liquid and such, so that it doesn't come off so easily.

Voice: Interesting idea. But what about when you don't have the time or inclination to do up your face in the morning?

Weaver: Since I lost my favorite pair of glasses, I have to put in my contacts every morning anyways. It's not much different than that. Besides, this morning I woke up ten minutes before my bus and still managed to do both and make it on time. It's not exactly a time-consuming manoevre.

Voice: If you say so. I can't say anything, I suppose. I have no eyebrows.

Weaver: Exactly, so shut yer yap!

Voice: Not likely. In other news...?

Weaver: Ah, yes. Time to turn the conversation, regrettably, away from myself.

Voice: *quietly* Finally.

Weaver: I heard that!

Anyways. So the day of my last post was also a very special day, although not for me.

Voice: Aha. So you did rig those ducks!

Weaver: Er... No. I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. No, yesterday was the day that 70 kids in my school shaved their head for cancer.

Voice: Anyone we know?

Weaver: At least one... No other than... Tristan!

Voice: And you didn't mention this Tuesday... why?

Weaver: Because I was too wrapped up in myself to care.

Voice: Wow. Nice.

Weaver: It wasn't first and foremost in my mind, okay? But now I get to rant and give him and the others the credit they deserve. Shaving your head is frigging harder than it sounds! Hair represents power in many ways, and we don't realize how attached we are to it. Also, it's not a one-day thing. You have to watch it grow back. Slowly. It may take years to get it to the length it was before. It changes your appearance completely.

Voice: So I take it the SK isn't the awesome manly man he was before the shaving?

Weaver: Actually, he was quite pleased to have it shaved off. It was getting long and bugging him.

Voice: He's a special one, alright.

Weaver: Special indeed. And while I liked it better long, it is awfully soft now... Not that I've had the oppurtunity to rub my cheek against it yet. Lack of a private setting and all. Even right after it was done, I only got one quick rub before he went off to do whatever it is that boys do after they lose all of their hair. Pity, though. Can't wait.

Voice: Back to the whole "For Cancer" part. How much did he raise?

Weaver: I'm not sure how much he raised specifically (perhaps he can comment and enlighten us once he undoubtedly reads this), but the school in total raised about 67... thousand. Wow. That's like three or four times what they were hoping. Keira (remember her?), Kathleeen O'Gorman, and Ben (I cried when they turned on the razor... all that gorgeous hair...) also did it. but most shocking of alll...

Voice: Who?

Weaver: David Benson. Yes, he of the long, flowing blond curls. He who, one would think, would be least likely to give a shit about cancer. Him, I didn't merely cry when the razor bit into all the hair. I clutched at Blair and Sam, and stared in horrified fascination and lamentation as all of that beautiful stoner hair fell, lock by lock, to the ground.

Voice: How did he feel about it?

Weaver: Ha. He was stoned off his ass. Didn't give a shit. Said it went to a good cause. He's a pretty prozaic guy. Nothing really fazes him, and that's before the drugs. But in any case, he's still an awesome dude, and I can still barely look at his bald head without flinching.

Voice: At least it went to a good cause.

Weaver: Good cause my ass. I would have donated that amount just to see him keep his hair.

Well... maybe not.

Voice: Didn't think so.

Weaver: Moving on. I'm quite proud of all the wonderful people who gave their hair. Some people had hair down to their backs (like Benson but not as thick or curly) or longer. Alicia and Jordan, the two chicks who organized the whole thing, both look amazing with short hair. They didn't quite get shaved bald, just cut to about a centimeter. Even one of the hairdressers who volunteered their services got hers shaved before we started. Miz Burns, my Drama teacher, who had blond curls almost as luxurious as Benson's, got hers done too. She too only has it cut short (since she missed the actual event, being in Toronto and all). I'm not sure whether it's gonna end up shaved proper.

Voice: Any other interesting shavings?

Weaver: *smiles mischieviously* I wouldn't say shaved, per say. But a couple of male teachers did get people to donate... but it wasn't the hair on their head they were volunteering.

Voice: Please, please don't say what I think you might.

Weaver: No, nothing R-rated. Their legs, it was. Waxed. By anyone willing to pay.

Voice: Wow.

Weaver: They screamed like little girls when it happened.

Voice: I'm sure they raised a lot of money, though.

Weaver: Ooodles and oodles. Wouldn't you pay to wax a teacher's leg? I sure as hell would.

Voice: And that is a beautiful note to end this conversation on, wouldn't you say?

Weaver: Oooh. Got a hot date to run to?

Voice: And who would you propose that I date? That hot cloud over there?

Weaver: *defensively* Hey! You never know!

Lah.

MistWeaver.

Every Teen Angst Movie Rolled Into One

Weaver appears slowly, looking tired. Her hair is faded orange and she has deep long gouges on one of her arms.

Voice: Good gracious. What in the world happened to you?

Weaver: Life. It's getting me down.

Voice: Does this 'life' have anything to do with the Serial Killer?

Weaver: How did you know that he's called-- Nevermind. Yes, it does have a bit to do with Tristan, but only in a general (paranoid) sense.

Voice: Ah.

Weaver: Don't "Ah." me. Before I begin my tale of the past few weeks, let me first state that I am on my period.

Voice: And this is significant... why?

Weaver: Just so that you know that I'm hormonal and crampy. Which probably has a lot to do with my mood.

Voice: And now that you've enlightened us all...

Weaver: Yes. The past few weeks. First of all, I went to Invermere a few weekends ago.

Voice: And Inveremere is...?

Weaver: A lakeside vacation spot in BC. The SK and his parents and such have a cabin there.

Voice: Ah... I see where this is going, I think. You spent a weekend, alone, with him and his family. Does he have siblings?

Weaver: A younger brother and a younger sister. Andrew's in grade 9 at our school and an obnoxious dick. I love him. I kissed him on the cheek and he blushed. Heh heh heh. Samantha's in... Grade 7 I believe. And she was mean at first. But we kind of bonded. It was funky chickens. All in all, his family rocks. Or at least I thought so at first.

Voice: Living with them for a weekend changed your mind?

Weaver: His siblings rock. But his parents were... Well, they weren't the nicest to me. Nothing obvious. But a lot of subtle comments, especially after they found out my age. All in all, it was an amazing weekend. I had a wonderful time and would do it again in an instant.

But anyways. This was years ago. Or at least a week or two. Let's move onto the present. Sunday night, to be precise. Sunday night was dinner with Dear Ol' Dad.

Voice: Fil. We haven't heard about him in a while. Do tell.

Weaver: Ugh. You haven't heard about him because he (very thankfully) has not been in my life at all. Not since the last therapist appointment, where I told him I wanted nothing to do with him.

Voice: Why dinner, then?

Weaver: I'm not sure. I'd say it was a guilt thing, but I've long stopped feeling guilt or remorse when it comes to him. I think it was more of a 'wanting Tristan to meet Fil' type of thing. Except that it backfired.

Voice: Backfired? You don't mean to say--

Weaver: Yeah. He liked him.

Voice: Wait wait wait. Who liked who?

Weaver: They each liked the other. Except for the whole thing about how my dad doesn't truly like anyone, of course. But he played up to Tristan like no tomorrow. Showing him things from all the different countries he's been to... Mentioning the prices of everything... Asking questions, doing the whole mano-a-mano thing. And never let it be forgotten that my father is a very suave, handsome, sophisticated individual. On the surface, of course. Even I wonder sometimes. Am I crazy? Is he really just a good guy who's been wronged?

And see, that's why I jeep a journal. And a blog.

Words appear, shining in the mist, hanging is the air. Weaver turns, reads them aloud.

Weaver: "Lest we forget". My motto. Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it. I'm sure I have at least one blog entry dedicated to this ideal. And everytime Tristan tells me "you know, he didn't seem all that bad. You should give him another chance", I sway. Then remember. Remember him breaking into the house, remember him hurting the dog, remember him losing his temper and whacking us, etc. The manipulations, the mental hurts, the fear of going home, the hiding just so I wouldn't have to communicate with him...

Wow. This sounds melodramatic. But it's true, I guess. And I feel like everything I said about all of that just... ceased to matter once he met my dad. Like the first therapist. The truth couldn't stand up to his facade. It makes me know how my mom feels, kinda. Crazy, almost.

Voice: So this is the cause of your current crappy moodness?

Weaver: No, that's just the past few weeks. Right now... I feel lost. Like all I do is take. Because really, all of my friends are much better friends with each other than with me. It's always been like that... and I've never minded because I've always had at least one friend who I was uber close to. But now... I watch them always talk to each other, chill with each other, and to be perfectly honest, I feel left out. It's stupid, since I don't want to become 'mainstream' as a friend put it. But I've been feeling thoroughly unattractive in every way lately. And I never know how to act around anyone. Not my family, not even my teachers. I feel like I'm constantly inserting myself into other people's lives, and I don't really feel like anyone particularly enjoys it. I feel like I'm trying to attract attention (by scratching my arms, and then not allowing them to heal and continually picking at them, for example), even though I don't like it when people notice. But really... I don't know whether I want people to leave me alone, or whether I want to be included. I know that I feel like I'm sitting on my ass, living in my mind, alone. Human contact I'd like, but it confuses me. And like I said, I feel like I'm being a burden on everyone. But I don't know what to do, or--

I just don't know.

Screw this.

Weaver fades out.

Blog-Wars

Weaver: Don't you just hate when two people fight, but don't actually do it with each other?

Voice: What do you mean?

Weaver: See, this is a common problem in school. One person does something to piss off the other person. The other person, instead of telling them, mentions it to someone else. The first person catches wind of it and tells someone else (maybe or maybe not the same person as before) what she thinks of that. And so it goes on. Maybe they'll even be civil to each other and pretend nothing's wrong in person, but they both know the truth.

Voice: Are you referring to this in conjunction with your life, or someone else's? I would never have pegged you for a behind-the-back fighter.

Weaver: Myself, but not exactly like that. See, in this case, the third person is blogs. You remember the two posts I made, Bubble World and Craziness I Never Expected? Well, one of them was in response to Becca's blog. Which I just finished reading the latest entry on. Which now has an entry in response to my entries. And of course, reading it makes me want to get my back up and respond again through mine.

Voice: Are you going to do so, then?

Weaver: Well, I really want to argue. But what's the point? That would just be furthering the whole frigging mess. I suppose it's my fault for writing instead of going up to her and talking about it, but I honestly wasn't trying to be aggressive. I wasn't even trying to diss her in any way. I just wanted to express an opinion, although not at the expense of someone else's.

Voice: How are you going to balance that, then?

Weaver: I'm going to address one or two things directly, for the sake of my own peace of mind and the rest of my readers', and leave the rest to fate. As in, actually talk about it. Hopefully. With her. So here I go.

Dragon's Voice said:
See bloggert, she seems to have convently forgotten that she invited me to a little movie fest she was having over the weekend. She invited me along on the night of the play(which was really awesome, thanks for askinh) . I'd been thinking about it, but tristian asked me in chem if i'd come along, and i thought, well, hey, the one person who might not have wanted me to come does, so yay. *insert happy moment here* .

Okay. So this is the main source of the blog war. Let me say first of all that I'm NOT TRYING TO ARGUE.

Voice: Although by nature, posting a rebuttal is arguing.

Weaver: Okay. Well, I guess there's nothing I can do about that. But I don't want to get into a huge thing with this, is what I'm trying to say. If this is not how it was remembered by all, then okay. I'll except that. I just want to say my feelings and those I had at the time. Especially since this whole mess is partially my fault for putting it in such a negative way.

Rewind to the night of the play. It was before the play or intermission. We were talking about the night before, when I'd told Tristan to watch Moulin Rouge, and he suggested that we see it together. Along with food and such. Which I argued with myself over the meaning of, before finally concluding that he had indeed asked me out.

So we mentioned this. I'm not sure who brought it up. Becca got immediately excited over the idea, which I admit was not presented as a date-style outing. Instead, she assumed it was a movie fest, and started talking about it as a 'we' thing. I was a bit disappointed, because I had assumed it to be a one-on-one thing, but Tristan seemed just as excited at the prospect, so I shut my mouth and shrugged. My thinking: if he didn't see it as a date, I was silly to have assumed it was. I was going to talk to her about it, but never got the chance and eventually talked myself out of it. It had obviously never been a date in the first place, and therefore I would be stupid to talk to her about it.

Also, she didn't interrupt the good-night kiss on purpose. She wasn't in the same room, and just happened to yell out at the wrong moment. I was vaguely irritated all in all, and again I probably shouldn't have put it in such a negative way.

Also. She didn't mention this, but Blair was also there. Why, you ask? Because like I said, Becca and I are in different bubbles these days, and I figured that if it was going to be a movie fest, we might as well have Blair there for a buffer.

Over the past 3 years or so, tristan has really changed. I dont mind spending time with him, and i know that hes flirted with me on a few occasions. In all my knowldge, i've never flirted with him. As i am accused of. Well, thats a little harsh on wording, but it seems approiate to my mood. Jeliously does starnge things to people. But whatever. I'm used to people saying stuff like that about me, even when their bf has moved and i've never seen them for 6 years or so. i'm used to being a scapegoat for others problems.

Okay. Next bit. I just read over my entry to be sure, and I'm pretty sure I never accused Becca of being the cause for any of my problems. I know she was in a pissy mood. I know it may have sounded a bit harsh what I said about her and the SK. I know that Becca never flirts on purpose. Neither do I, as far as I know. Arg. I don't really blame her for anything here, but I do kind of take offense at being lumped in with everyone who's ever judged her.

it really pisses me off that people say i dont know where their comming from. I mean, i wont know unless you tell me. But that doesn't mean you know where i'm comming from either. Assumptions are made, and so are labels. thats life. Its what happens.

No, I don't know where you're coming from. That's what I meant with the whole bubble thing. We are in different worlds. Yours isn't better than mine, and mine isn't better than yours. We just don't understand each other.

Voice: Now all you have to do is go and tell her that. Talk to each other, not to the world about each other.

Weaver: I'm going to try. Tomorrow. This is not good phone material. Ahhhh. This makes me sad in my heart.


The scene fades. The mists are a little thicker than usual.

Lah.

Tribute To A Mother.

Weaver: I just wanted to add a note about how much my mother rocks. She's not a common topic of conversation in the mists, but she is an amazing, wonderful person. I love her with all my heart and soul, and I want the world to appreciate how amazing she is. This is a picture of my mommy. She also makes amazing jewelry. Unfortunately, the picture is in black and white, so said jewelry is not in detail. Of course, one could visit her website to see it... http://www.tskreed.com. But anyways. I'm not here to promote her jewelry. I'm here to tell why my mother is so amazingly cool.

For starters, in the horrible divorce proceedings going on, she has persevered despite the enormous amounts of crap my father has put her through. She's managed to keep even my puberty-hitting brother fed when Fil refused to give us money to eat on. She's forging ahead with her own business, despite the pressure to forget the whole idea and get an entry-level position at some unknown corporation. She's been accused of ruining her children, sleeping around, being a disgrace to her family, being a coldhearted bitch and worse things by individuals better left unnamed (coughfilbriancough), when all she did was try and care for people. She's been beaten, abused, and thrust into horrible situations.

But you know what? She's still here to talk about them. She's still persevering, still hasn't become a bitter witch from the hand life's dealt her. And today is Mother's Day. My mother hasn't only been a mother to myself and my brother. She's been a supporter and a caregiver for just about everybody she's ever met, at some point. That's a pretty hard thing to do, and sometimes I can feel the despair in her heart, the thoughts that it might never get better, the realization that she's lived her life for other people. She's the one who deserves to be pampered. I've been home all morning, and I haven't heard the phone ring once from one of her friends, her relatives, to wish her so much as "Happy Mother's Day". Brian's been living with us three years now. Last year, she gave him the whole Father's Day shebang, because his kids live three provinces away. And what did he do this morning? Came upstairs, said he was going out, and left. Not so much as a thank-you-for-taking-me-in-all-this-time.

Now tell me. Is any of that fair?

I think not.

So here's to my mother. Here's to Thelia Darlene Foster. An amazing woman, and one deserving of much more than she has.

Life's not about waiting for the storm to pass; it's about learning to dance in the rain. I don't know when this storm will pass, but you've been dancing so much that we're all soaking wet. And today, why don't you come inside and let yourself be wrapped in a warm blanket? Have a hot cup of whiskey-laced hot chocolate thrust into your hands. And get heated from the inside with the knowledge that there are people who love and appreciate you. You make us happy. You make our life better. Not just by raising us and providing for us. You make life better just by being you.

Love, Harmony, and Hugs.

Weaver.