Why isn't 'Batgirl' a valid career choice?

I am not really a surfer or skater girl.

But I spend my summers cosplaying one.

Keep it coming.

Just keep it coming.

I can handle it.

Keep it coming.

The sun comes up, the moon comes up.

And either way, I can handle it.

This is the official* blog party celebrating the fact that Pete has finally friended back 25% of his flist.

So come on in.  It's an open bar, but you're going to get carded.  Fingerfoods a plenty, meat and veggie, pick your poison.

If the bouncer gives you trouble, just tell him you're on the list.  Because, you know, you should be.

*this party is in no way official and is probably, and by that I mean definitely, not going to be awknowledged by Mr. Wentz.

Sarah and I have decided that if we lived anywhere that surfing was actually possible, we would be the most horrible little surf brats in the world.  We would totally be the ones bitching about all the tourists and yelling at the girls who hang on hot surfers but won't go near a board themselves.

I could think of worse things to be doing right now.

Stay away from the rain.

Beware your heroes.

They'll only let you down in the long run.

And it's smooth and it makes my heart race.

And it wasn't a mistake, but it wasn't the right thing, either.

I don't use, because I can only destroy.

I won't use, because I would destroy myself.

Even if it was welcome, it would be terrible.

Even if it was allowed, I can't allow it.

Can't swallow the things I feel.

Won't swallow the things I feel.

It was a path to silence and thought.

And a moment of connection.

The ones I want to kiss are the ones who should keep talking.

The toys I need shouldn't be made of flesh.

I might not break your heart, but I would break myself.

I'm too valuable to shatter right now.

I used to live for an adrenaline rush.

I haven't had a good adrenaline rush in years.

Does this mean I haven't lived in years?

Does this mean I died and never noticed?

How long, exactly, have I been dead?

I just want to feel real again.

I keep feeling like it's all a rehersal and I keep waiting for the curtain to rise, but it never does.  There's all the anticipation of opening night, but there's never a curtain call. 

I just want something to remind me I'm alive.  I want something real, something that touches me, something that makes my heart beat and tells me that I'm alive, I'm not just a dream or a phantom and that all of this is worth it in the end.  I don't know why, I don't entirely care why, I just need a "why" in my life.  But all the things that have driven me in the past are so far away and I'm looking for something REAL but it just isn't there.

So I spill myself here, all my secrets and lies and part of me hopes you can tell the difference, where the secrets begin and end.  Where I am in all of the babble, in the bits and pieces of the bits and pieces.  Find me, put me together, because I don't know how.  I'm on the edge of nothing, and each day it bleeds into me a little more.  Make my heart beat, make me cry out, touch me in some way, but just let me know that I'm something in this world.

I want something.  I need something.

And I don't know where to find it.

I think they call it the sun.

We don't get much of that around here.

I hope I don't get used to it.  I might be sad when it's gone.

Well, depending on what takes it's place.

And if you said "This life ain't good enough"
I give my world to life you up
I would change my life to better suit your mood
because you're so smooth.

And it's just like the ocean under the moon
it's the same as the emotion that I get from you.
You've got the kind of loving that can be so smooth
well, give me your heart, make it real, or else forget about it.

It's not the "nice" that matters.  It's the "girl."  And how dare I want something between "nice girl" and "nasty bitch?"  Women don't get depth, we already have tits.

"Baby girl" can take care of herself.  She had to learn how.  She had to be stronger.  And it's not something she wants to be made to feel ashamed of.

She's got enough shame and regret as it is.

He put the gun in my hand and I put the barrel to my temple and I pulled that trigger and murdered everything she was with a smile on my face.  Now she haunts me, a malevolent spirit, pointing to images that could have been.  And I will never forgive him for taking out a hit on every part of me that wasn't ready and willing to please.

I spend so much time wondering how many moments I missed, moments of soursweet fear and shaking with adrenaline and hot nights alone on a dark highway with a voice on my stereo urging me on and on and on.  What could have been helped?  What could have changed?  Should I have turned the gun on him instead?  He turned it on himself anyway.

Oh I'm just a girl my apologies
what I've become is so burdensom.
Oh I'm just a girl, lucky me
Tweedle-dum there's no comparison.

I find the most truths after midnight on a warm Thursday night, or laying in the sun on a Sunday morning.

There is a memory of a day years ago, when I was in a music store back home with my father and my brother.  It was warm, a perfect summer day.  "Hella Good" by No Doubt was playing and that song will always take me back to the day when I found her.

She was fearless and got off on adrenaline.  She didn't care what you really thought about her.  She was strong enough to stand back up no matter what.  She could look at her reflection and smile back at it, because what you saw was what you got.

He made me kill her in her sleep.

I hit on a waiter yesterday.  How far we've come, little girl.  How far we've come.

So I love hanging out with my friend Random.  Because she has this ability to make me do the stupidest things without thinking about them.  My risk taking technology increases 150% when I'm hanging around her.  Maybe it's the music she's usually got blaring (she's the source of 3/4's of my really good techno and trance), the fact that she drives that sleek little Honda like a madwoman, or the fact that we are both considerably violent women.  I'm not sure.

I get home around 6 and am preparing for another slow night on the internet, when Random calls and says "I'm off tonight.  I'm like a mile from your house.  Shopping?"

We ended up at one of the malls in Pittsburgh I had never been too.  After a wine tasting adventure, dinner, and me buying impractical jewelry I can't wear to work right now (but that will look kicking with my pseudo-military stuff...mental note, buy new military green tank top, old one is too big), and a fabulous jacket H and M only had in a size 2 (bastards!), we drove home around nine and I had one hell of a fucking night.  It was awesome.

I need more random adventure.  More than that, I need a fucking car or something.  Or a motorcycle.  I'm back on that kick again.  I need a motherfucking motorcycle.

You are a son of a bitch and I never got closure.

I hate being lonely, but I love being myself again.

I am the reflection in the mirror
I am my shadow on the ground
I am the flesh that binds the two together.
I am the hand that guides this pen
I am the lips that whisper "Maybe, maybe,"
I am the comfort, I am the pain.

I am a shade of grey.

I am the path that all must follow
I am the fist that strikes without warning
I am the guardian of all I feel is right.
I am the illusion you make of me
I am the saddened revelation
I am the truth, I am nothing but a lie.

I am a shade of grey.

I am the whispers in the breeze
I am the spark that lights the fire
I am the sun that gives way to darkest night.
I am the wave that drags you under
I am the force that moves the earth
I am in the end the sum of all.

I am a shade of grey.

The snow was gone!  Why did it come back?  Why?

Damn you, Tempestia!  Damn you!

So, I have no idea why I thought of this today, but I'm going to relate to you the story of Sodomy Guy.

No, this was not a guy who enjoyed Sodomy.  This was a guy who apparently tours colleges and preaches to students.  But not "Hey, Jesus loves you!" sort of preaching, oh no.  He wanders around with a sign on his back reading "SODOMY: IT'S TO DIE FOR!" and "AIDS: CURSE OR CURE?"

Basically, he is of the belief that AIDS was sent by God to punish homosexuals and those who live a lifestyle of "sex, drugs and rock and roll."  He spent a whole day screaming at people who walked by (I was working at an outdoor teeshirt stand on campus and got to hear a lot of his shit, it was mostly babbling from what I could tell) and telling us how we were all going to hell.  Though, a few people who only saw the sign did stop and ask me if he was supposed to be pro or anti-sodomy, because they couldn't tell if the sign was sarcastic or not.

Needless to say, he attracted a lot of attention from the LesBiGay alliance on campus.  So, when he returned for a second day, with other people from his "missionary" group (we're pretty sure it's one of those groups that doesn't let women wear pants or cut their hair, judging from the girls he brought along), the alliance held a counter rally right beside him.  Which was exciting because nobody was taking Sodomy Guy seriously, so it pretty much just turned into a giant screaming party at one point.

Sodomy Guy, his cause lost, eventually disappeared.  But he may still be out there, boys and girls.  So be ever ready!