Bendita la Luz

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Yo carlos, how do I contact you????


PS: I love you tambien. :)

I am wierd.

Well, it will be rather awkward if I asked you to trust me, but I am awkward, so I am going to go ahead and request you to do so anyway. :-DThe thing is, trust me, I’m weirder than any other human specimen that I have ever set my eyes on. And any other human specimen you have ever set your eyes upon either.But if you would read the above sentence, you would realize that what I just said actually contradicts my own statement, for I have claimed that I am weirder than any human being that I have seen. That must imply, each time I see myself or my reflection in the mirror or any other substance that is capable of reproducing my facial image, my weirdness must increase as:(i) I have stated that I am weirder than any human being I have seen. If my weirdness was a quantity, say, “x”, and every other human being “y” quantity, I could reach the inference X > Y, where {x, y = any human}(ii) A general assumption is that I am human. This implies I am related to both the LHS and the RHS. => I am weirder than myself. The sentence itself is an oxymoron, so there lies shattered my hypothesis.(iii) Oh, wait. It could be true. If my weirdness increased before I checked myself in the mirror, it would thus lead us to the inferenceX>Y, even under the mirror condition. For that to be true, x must increase periodically, or to be more specific, each time I looked in the mirror. Thus, X is directly proportionate to the # of times I look in the mirror, and is indirectly proportionate to the time (lets keep the unit in hours, I am not particularly fond of looking at my ugly face) that I do not look at myself, ie, time when my eyes are not in contact with my own reflection. But then again, there could be an argument that I have not met every single human being. But a hypothesis that cannot be proven wrong over a time period may be considered as a theory itself, so I will stick with my version. To the trashcan with Heisenberg’s Uncertainly principle, human beings are not electrons.

Or wait, there’s a simple solution to the whole issue. Simple exclude human from set of X.

ð The weirdness does not belong to a human

ð I am not a human.

Sanjaya Malakar

Well, I'm sorry for neglecting my blogging habit for some time. LOL, Carlota, I love you more than you love me.

Ok, so I watch American Idol. I see this indian kid called Sanjaya Malakar go and get selected. So I look him up on myspace, and da-ba-dee, he has his number posted on. Me being the cat I am, called. And he picked up.

I cannot even explain how shocked I was.

Well, he spoke to me for two hours. TWO WHOLE HOURS. :) Sigh, I was in a daze. After some time, when it started wearing off, I realized what he said was true.

"I had a party for New Year, no one turned up. Now everyone is acting as if they knew me since I was three... well, I'm just a normal person who got a dream to come true."

Well, thats the Sanjaya saga. He said he would call back, but I'm not going to keep my hopes up that high.

An essay I wrote for eng II hon. class.

Ganavya Doraiswamy
Ms. Wank
You are sitting on top of a beautiful mountain, with someone you absolutely trust. You are filled with an unexplainable lightness, for you feel charged with bliss. There are many moments in our life that we would rather overlook or disregard, and then there are the moments we wish would extend itself forever. Let us take a very common and routine example. I find myself bitterly fighting with my mother these days quite often. At that moment, when I fight with her, the only sentiment that I find myself capable of feeling towards her is anger. If so, what keeps me from storming out of the house? What keeps us on constant verbal communication, merely five minutes after a behemoth argument? The answer is rather simple. The capacity of us humans that enables us to remember our previous memories is what keeps us from cutting the thread.
The distinctive capacity of remembrance is a situation in which the soliloquy “such a gift…but yet such a curse” can be used. If we could not remember our happy moments, I doubt humans (being such highly social mammals) could survive a conversation poisoned with odium. Then again, we cannot forget what we’d rather forget and remember what we’d rather remember. After breaking up with a friend, all of the joyful moments we had shared with them would seem to suddenly erupt into our minds. Even though it seldom produces pleasure more than gloom, the capacity of remembering memories and acting towards it is what helps us survive in this world, and is thus unambiguously important.
I have claimed that our capacity to remember memories is what maintains us. The reason I had stated the above is because if we did not have our memoirs to remind us what mistakes we had made, we would keep on replicating the same mistakes. If we did not study in history that Hitler took control of the world and tortured people he disliked whilst the world stood immobile, we might just make the same blunder again. If we did not have the pictures of thin and anorexic men being shoved mercilessly into raging fires, we would probably let another Holocaust arise without our knowledge. Or, to put it in common terminology, the sense of ‘déjà vu’ would never be felt.
That is why, I believe, Nobel award winning author Elie Wiesel wrote his famed book Night, to remind the world what torturing events had happened while everyone did not stop their routines to save those thousands of poor souls being trapped in isolation and tormenting pains. His horrifying memoirs display how humans could transform into animals under such circumstances, and acts as a reminder to all of the fortunate ones who were not shoved into raging ovens alive.
That is why I believe memories, happy or sad, are extremely important to us. We are nothing but our thought; our ideas and our morals. Leonardo Da Vinci is remembered now, so many years after his death, for his ideas. Sigmund Freud is still looked up to for advice, so many years after his death… via his books. I still learn songs from my grandmother… two years after her death, from her hand written notes. I wholly, fully and entirely believe that we are absolutely required to keep our memories alive. Even if it is straining and hurtful to remember, by spreading our pain, we only give other the chance to experience what pain we underwent, without them having to go through the entire ordeal. Memories are very important.

Carlos's first letter...

What started of as this ended up as the above....

What am I supposed to put here? Nothing i say can justify my lack of blogging. WHY CANT I GET OVER THIS FRIGGIN' CRUSH?!

I know, I know. I'm not blogging that much.

I'm always making these mental notes to write down in my blog, but I never do it. Ooh! ooh! I should write this down on my blog. Ooh! Ooh! I just realized Ive been saying way too many times that in the past week.


AAH.


Well, I'l explain the beads for needs project later, like when i don't have three eng II hon. projects in hand, and a buncha spanish to do.

just thought these would come in use:-
1)pink thingy. Ms.wank, touched by my writing.
2)Purple pass, for portables. For future use.
3)Empty yellow passes. O_o
4)Ticket to the coffee house, just in case i lose it.

Oh and reminder to explain Kevin, The court thingy, beads for needs, kannodu kanbadhellam, BRACE office, aaand...

god. Im making too many "mental" notes. I have GOT to start blogging.

Oh, and shreya, just to prove it, I'm thinking about you now. Come to think of it, (if you guys someday become rather jobless enought o read this) I'm thinking about Darsa and sandeep too.

Oh, and carlos, if you read this, contact me... WTF IS WRONG?!


Better hit the ol' books again.

My binder at school.

:)!!

=> I'm very happy. You could even say I think it's outrageously humorous. They gave me a prize today in school for the best binder.

Me gustaria mi carpeta de argollas... lol!!

Cancer.

No, I am not afflicted with cancer. I’m not going to die. I’m afraid I am going to have to impede your celebration.

I was referring to my birth sign. Cancer. I was born on the 21st of July, 15 years ago.

Anyway, getting back to the point… I was thrust upon the fact that I was a Cancer-ian… something I certainly did not like.

Why? I like blue. The ocean. Aqua blue. The sand shining through the mystic waters… I prefer it over pink… the hot sun, sun burnt Caucasians at the Miami Beach hitting pink, oily, odor-emitting sticky anti-burning ointments on themselves. I just wasn’t a cancer.

Each time I looked up at my horoscopes, it just did not have the promised magical effects all the other jobless teen girls who were looking their lives up on some foreign Internet sites did. It just wasn’t fair. The pictures were always so non-mystic… something was missing.

Then came my true moment of epiphany. The ocean. I was surrounded by the ocean. The crab is a part of the ocean. So am I. The crab is a silent observer of the ocean…so am I.
Heh heh. I am a controversial hue in the blue…the crab. The pink. Suddenly, the horoscopes made sense. Everything fit it. Funny. How a perspective can change one’s view….

I have no idea why I'm putting this up... It's one of my fav. profiles I've put up in orkut.

Oh well, not like anyone is going to read this... I just happen to be in an oh-so-not-amused mood, and I just want to type my thoughts verbatim for later use on some recorded area.

Plus, a long profile would keep unwanted people out of my way. Not that I care...

Seriously, I think this column is a utter waste.
Not that my opinion would change the thousands of individuals who happen to be accessing this site and are actually jobless enough to sit in front their computer to read yet another utterly boring teenage profile.

Let me give you an example, ONE aspect of me:

I happen to be a music-maniac. No, I am not stating this as a publicity stunt... for all I care; you could drown in the Dead Sea. I still would not move a muscle unless I felt fit to.
Let me not digress, back to my music.

Well, music is really influential (like a lot of teens in this iPod ruled era of humans) in my life.

Genres? Depends on my moods.

Moods will reflect a color, and the color would reflect a song to mind. And I listen to it. I always go with the flow, and i don’t like my pattern getting disturbed. But if it does, I sort of enjoy that too. My mood will change according to the song.
For example, anger. i would feel a surge of perhaps.. Red or black rush through me. Then comes classification... if i was having family problems (I don’t at all, I’m just saying) i would probably listen to some cheap rap song. ^__^. Cleaning out my closet or something similar, perhaps. Like when I’m pissed off at my generation, I’d probably hear the ghetto gospel by tupac ft Elton john.

In the morning, i start off with something that reflects white, to calm me down. Something like if you’re not the one by Daniel bedingfield... then, (according to the day) I would play the next song. Like today, I needed a good shake up to remind me I was in Miami. I listened to promiscuous girl by Nelly furtado... (Only to later find out the shooting was ACTUALLY TAKEN IN MIAMI…I’ll explain that later...)

Then, to perhaps get my mind into that lovely writer's mood, (English first period.. bleh.. I can’t get a writer's block and survive in that class for a straight two hours, can I??)
I’d turn on something like Wiseman by James blunt or writing to reach you or perhaps wrap my words around you by bedingfeild.

To cheer me up, id probably listen to some boy band song (yes, candy floss, so? -__-;) like one love from blue or something… or we are one tonight by switchfoot.

If I wanted to remind myself that I am still a teenager, and I must enjoy this disgustingly revolting adolescent age, I would tune into androgyny...

You get the picture, right?

Even if you don’t, I am certainly not going to type every single mood and corresponding color out for you.

My favorite zone in music happens to be the blue zone. Particularly the aqua-ish, turquoise-ish zone.

Techno and some other songs like wonderwall fall under that category.

Four years after this, a song called da ba dee is released, just to prove my music instincts are pretty in tune.It was a major techno song… you’ve got to see the lyrics to understand what I mean.

Even the colors change according to my mood… like sail away is almost always red; fanaa is almost always aqua (most of a.r. rehman’s songs are, in that case), but far away and savin’ me by nickel back can change their colors dramatically according to my mood.

I also realized music videos have an impact on me, too. Like mayilirage from a aa, (do not, under any circumstance, expect me to spell tamizh in English properly) has a blue background… the song is now basically stuck to blue.
Well, this is the western music bit of me.
There is still
A carnatic music, a bharathanatyam, a Hindustani part, a harmonium player, a jalatharangam player, a veena player...(er… any marked string instrument would do, actually)… I’ve named one aspect out of many.
Even after all this, if you still disagree with my point that typing a profile is an utter waste,

Take a hike.

Don't even ask. I happen to knw this one sucks... It was done in an hour, for pete's sake!

Ganavya Doraiswamy
Biology Honors, Period IV
Ms. LoPiano

1.An exploration team of five carefully selected people has been shrunk to the size of a eukaryotic cell and injected into the blood dream of a world class athlete to discover why this individual is able to achieve such high athletic performances. Describe their adventures.



Prologue
The Italian’s eyes narrowed as he observed the runner in the television. His incredible speed seemed to be god-like, and worse, he effortlessly did it. He was destroying the Italian’s career by exceeding in his. “And again,” the announcer informed gallantly, “Matthew Corner has finished the thirteen laps first!” Impossible, the Italian thought, glaring at the hostile television. There was no way he could have finished those laps that fast. The part that hurt the most was that he finished his thirteenth lap when everyone else on the track were gasping and running their ninth.
There must be a way he’s managing on the drugs, the Italian thought. He grimaced one last time at the television and turned it off, unwilling to more hear praises about that American corner. That’s when it struck him…
________________________________________________________________________



I received a phone call from the “boss” as he liked us to call him, at one thirty in the night. I practically wanted to curse him off, but my anger vaporized the instant he told us about the assignment. And the money he would pay us was out of our dreams… for all we got was a meager amount from the lab we worked on. We jumped at the opportunity; signed without thinking… and later regretted it when he told us our assignment.
Sure, normal day activities. All we had to do was go inside legendary M. Corner’s body and figure out why no matter hoe many drug tests he goes through; he manages to come out clean. We were not allowed to ask any questions to our so termed “boss”… and we did not exactly want to after the lump amount of “initial-fraternizing money.” He was either rich, or stupid, or perhaps, both.

There were a total of three hundred and forty scientists that worked at my lab, and we rarely had time to even communicate with another. Obviously, Mr. Boss knew this well. So when our group of five of the top-notch scientists at our lab were selected, and we did not even know each other, he was not surprised even a bit. In fact, he said he “understood we scientists respected our privacy during research at work” God knows how much he knew, but he certainly did not realize the task he had imposed on us was anything but easy.
Even after our first (and devastating) meeting, I did not bother to introduce myself to my fellow-incognito-colleagues. Neither did they, and I understood. They would have been having the same problem I was having now; I had butterflies in my stomach; I wanted to vomit. I was generally a casual and take-it-easy person, but reducing my body mass and size by a multiple fold was not my idea of a soothing job. I was to become the size of a red blood cell.
This may seem absurd to the present world, but the people at our lab knew it was not. Labs like ours were much more advanced than what the commoners knew in the world, in fact, the technology our cryptic boss was referring to is quite old. In fright of technology being misused, the government has not allowed us to reveal the hidden facts to the world. That was why my collogues and I were shell-shocked when he conversed about our techniques to reduce our size as if we were talking about his wife.
He didn’t even give us time to say anything or suggest anything; he gave us each a paper, stating which section of the body we would go through, and what we should search for. I scanned the sheet with a worried forehead, and he, right on cue, told me that all of us would be out in fifteen minutes by the maximum. He also told us that we were leaving immediately for the mission.
Even though I was terrified, I was intrigued a bit. After all, I am a scientist. So when I was shaking when we were on our way to meet the famous sport icon, I wasn’t sure whether I was shaking due to fear or excitement. We followed him out of the black long limousine and reluctantly went into the large hotel’s men’s restroom. The restroom was more luxurious than my flat… but I was paying more attention to the five metal plates placed before us. “Gentlemen,” he said, in a heavily Italian thick accent. “Please stand on the plates so I cant shrink you.” He took out the shrinking device we had removed illegally from our lab and shrank us one by one. As I as the third, I saw the first two before me disappear before my eyes. He carefully poured a solution on the plate and then poured the solution that would have carried the cell that was my ex-college into a jar labeled “Harold”. Oh, I thought. So his name was Harold.
I don’t remember what happened after I was shrunk, but all I remember was feeling strangely mutilated. Suddenly, I had the feeling as if I was an overdue plant bursting out of a seed. I erupted, my dress dripping of blood. The boss and his men quickly removed my shirt and (embarrassingly) my pant and squeezed every ounce of blood into it. The boss smiled and gave me enough money for my next four generations to live off of. He explained patiently tat I had been reduced and out into Matthew’s drink, and I later was collected when he… er… well, let me out. The solution was specialized to make me float on the surface of water, and also triggered Matthew’s system to… well, let is be decent and put it this way: mother nature would guarantee that he would pay a visit to her in five minutes. I was not encouraged to probe for more details, so I silently left when they gave me my now-dry clothing. They even offered to clean my inner clothing, but I graciously declined the luxurious offer.
Well, the boss did not seem to realize I had enough money… even after seeing that when my wife and I and three children moved from our flat to a huge three story independent home; started using our three Benz cars instead of the bus… and had a servant to pick up after our messy children. He was so oblivious, when he came to tell us we were successful in the mission, he brought another lump of money, this time it was a “thankful gesture, to show we had successfully fraternized”. I cannot understand how this man was so immensely pleasured so reveal the fact Corner was on drugs, but it did not bother me. I got do to something that I have always wanted to do, and I have gotten paid for it. Even if it meant hurling a sports icon’s career down the sewage…
________________________________________________________________________



Epilogue
He smiled, as he sat down to watch the next race. He knew for sure that the American would be disqualified, for they found traces of illegal drugs in his blood through that experiment of his. Now his runner, the Italian national runner whom his company sponsored would easily and fairly win. He broke open a bottle of champagne to celebrate his success, and waited in a childish anticipation he had not experienced for long for the event to begin. His cell phone’s ring took him off guard, and his forehead displayed worried creases as he noticed the number. Perhaps the scientists wanted more money… or maybe the dealer, the owner of the lab and his friend, wanted some money for himself…
“What?” he screamed into the telephone. He wasn’t able to believe his ears. He had paid in millions for this?
He slumped back into his sofa as he realized his mistake. He hurried to his fax machine, hoping it wasn’t what he thought it was.

Test cause: Checking for any traces of drugs in athlete’s blood samples.
He forced himself to read on…

Test Results: Negative.
He cursed himself…why did it not hit him before? He didn’t even need to read further to realize what was coming up next.

Reason>>>Blood sample unrecognizable. Cells are unusually behemoth.

________________________________________________________________________

You know what? It actually makes sense.

Guys Like That You're Sensitive

And not in that "cry at a drop of a hat" sort of way You just get most guys - even if you're not trying to Guys find it is easy to confide in you and tell you their secrets No wonder you tend to get close quickly in relationships!

What Do Guys Like About You?

Duh. I knew this one.

He's Not Interested This Year

Maybe he's been interested before, but he's over it. And it looks like you're the one into him! If you think you could get him to like you, then go for it. If not, at least you know not to waste your time.

Is He Into You?

I am?? Than why am i still thinking about him?! i think imma puke.

You are Totally Realistic

"Romance" means you're about to roll your eyes Seriously, you can do without the sap or drama Save it for someone who has nothing really going on in their relationship For you, love is real - and easily integrated into your life You don't need candles, flowers, or chocolates to know he's the one Just some stimulating conversation... and maybe a great smile.

Are You a Romantic or Realistic?

Well...

There's something wrong with me. The last 10 or so blogs are utterly dumb, i accept full credit for that. I was simply bored, but this is sooo not how i blog.

Why am i explaining this to myself?

God knows. I'm mad. I'm aloof, deranged, retarded, and any other adjective that is similar.

Why?

I had a dream today. I wasnt supposed to be happy about it, yeah, i know. I have no idea why i feel happiness rush through my face each time i recall it.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

I'm supposed to be looking up something for the holocaust now, (we have dell laptops in class now!! YIPPEE!) but what am i doing?? thinking about yet another male specimen of the human race. GRR. I dont even type or write like this. im losing my individuality.

Or maybe im just lazy now.

Let me see... theres so much to write, so little time. maybe that explains my sudden desperate attempts to fill my blog up with quizzes.

i shouldnt be thinking about him. it doesnt make sense. ergh. back to topic.

Just a reminder to myself, so i dont do that again:
Things i omitted and neglected to put up:

1)Kevin.
2)CANCER, female!
3)ms wanks coming now, gtg.

Did i just use a short abb.?? ah! yes! i did! let me depart before i damage myself further.


i shouldnt be thinking about him. it doesnt make sense. gah!!

thunder_scorpion: check my blog again
thunder_scorpion: http://my-idiosyncratic-pulpit.blogspot.com/
Carlos Garay (My New Email): lol awww so cute (kissing smiley) (kissing smiley)
thunder_scorpion: lol
Carlos Garay (My New Email): if i were straight i would ask you to marry me
Carlos Garay (My New Email): now, what did you mean by that???
Carlos Garay (My New Email): "thunder_scorpion: your pretty much affected, arent you?
thunder_scorpion: i didnt think it was THAT bothering to you


thunder_scorpion: aww, thats sweet
thunder_scorpion: lol
thunder_scorpion: oh, that?
thunder_scorpion: well
Carlos Garay (My New Email): ...
thunder_scorpion: i thought you werent traumatized by the proceedings
thunder_scorpion: and your mom was the one going through a rough time...
thunder_scorpion: got it?
Carlos Garay (My New Email): nope
Carlos Garay (My New Email): "traumatized by the proceedings
"
Carlos Garay (My New Email): ????
thunder_scorpion: GOD!
thunder_scorpion: I THOUGHT YOU WERE COOL ABOUT IT
Carlos Garay (My New Email): cool about what?
thunder_scorpion: BUT I FIGURED YOUR SWEATING YOUR ASS TOO
thunder_scorpion: nothing.
thunder_scorpion: nothing at all
thunder_scorpion: teach me some spanish curse words
Carlos Garay (My New Email): you kinda lost me in the first par
Carlos Garay (My New Email): t
Carlos Garay (My New Email): cazate conmigo
Carlos Garay (My New Email):
thunder_scorpion: Bio period skiving.

With Alexcia, Kathy, Franciso, Carlos.

Mass-cutting.

(Francisco aka Franky aka stefania wants me to claim we're cutting class with a pass.)

Halleuiah.

So... yeah. Finished my test. 100. franky was my partner.


um.. what am i supposed to say? Carlos is attempting to flirt with some girls aorund here.


Poor girls. If they only knew he was gay.. lol.


w
thunder_scorpion: what does that mea>
Carlos Garay (My New Email): lol what??? i never flirt with any girls
thunder_scorpion: (sarcasm smiley)
thunder_scorpion: yeah
thunder_scorpion: and i was born underwater
Carlos Garay (My New Email): really
Carlos Garay (My New Email): ?
Carlos Garay (My New Email): so was i!!!!!!!!
thunder_scorpion: d-u-h
thunder_scorpion: yeah.
thunder_scorpion: lol
thunder_scorpion: what does cazate conmigo mean?
Carlos Garay (My New Email): does it look wierd when i "flirt" w/ girls??
Carlos Garay (My New Email): look it up
Carlos Garay (My New Email): ok dont answer that last question
thunder_scorpion: (rofl smiley)
thunder_scorpion: nah
thunder_scorpion: you dont look gay
thunder_scorpion: so its not scary
Carlos Garay (My New Email): i get it but i dont
thunder_scorpion: now, if alan did, it might seem wierd
Carlos Garay (My New Email): understad it
thunder_scorpion: you dont have a brain
Carlos Garay (My New Email): who is alan?
thunder_scorpion: tu eres un hijo de putta
thunder_scorpion: (rofl smiley)
Carlos Garay (My New Email): hay hot???
thunder_scorpion: hay?
thunder_scorpion: yo no hablo espanol
Carlos Garay (My New Email): u know what i mean...
thunder_scorpion: no
thunder_scorpion: i dont
Carlos Garay (My New Email): who is alan?
thunder_scorpion: your idiotic mannerisms have spread even to me
thunder_scorpion: you idiot.. the gsa founder
thunder_scorpion: the newspaper...
Carlos Garay (My New Email): what a shame
thunder_scorpion: huh?
thunder_scorpion: he doesnt flirt
thunder_scorpion: idiot
Carlos Garay (My New Email): its adam, adam brock if you didnt know
thunder_scorpion: (rofl smiley)
thunder_scorpion: my bad
thunder_scorpion: my bad
Carlos Garay (My New Email): it is your bad
thunder_scorpion: lol
thunder_scorpion: yeah
Carlos Garay (My New Email): hey guess what?
Carlos Garay (My New Email): my mom's gannahave to choke up like 10 k on florida virtual school so i can get my graduation credits
thunder_scorpion: thats not funny mister
Carlos Garay (My New Email): i know
Carlos Garay (My New Email): pero quien le mada por no dejarme quedar...
thunder_scorpion: vete la para verga
thunder_scorpion: to hell with the spellings
Carlos Garay (My New Email): i wish
thunder_scorpion: (rofl smiley)
Carlos Garay (My New Email): hey so r u really gonna talk to adam???
Carlos Garay (My New Email): lol omg that would be so friken embarassimng
Carlos Garay (My New Email): ohh hey i forgot to tell you ...
Carlos Garay (My New Email): i have a new idol

Carlos again

He called up. Thank god. Well, after talking for an hour, i was running out of topics, so i started to google wierd stuff. I googled his name, and my blog popped up. Well, then i decided it's easier for me to come online rather than talking to him, considering the fact my mother claims the cellphone rays ca damage brain cells.

The conversation was as such:-

Carlos Garay (My New Email): lol yeah but what the thing says on is more traumatic
thunder_scorpion: explain?
thunder_scorpion: i dont get you
thunder_scorpion: GOD
thunder_scorpion: YOU TYOE SLOW
thunder_scorpion: type**
Carlos Garay (My New Email): make sure when you send it to the newspaper you add somehow in the end that this si what hatred agains gays can end up in. It can turn a person's life upsidedown forvever, and that no one should do it
thunder_scorpion: whoa
Carlos Garay (My New Email): but not in that same wording of course, just that same idea
Carlos Garay (My New Email): I WIL LOVE YOU FOR THAT
thunder_scorpion: yo carlos
Carlos Garay (My New Email): more than i already do
Carlos Garay (My New Email): yep
thunder_scorpion: your pretty much affected, arent you?
thunder_scorpion: i didnt think it was THAT bothering to you



Well, when i was busy typing this, i gt tenthousand buzzes. The next conver was as such:-


BUZZ!!!
Carlos Garay (My New Email): h
Carlos Garay (My New Email): hello? r u there?
thunder_scorpion: nope
thunder_scorpion: This is her ghost
thunder_scorpion: she's dead
Carlos Garay (My New Email): o darn
Carlos Garay (My New Email): all i along i was hoping i would be the one to kill her
Carlos Garay (My New Email): (devil smiley)
thunder_scorpion: aww
thunder_scorpion: oh well
thunder_scorpion: poor you

Why did i just put that up?

Bored. Oh well...

Ergh!

1. You have acrylic nails.
* Often
* Always
* Sometimes
* Never
* Rarely

Okie... never. Duh. My real nails are long enough. If they werent, id probably use acrylic.
2. You get a fake tan instead of a real one.
* Always
* Sometimes
* Often
* Rarely
* Never
Well, I'm brown! How dum is that question??
3. You wear contacts.
* Always
* Never
* Often
* Sometimes
* Rarely
My eyes arent suited for contacts.
4. You dye or highlight your hair.
* Often
* Always
* Sometimes
* Never
* Rarely
No, I'm a bharathanatyam dancer. Not because i dont want to.

I removed question 5, I can't put it up here.

6. You pluck your brows.
* Often
* Always
* Sometimes
* Never
* Rarely
Their naturally perfect. If they werent, i would.

7. It's hard for you to leave the house without makeup on.
* Always
* Sometimes
* Often
* Rarely
* Never
Thats because i look hopeless either way, doesnt bother me.
8. You use fake eyelashes or hair extensions.
* Always
* Never
* Often
* Sometimes
* Rarely
Don't have the pateince, Not that i dont need it.

9. You use fad diets to keep your weight down.
* Often
* Always
* Sometimes
* Never
* Rarely
I need to put on wieght, not lose any. This thing is so narrow minded.

10. You lie about your weight.
* Never
* Often
* Sometimes
* Rarely
* Always
Well, maybe, as i FORGET??


I'm not taking one more quiz. It's pathetic.


Oh, and my blog isn't full of quizzes, i was just bored. I actually write a heck lot.

Ah, atleast its nice.. doesnt it contradict the one below??

You Are 8% Bitchy

You are practically an angel - both on the inside and outside. You try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, and you're even tolerant of bitchiness in others!

How Bitchy Are You?

Bleh~... They are spared for i actually like Psyche.

You Are Psyche!

Eternally in search of purpose and insight. You're curious and creative with a total sense of wonder. Totally empathetic, you pick up on other's moods easily. Just be sure to pamper yourself as well!

What Goddess Are You?

Oh, so now theyre judging my karma. P-A-T-H-E-T-I-C

You Have Fantastic Karma

You are a kind, sensitive, and giving person. And all your good deeds will pay off - if they haven't already. But you're not so concerned with what you get in return anyway. You have an innate caring nature - and nothing can change that!

How's Your Karma?

I still am angry at blogthings.com. I just happen to put this up because i want to be a child pyc. and this is (by chance) coherent.

Your Career Personality: Detail-Oriented, Observant, and Hard-Working

Your Ideal Careers: Designer Family counselor Independent store owner Interior decorator Museum curator Nurse Preschool teachers Social worker Stay at home parent Teacher

The Quick and Dirty Career Test

WHAT??!! i accidently took it again, to get this??! These guys are soo fake!

Your Irish Name Is...

Avril Quinn

What's your Irish Name?

Yeah, I'm bored. So? Buzz off!

Your Irish Name Is...

Clara O'Donovan

What's your Irish Name?

My day today. A justification to why I'm taking those dumb tests. I'm bored.

Its pretty event-less now, Considering the fact today,

1)I played veena at school for the talent shpw rehearsal (I HAVE A SHIRT THAT HAS MY NAME ON IT!!) :-D

2)I gave a concert at the temple

3)Only to realize we had to pick my brother from FIU,

4) I danced in the temple today (BAH! what a terror that was!)

5)Only to realize todays the day appa came back from india (He made his grand entering five minites before i left for my program)

6)Only to realize i should be worn out today but im typing this for some god damned reason. ;-D

So i did take another one... I guess that shows my ultimate boredom.

Your Japanese Name Is...

Sanako Yoshida

What's your Japanese Name?

Bah.. im bored. i'm soo not going to do one more....

You Are Marge Simpson

You're a devoted family member who loves unconditionally. Sometimes, though, you dream about living a wild secret life! You will be remembered for: your good cooking and evading the police Your life philosophy: "You should listen to your heart, and not the voices in your head."

The Simpsons Personality Test

Don't. even. ask. I just took this one to make sure noone else takes something as dumb as this.

Your Life Is Worth...

$1,489,500

How Much Is Your Life Worth?

Apparently, this is my english. Heh.

Your Linguistic Profile:

60% General American English

15% Dixie

15% Yankee

5% Upper Midwestern

0% Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

How gross am i?

You Are 28% Gross

You're a tad gross, but generally you're a clean, hygienic person. No one can be perfectly clean all the time, and it's better to be human than a neat freak.

How Gross Are You?

A letter to the editor i wrote... dedicated to Carlos Garay.

Hatred towards homosexuals
(A response to Mr. Adam Brock’s column)

Conflict of opinions
“Since when are you into reading The Herald?” I teasingly asked a girl, who was sitting in front of me. “Number one,” she replied, “Anything is better than World History. Number two, it’s not The Herald, it’s our school newspaper. And number three, it’s about some weird gay guy who doesn’t realize we don’t care about his sexual orientation.”
Such an opinion from a fellow peer made me think I was the only one that inclined the opposite way. I was busy analyzing the article when my friend Carlos tapped my shoulder. His already bright smile turned even brighter as he saw the article that I was reading. “God, I love that article,” he said, as he bent down to kiss my cheek.

Source of inspiration
I knew what he was talking about. Carlos is gay, and that article was one of the very few things that encouraged him to come out. He is not gay by choice; his sexual orientation was stolen from him at the tender age of six. Carlos is yet another product of child molestation. Worse, it was family. Now, almost ten years later, he has finally overcome the trauma. He never told his mother about the abhorring rape he faced, in fear of creating turmoil in his family. He wasn’t exactly on great terms with his mother either.
I was the first person he had opened up to. The next weekend, just as he promised, Carlos confessed to his mother about where his sexual orientation laid. He had told her in hope of becoming closer; hoping for a new and more cherished relationship. It didn’t affect our relationship, so he assumed the world was like that, too. How wrong he was…

Pain and distress
“Why didn’t you call at all through out the weekend?” I humorously asked. His answer was anything but humorous. His mother had cut off his home number, his computer’s Internet, his cell phone connection, his personal net and even her own numbers. She had him practically disconnected from contacting anyone outside. She became hysterical upon receiving such knowledge from him. I understood the initial shock; after all, no one could’ve guessed it. Carlos was the model chap; handsome, straight A+s, smart, spontaneous… even slightly flirty. The typical guy you would see paired up to Lizze McGuire on her show.
But what she later did is what stunned me. Carlos was Spanish, but he was hopeless in it. There is no way he can survive studying script in that language. Right now, as I write this, Carlos is perhaps on a plane that is taking him to Columbia, with his mother. She packed off. Along with their clothes, his social life and his academic plans are also now wrapped up. He couldn’t even say bye to any of us, and we have no way of contacting him. He just acted as if he was having a bad day, none of realized it was his last day here at Cypress. None of us can stop our eyes from welling up with tears, for we have lost a great friend. Thanks to homosexual hatred.

I personally feel more attached to water.... but anyway...

Your Element Is Air

You dislike conflict, and you've been able to rise above the angst of the world. And when things don't go your way, you know they'll blow over quickly. Easygoing, you tend to find joy from the simple things in life. You roll with the punches, and as a result, your life is light and cheerful. You find it easy to adapt to most situations, and you're an open person. With you, what you see is what you get... and people love that!

What's Your Element?

A comp. in my school. Topic: A moment of Epiphany.

Part One
Christiana’s Diary

It had happened quite a while ago. As an estimate, I should perhaps say… half a year has passed. How could I forget? Some memories are forbidden to be forgotten, and this particular one was such. Funny it should disturb me, though. After all, I have never been close to my parents. One could catch a glimpse of Father once in a blue moon… As for my Mother, a new metaphor must be created to do justice for her absence. My Father, you see, was a renowned doctor. He was too busy saving lives, opposed to spending time with his daughter. As for my Mother, she was a typical British doctor’s wife… hosting charity events all day long. My Father’s understandable absence conquered my Mother’s wish to be noticed, and I guess that rooted my partial affection towards my parents.
That is why, on that auspicious night, I was fairly shocked to hear not only my Father’s voice, but also my Mother’s too at our residence. I stole a glance at my sleeping governess and swiftly made my way through our dim domicile. My abode is exceedingly behemoth; it was quite undemanding for me to overhear their conversation. They made my work easier by shouting at each other…
As I heard words and insults rain, I felt a shower of emotions engulf me. It took me some time to digest the truth behind it. But when I did, it gave faultless explanations to my parent’s dearth of affection, my Mother’s aloofness, and my Father’s guilt. Everything fit in unmistakably. I actually found it quite amusing, my Father having an affair for the past few years. Surprising my own self, I realized the emotion that I was overcome with was not grief, but happiness. I had a baby brother.
Within minutes I had become his older and shielding loving sister, the only obstacle that lay now was finding him. If only I could have stayed longer, I would have obtained more information about him. In fear of my blasted governess, I rushed back to my room and pretended to be asleep. Of course, I was not. I was, mentally, grooming and feeding my darling younger brother. Only his name did I catch… Edward.
Six months from that astonishing day, I find myself getting excited. I have finally found him now…in an orphanage three kilometers from here. My parents had no objections in his coming here. Of course, I did not provide an option. He does not know his older sister will come today, to righteously obtain him. I have his room (and my heart) prepared. Oh, I must go now. My carriage has come.

Part Two
Edward’s Diary

I aint supposed to be writ ng this. I mean, I don’t got no time to mess around. I’m supposed to be working now. Cleaning Missy’s stables. Ol’ Tiffany making me write, because she proud for me. She don’t want me to forget how to write, you see. I’m the only boy in our orphanage who can write. I remember being taught by my Mama, though. It takes me time to write, but I do it. For Tiffany… when my Mama died, I was sent thrashing down to this place. Tiffany helped me survive. Tiffany’s my quarter’s matron. She’s fixing us our rations of bread, and stuff like that. If we work bad, we don’t get no bread. We work good, we get to lie on a bed. There is four beds in our quarter, but seven kids. Tiffany let me lie on the bed for a whole, full month, you know. I write, she sees, and gets happy.
I like Tiffany, but she aint my Mama. She still makes us work for food, she still reports us to Missy if we be bad. It is getting me so angry, wasting time to write. I aint finished with my share of work yet, but I need to write. I get an extra ration of bread if I write and show it to Tiffany.
My Mama would give me presents for writing, too. But I was seven, back then. That’s when my Mama fell ill, and went away. I used to cry all day, and not work. Here, you not working, you get no food. Then I getting so hungry, I started working. Then, I had no more time to miss my Mama, you see. I’m used to it, now. I still missing my Mama, but it’s all right. She used to look out the window and cry, to god knows where. Maybe it was to Papa. When I asked her where my Papa was, she telling me Papa aint here with us no more. After I came here, one day, I aint doing my work good. Missy looking at me angrily, and saying I was dirty bastard. I didn’t know what it was then, but now I’m fifteen. I know what that means. Maybe that’s what Ma meant by Papa aint here with us. He was with another Miss. Now I’m looking outta the window, in our dirty room. We got three quarters, here. We all divided by our age. Each quarter has one room, my quarter having the biggest room. We all are fifteen or sixteen years, in my quarter. Tiffany told me Eddie, you got to see someone at half past four, ‘noon. Now it’s four, I got to wash up, comb my hair (we aint got no combs, I’m to use Tiff’s) and put my best dress on. Maybe it’s Missy. She might be wanting to put me down again. i

Part Three
Edward’s Diary (Ms. Christiana’s writing)

I feel completely synchronized with the fresh and sweet air of my garden, the magnificent mountains reaching out into the sky, the lovely splendor of the river gushing somewhere in close proximity. I just finished reading his literally hilarious diary. Above all, what captures me is my handsome brother’s sweet face, his casual thinking, his genuine love for me. We both have discovered we can pass hours together without realizing the hurried clock… simply arguing over something. His perspective is so… fresh and idiosyncratic. Like the day before yesterday, Edward and I had a dispute over how I shall address him. He believes I should lower my utterly boring formalities, and call him Eddie. I wish for him, as the heir of this house, to be addressed Sir Edward. Then yesterday… he let my Transylvanian breed lovebirds go free. I was absolutely mortified at the beginning, but could not remain to be angry with him for more than a moment. He, in turn, claimed it was atrocious for me to cage such lovely things. He grudgingly nudged me, claiming now I had him, and would not require those birds. I find an automatic smile now, on my face, as I feel his soft, comforting hair tousle against me with harmony to the wind as he lays his head on my lap.

He is mine, for I am his. I have discovered true, pure and untainted love. I know I shall cherish this moment, through out my life…

…For this is my moment of epiphany.

An article they wanted me to put on for our newspaper.

The American Idiot

Newspapers, magazines, articles, everywhere…apparently, every member of the older generation frowns upon the present one. It’s one of those obvious facts that are not to be questioned out loud, even though we all know its one hundred percent false. I do not want to hide the fact I was under the same impression as they were, until I came back here. I was born in Miami, but went to attend my middle school in a different country… the older populace had clearly warned me: - beware of the teenagers.
I walked into Cypress Bay with an air of indignation, as I saw the silent but efficient and steady traffic of pot, weed and every other toxin available. I looked on, amazed, at how casual the conversation was between teachers and students. I was amused at the public display of affection; these events only seemed to strengthen my prejudice.
Well, yeah. THAT opinion lasted for about, lets say, five minutes at the maximum. Whilst I was too busy paying attention to the innumerous eyes that appeared to be snottily probing me, I failed to see the warm smiles directed at me. I eventually did, though. It was only my fourth day, and I had already made almost half the school as my acquaintances. I happily informed my teacher of my social-life progress, but she simply frowned. Oh, they’ll b friendly all right, she claimed. My complete fantasy of confidence crumbled as she explained how they might eventually take me in to drugs, and here again, I heard that same, old warning. Be aware of the American teenagers.
I waited for a week, but still no sign of it. Then I decided it was rather easier for me to ask them first… I made the first move. I think I’m going to start drugs, I told a friend who sat in front of me. Apparently, my ‘whisper’ had reached through out a whole side of my English class. Everyone by turn (animatedly) asked me if the myth was true. Family problems, I shrugged.
In the beginning, it worked like a charm. It was as if I had Orlando Bloom as my fourth cousin. I guess that celebrity feeling lasted only for about half a period… Once they realized I was serious, the previously known as “absolutely irresponsible and immature” teenagers dissolved into thin air as I saw the dozen adolescents emerge as counselors. I faced stern looks of disapproval in the beginning; but I still insisted I would do it anyway. Then came the final step, the most feared one, alienating. It was an unspoken agreement amongst them: - until I came back to my normal senses, I shall be a stranger. They had absolutely no need at all to do that. I was some third person, why should it matter to them if I ruin my life?
Then came my final act. I told a senior that I was planning on letting my grades drop. She first thought it quite comical; until she found out I had no intentions of sarcasm. She didn’t even bother going through the whole explain-try-then-alienate process. She simply demanded a paper from my teachers that ensured her that I had all my homework up, clean and submitted. She ordered that she must observe my report card before it reached my parents. If I succeeded in maintaining my straight A+s, she would take me out for one whole day, wherever I wanted. Movies, shopping, discotheque, you name it. Here again. Why does she have to blow a week’s pay for one day, so I could get good grades?
If being this mature, considerate, kind and helpful still earns our generation a tattoo that screams “rebel” on it, I doubt there’s anything we could do. A store may trust it’s cash with an adolescent at the counter, but it would still have a sign asking teenagers to come in only by pairs. Not all teenagers are thieves, I learnt it the hard way that not all teens are drug addicts and rebels either. If being this thoughtful earns them a name as the American idiots, I’m proud to be one too.

You Are A Good Friend

You're always willing to listen Or lend a shoulder to cry on You're there through thick and thin Many people consider you their "best friend"!

What Kind of Friend Are You?

You Are a Pegasus

You are a perfectionist, with an eye for beauty. You know how to live a good life - and you rarely deviate from your good taste. While you aren't outgoing, you have excellent social skills. People both admire you - and feel very comfortable around you.

What Mythological Creature Are You?

My present profile.

Oh, happy Halloween.All i have asked is for a stable life. My ultimate happiness cannot and will not be shaken by any means, it's just that... it sometimes wavers. D'you know when?When people don't realize what I have to be put through. I would've loved to stay in India. I am terribly sorry if I have given out the impression that I wouldn't have, even though I do not recall doing so.But still, that does not mean I will not justify my actions. Without ego, I can’t survive in the present world, at least not in the other side of the globe from where I am currently positioned. You guys just wouldn’t get it. YEAH, I study in a school where pregnant fifteen year olds strut around. BUT GUESS WHAT? I am a proud member of my school. It's the second best school in this whole, entire, blasted State of Florida, and I’m not going to mess my life up just because my classmates did. I didn’t know everyone back home (am I still entitled to say that?) would be so god damn stereotyped. And you know what? Those girls are my friends. They’re actually sweet. At least they don’t trash behind my back.Oh, and yeah. I do live in Miami. You know, the place famous for strippers? Hot beaches? Dominated by female (and male, com to think of it) specimens who are partially dressed? Yes, I have stopped wearing chudidhars. When is Rome, be like the Romans. I would like everyone to know, I WAS LIKE THIS FROM THE BEGINNING. I changed when I came to India. Well, duh. Cant wear shorts and a tank to school there, can I? What do you expect me to wear to school? A dhavani? I respect my culture than much more than most of you’ll (considering how many of you people have…cough… omitted Tamil as a language and have English alone up). If I have chosen to hide my face, I have my reasons. That does not mean I was trying to make you focus on something else. I’m not going to say no offense here, cuz I don’t mean this to be sweet. For Pete’s sake, never undervalue someone just because you don’t understand him or her. Grow up.PS: Even though I did ask a sarcastic question up there, I WORE a PAVADAI to school today. Well, what d’you know? Oh, and for those who think I add so many unknown people, yeah, I do. I don’t go begging people for requests. If I get one, I accept. At least I don’t have profane comments in my scrap book… Thank god at least someONE decided telling me would be easier than talking behind my back.If you did not understand one word of what i had just said, don't ponder upon it too much. You wouldn't understand if you were not involved. All you need to know is that I'm idiosyncratic. If you can't deal with that, don't add me.Cheers, love and some A.R.'s music for this void world,Ganavya.

My old orkut profile..."About me" section.

i listen to all types of musiccccccccccc!!!
i love to make new frendzzzzz!!
And if this is the type of profile you are looking for,Move along, for god's sake.
I happen to be very idiosyncratic; learn to deal with it.
Get over it, or just move along.
Go ahead, add me, for I truly enjoy new friends.. but NOT when they:-
*Keep on telling me they love me. God. You don't even know me... how on earth do you guys wish so openly to get castigated??
*well, i do not suffer from Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia, so i guess it won't kill you if you use the proper terms and words when your talking to me.
*Ah. yes. Term me "dear" or "honey" or "bebe" or "baby" or any other wimpy-wampy-softy-cuddly terms.
I'l personally oversee your cruel destruction if you attempt to do so.
*Give me some cheap country song's lyrics as a testimonial... and claim it's your own poem. Even though i do not enjoy it, I happen to listen to country music, so try some other genre instead.True, i did accept them in the beginning, but i've sort of.. gotten nauseated at the number of fake testimonials coming in.
If you don't actually mean them, well, don't you dare even attempt to put them up.
I swear, you'll be censured to the level 'till when you'd prefer to slap yourself with an oversized tuna and kill yourself. And i wont even offer cyanide then. Heh.
If you feel you do not fall under the above category, add me by all means.
oh yes, I dont follow the... cough...new revolutions of english like
exxxxxxxxxxxxxtending letters, or
typin impropr eng cuz i act. dnt no d full spellin, or perhapsi no eng, its jst that im lzy 2 type it out, or
shit, i wanna be fucking cool, so imma friggin curse every shittin' two words, you sucka SOB... or
im trying teh (/ter, depends on who your trying to impersonate) be ghetto, so imma talk as if imma gangsta or
any other manner in which...er.. the language of english has tended to...evolve, shall i say?...over the past few years.
If i recognize the type of english your trying to converse with me in, I sincerely will try to reciprocate in the same manner, but if i fail to do so, forgive me for humbly dwelling in the boundries of queen's english.
Disclaimer: Add me at your own risk. I won't do you any harm if it's vice versa. So far, I've reported two males who have attempted to force a minor (me) into turning on her web camera. Miami Cyber police find that particualr assault pretty nasty, guys. Oh, and my typos, I commit a lot. Please do tell me when ive made a mistake.
Once again, I'd like to reinforce the fact i'm cool, if you are.
Cheers,love and some red hot chili peppers for this void world,Yours &c.

My day today, Part 2. From English II Hon. to World History Hon.

Yesterday, I had gone in fourth period (I finish my bio work fast and leave the class to work somewhere for service hours) to Ms. Wank’s (English teach) class. Andres, Mat (my crush for the period), Yifan Wu and some other kid were there fooling around. Whilst I was working for Ms. Wank, Dumb Andres took my cell phone and began browsing through it. He eventually stumbled against the video of Samantha and her girlfriend kissing at Caitlin’s Halloween party, and started laughing his head off.

And that wasn’t even the worst part.
He knows Sam.

And even that wasn’t the worst part.
He has Sam for his first hour? God bless the person who scheduled our classes.

Oh the worst part?
He loves making fun of Sam.

I tried explaining to him… they must have been drunk, she has her own boyfriend…yada yada yada. I guess even the walls absorbed my words better than he did.

Anyway, the precise reason why I started this was because, when I walked in class today, he was all double tripping and laughing, “Oh, god! She was crying through out the whole first period!” Crud. I got so pissed off I just ran into Ms. LoPiano’s class and was about to start ranting, but she’s such a lovely woman, I forgot about the whole deal. I was too busy counting up how much money we managed to gather so we could adopt a child for xmas.


I’m not in the mood to write, I guess you would’ve guessed from my indifferent style of writing today. Grr.

Il type the rest later. Oh, and a reminder to myself: - Type about the Wall that has a whole hole in thanks to an…

My day today... Part one.

Why have I not posted ay blog for some time now?
I guess it’s always that way. I've always wanted to write my own book, with all fervent enthusiasm I would start, only to learn I would eventually lose interest after some time.

I start a blog, only to realize I don't attach, as much as importance I claimed I would have in the beginning.

Anyway, I was searching for a suitable topic and I guess I finally found one: -

My day today.

Let’s see…

Morning.
I woke up at 6:20… I panicked, and found myself rushing in order to catch the bus. I was drinking soya milk (even though I hate milk in the morning…gives me weird breath) and was out of breath only to realize thanks to daylight savings , the time was actually one hour late.

God always finds ways to help me. Somehow.

I packed off, giving a kiss on the cheek to a despaired ma (always tired in the mornings) and a wave to Patti (my grandmother’s sister came yesterday to see us) and stepped out into a colder world s I embraced the wait.

The wait? Yes, the wait. The dreadful ten minutes in the morning when one has to wait for one’s frigging bus. Let me use that as another blog story completely… it deserves at least that much.

Anyway, I step on to the bus with the sounds of A.R. Rehman pounding in my ears, but even HE cannot hide the repulsive smell of combined fart-Doritos-sweat-and-every-thing-possible-on-earth. As Vidyasagar would say… bleh~.

I get down from the bus, walk with Kyle and Co. to the court of my school… and meet up with the Wolfe twins. Daniel sits with me on the going-home-adventure-on-my-bus every afternoon… So I give my adieus to the group of juniors (they’re my seniors, but they’re juniors?...Lol...) and make my way to the Library. I begin my work there by checking out a few books for some guys, and then I help some guy to print something because he doesn’t know how to operate Safari (the Apple operating system). I have a good reason to believe they purposefully bought us all iBooks just because they knew know one would now how to operate it…after all, the LIBRARIANS have Dells. OR maybe because Apple happens to develop their own software so no virus can penetrate it or maybe I should stop digressing and maybe I should get back to the topic. Well, yeah. Just did some work in the morning. Went to Spanish class. Nothing special…normal crap.

Good news!!

i know it' 2:17 a.m... but still.

Two good news pieces:
1)Stefania and me checked up with virtual counseler today. I've got my service hours, AND I"M NUMBER 11 in the whole school!! YIPPEE!!


2) I checked again at home,

I'M NUMBER 5!!

heh heh. Outta 6000+.

:-D

An interesting phobia... ironic.

Of all phobias, o thought this one would prove to be a bit more interesting...

Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia.



lol.

Fear for long words!!!

My final letter to Aparaajit.

Shreya, I just wanted you to be in the CC. This letter is addressed to Mr. Aparaajit ,V.

I sincerely hope you did not expect this to be a forward, for I do not place you in any bit of high honors in my thoughts. Not that it fuckin matters.

God, I forgot my password for this id, I even forgot it... lol. It’s been so long since I have used this dumb old thing.

Like I had stated in my subject, you have appeared to have reached your goal.

Let's see... what was mine? Innocent. All I wanted was to be successful in life, as a friend, daughter, sister, cousin, teacher, helper, yada yada yada. Everything that I am. I truly am working my ass off for it. I have three jobs where I work for free to get service hours, on top of that I have to work for money, and study if I want to maintain my top grades (whether you believe it or not, I am a topper here. Of all people, you underestimated me? Why did you think my mother told you that? I guess she didn’t understand it when I told her “MA, LEAVE APAR FUCKING ALONE. He and I don’t get along. I have nothing to do with his likes.” She apparently thought I was joking, on contrary to what you’d have probably conjured; oh, her mom’s saying this so I can think higher of Ganavya. Think what the shit you want of me, but don’t you guys dare think of placing my ma low. That comes from my brother too. ) Oh, and then I have to resist the temptation to enhance my performance in multi folds by drugs. Oh, and then I have to help my peers out, by tutoring them. Oh, and then I have to help my teachers out, as the students here wouldn’t lift a finger. Oh, and then, I’m not supposed to feel bad about my cousin dying in a car crash, and not supposed to get disturbed by his father crying to my mother, who HAS to have that conversation aloud on the speakers, esp. when I’m preparing for a world history honors test. Of course it’s expected of me to take care of my mother, why does she have to be the one who has to emotionally support me, when I have such great friends like you?
It would be obnoxious of me to even think of becoming tired with such less occupations in the course of my friggin day. It would be absolutely retarded of me to cry over my grandfather, cry thinking about my poor grandmother. It would be detestable of me to even miss India. It would repugnant of me to get repulsed and scared to death of the situations we Indians face in school. (Imma send you a little video I took at a party…perhaps you’d see how beautiful and sunshine-filled my days are. Oh, and there was an 8 year old in that room too, watching that horror. Purely educational, I must say.) It is entirely disagreeable of me to even think still suffering from post-accident-traumas. After all, how was the situation when the accident happened? My mother was no where to be seen, my father and I set out to search for her, and meet with an asshole traveling at 60 miles per hour, total our brand new luxury car, the first one we’ve ever bought. I just get a few breaks here and there in my body, and become the cause for the new car we’re paying for now, for the medical money for all of my darn CAT scans, for all of THAT guy’s money and car, and of course a lot of strain put on my parents. Like I mean, so what if my parents actually used the word divorce a week ago, freaking me out of my minds? I mean, they’re so sweet to each other now as if we’re in paradise… That is no valid reason for me to even think of breaking down. Even when it’s been weeks since I spoke to my lovely brother, who couldn’t care less about me. Oh, could you at least ask him to ACT AS IF HE GIVES A DAMN IF I AM ALIVE OR NOT? So what if the only guy I trusted here turns out to be a big pervert, stalking and video recording my friend when she was going to the fuckin toilet? So what if stapled my finger today when I was working? Heh. What are those problems to writing a college exam? I understand, I have been obnoxious, intolerable, insupportable, unacceptable, deplorable and every other dreadfully appalling adjective available…

What excuse do you have now? I purposefully called at seven different time zones, you have no “I was sleeping, I was at college, I was…” time excuses left. I even called at 12 20 or so, on OCTOBER 24th… heard that date before? Don’t tell me you were asleep. I know for a fact you called Bhav to wish her.

Strike one.

All those small problems up there? Well, I thought it would be easy \, too, to take care of., But, being the selfish bitch I am, I’m not able to handle it, even when I have such great support from great friends like you. Heh. What valid reason can you give me now, child, for not picking up the phone? I do not recall any mail you took the pains to compose and send to me… you cannot say I did not reply. I would’ve believed you were too busy with your exams (rofl) if I didn’t come across that beautiful long testimonial someone flaunted to me. Talk about lmao.

Strike two.

Your behavior in the past few months were, I must say, quite enlightening. Thank the heavens I realized at least now. Like I had stated above, you have reached your goal. I have (finally) begun to think you truly are abhorring. And no, don’t think too highly of yourself, I did not call you so many times because I was desperate to speak to you. I have a lot of people who actually quite like speaking to me, I certainly wouldn’t waste 4$ (…200 rs. ) per minute on someone who thought I was a toy. I just happened to call that many times to have a good defense.

I guess I don’t even have to tell you by now…your out, strike three, you’re free.

Oh yeah, go hitch a taxiride. I dare you to run, dare you to move. High time you realize you are not Savin' me by hanging on. Just sail away from my thoughts, go back to your precious group of wisemen. Thanks to you, I've finally contructed my own wonderwall.

God, your so yesterday.

Don’t even bother replying, your highness. And yeah, I’ve said this many times before, but now I’ve been operating from a new id for the past few weeks.

Am I playing hard to get? LOL. No. I am, in fact, going to post this on my blog. Don’t worry, dont freat and sweat; bhavya won’t see it. But, yes, I am sending this to shreya ramnath, a character I highly trust, revere and relate to. She’s in the CC. I chose her as number one, I like her a lot, and number two, she has nothing to do with you, so you wouldn’t worry about your lovely name. Oh, and I guess it was something like a parting gift…after all, you happen to cherish the last person I introduced you a lot...

I swear, if it wasn’t for the promise I made to a friend here (I promised I wouldn’t curse) and my mother’s good upbringing… I would truly ask you to fuck off.

I cant believe I had spilt so many tears over the likes of you.


Smile. You've attained your goal.

Some YouTube sites i happen to be addicted to...

i keep on losing the URLs... so i guess i wanted to keep them in my new wherever-access-safes. ^__^

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yzdltmBcPyo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HyznpuQomp4

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eYqLk2ED4So&mode=related&search=


oh well. reminder: WhoaP is the wuthor for all of these.

Bio period skiving.

With Alexcia, Kathy, Franciso, Carlos.

Mass-cutting.

(Francisco aka Franky aka stefania wants me to claim we're cutting class with a pass.)

Halleuiah.

So... yeah. Finished my test. 100. franky was my partner.


um.. what am i supposed to say? Carlos is attempting to flirt with some girls aorund here.


Poor girls. If they only knew he was gay.. lol.


well, i guess i have to go now, im getting a call on my cell.

Generation x, something im writing in my library, when im busy skiving world history honors.

(My beloved patti with my mother... Patti, I love you. Body and soul.)
An angry child adamantly stared
into her mother's eyes...
They, in turn, were staring back
Pondering [her child's lies]...

Both of them fought pretty often...
...leaving thier tears in puddles...
No more laughs, no place for fun
No more needfor cuddles.

"You don't understand my generation!"
lamented the teenage lass.
"You don't get it, what i go through
In school, in my class!"

The mother and daughter soon aged,
Only to soon forget those grudges.
They both forgot how bad it felt,
when they were driven ti their edges.

The girl became a lady and soon gained
a daughter of the "next generation"...
...
This poem can not and does not conclude
It gets repeated, that above conversation.

Starts with F, ends with T, has a CA inbetween.

This poem was made in no more than 3:04 minutes, No joking.


Oh, i got a 100 for this project. :-D


Theme:
The statement about life or human nature a particular work is trying to convey to the reader.

If I made my life
Into something like a book,
The cover would be me
Hanging on a hook.

Like a fascinated fish
I would catch the bait…
When it comes to knowledge
I just can’t wait.

It’s just me,
I have to be on the top.
If I’m not,
My own head I’d chop.

I have tried my best
(At any rate)
not to harm anyone,
Not to hate.

The theme would be based
On how love had changed
An overambitious lass;
I’m no longer deranged.

Remember, be positive;
For that gives you speed
Towards your goal,
To what you need.

But only the beginning
Has happened in my book,
Once I’m dead, you’d know,
Then, take a look…

FCAT... do i have to even finish the sentence??

I just happen to like some of my work on this particukar project... so... yeah.

Personification:
A figure of speech where human qualities are attributed to an object, animal or idea.


I was so proud to have met him. I first saw him on the streets, and I knew my mother would not hear of it. Indian families were a bit conservative when it came to matters such as this. After pleading and begging, I invited him to my house once by luring him in with the smell of freshly made french fries.

I felt a warm tingle as he intentionally brushed against me and gave me a cocky smile. I wondered what my mother would have said, if she had saw that. She would’ve asked me to go and take a bath, I guess. I have no idea why they are so protective. I mean, I am a teenager too... I need some company to keep me from going mad…

After a lot of begging and pleading, I took him up to my room. That night was the best night I have ever spent in my life, warm against his cuddled body, I felt a sense of security I had never felt before. I flatly refused to let him go out of the house.

After all, what was wrong in me having my own pet dog in my house?

FCAT lifebook again.

Devices of persuasion:
Strategies that a writer uses to convince the reader of something; common persuasive techniques like given below:

· Bandwagon:
His eye slit up when he saw me…”So, are in, or out?” he asked, as if the answer was a statement, not a question. No, I replied like I had been doing for the past few weeks…”I don’t understand why you do it, there’s no way I’m going that low.” “Every cool guy is doing it! You wouldn’t understand!” he screeched, and stomped away. I could see the affects of it first hand: - My teen friend was becoming a child before my eyes.
· Testimonial:
Your nuts, I told him when we met up for lunch. Well, he retorted, it’s not like you’re the only smart kid who’s going to, even if you do. Even that three AP fellow is on it now… I heard even our assistant prince is!” All I could do is sigh back his face.
· “Plain folks”:
Well, let the smart people do what they want, in that case, I’m not smart. Well, he reciprocated, even Lucy is. Even Lucy? I asked, in mock surprise. I understood where he was going…He knew I could relate with Lucy pretty well, we were going through the same family problems.
· Emotional:
I looked into his eyes and choked, I couldn’t see him like this anymore. I was at my wit’s end. I dragged him with me to the mirror on the library and showed him what he had become. Look at you, I spat angrily. That handsome face looking like a ghost, that soft blonde hair looking like a mop! Wake up, you fool, I cried, slumping back. He looked at me with tears in his eyes, looking clearer than he had in months.

Something from me english FCAT project.

I was asked to compare and contrast.

Well... this is what i did.


“I was Indian, she was Argentinean. I was the brown rot in an apple; she was the color of an almond seed. Her eyes were ever vibrant; she had never displayed a dampened moment with me. If I was good in English, trust me, she was even better.
With one sway of her hand, she carelessly but beautifully tossed her brown hair from one side to another, and it would obey as if it were silk with brains.
Then there was my hair… a brown rugged bush that was supposed to be black; I put it in a bun in dread of displaying to my peers. But she didn’t care… her eyes went past a person’s outer body; it peered into the depths of their character.
I was like a long stick, my bones protruding out in my hands and legs. She was short, with no stick-like legs and hands, She had a characteristic smile and hug that she would render to those near her, if they were lucky enough. Me? I would flinch each time someone bent down to kiss me on my cheek (for I was not accustomed to this), even it were my close friend.
But still, we were friends. Stephania Ferro and I were like black and white, but we managed to produce a beautiful shade of gray.”

My beloved thaatha...

I’m really sorry, thaatha.

When I was in India…
you had been there since the first moment I can remember for me. I think of you, and I think of glasses, knowledge; you were my dictionary. You knew the whole oxford dictionary by heart, did you not?You told me not to go to Miami. You pleaded to me, but I did not listen. I had to go for my education, so I could accomplish something; I could proudly display it to you.

But where will I go now, thaatha? You were the only man who still saw me as a child in your eyes; all of my other relatives became aloof with me, for i was no longer a young girl, but a half-grown woman.

… why am I working so much if my rostrum has faded away? Now, even though I cry and beg and stomp my feet to see your twinkling eyes, to hear you say I’m your blood, I cannot see you. Even if I was in Chennai, I wouldn’t have been able to. I’m on the other side of the world, separated from my pulpit, from my mentor, from the sole creator of the huge family I have now.I have never been in a position where I have not been able to express myself properly, where I was such a writer’s block. A river can’t go through a mere hole, and neither can my thoughts now.

I’m deranged, I feel nauseated, and I’m just plain confused. I can distinguish one feeling though, and I guess it’s cruel, raw, grief. Funnily enough, ma pestered me to write a letter to you. About my straight A’s, about how much she missed you, about how much my father would quote you when speaking to me. It was pretty evident my father was beginning to become just like you. The same stern stares, the same old, soft, white hair; the same I-don’t-like-adorning-myself-with-expensive-clothing. How amusing, I feel myself smile, even when I simultaneously taste my tormenting tears. Remember the Magna Carta? You gave me the definition, word by word. Just like how the oxford dictionary had defined that date. I am in a loss of words to explain this date, thaatha. The day you chose to disconnect yourself from me physically …but guess what? I don’t think I’ll ever let you leave me mentally. That’s one thing I absolutely refuse to let go of, my memories with you.

But still, I yearn for your physical stare, even though you’re looking after me now. I have a string of guardians now, I am happy; but I would rather see you alive. I cannot even bear to think of patti. I cannot even think of her without wearing colorful clothes, without her bangles… it was a family joke that she would always be sixteen at heart. What happens to my grandmother now? Now, that you chose to abandon her? No, that’s not fair. I shouldn’t get angry at you. Amma is booking tickets for Pa now, she’s gasping between her tears. She’s saying something, but I guess I’m too detached to pay attention to her. I yearned to tell you I have ceased reading those “unsatisfactory and cheap” books like Harry Potter, I am currently reading Jane Austen. How proud you would’ve been of me…I’m such an ungrateful lass. I should’ve called you, but did I? No. I chose to write. I chose to convey my feelings via words, a letter, which I never did finish. You never got it.

God, forgive me for forsaking those intelligent and twinkling eyes. That white-clad simpleton who inspired each and every one of his nine children to become what they are now. Thaatha, you created a whole new generation of geniuses and artists out of what you had. Each one of us has done our arangetrams in at least one type of music and dance, if not both. Each one of us are artists, let it be with words like Gayathri akka, or colors like Bindu ka. Look at me, thaatha. My father had bought a half a million $ house, something I doubt he would’ve guessed he’d have possession of 40 years back, when he lived in Adayar.

But I suspect it was part of your plan all along, perhaps that’s why you just smiled and watched it unfold. You taught me that words can do what no doctor could... The weight in my heart has decreased, but the hollowness that you and my maternal patti chose to leave will take some more time to heal.

God, People just don’t know the worth of things, 'til it leaves their grasp.

Ah... My first blog.

Monday, Oct. 23rd.
The day the idiosyncratic girl has published her first ever blog.

So, why did i decide to start a blog? I want a place to record my thoughts, and I just realized, (as Conner aptly said in Sweet valley high,) I have enough going on in my life to fill 5 alternative angst albums. I was just one of those girls wishing her life was as easy as Lizzie McGuire's or some other typical American teen female specimen.

don't get me wrong, I don't watch Disney.
heh.

Oh. I'm supposed to introduce myself! How disagreeable of me! (And yes, I am very much influenced my Jane Austen.)

What can I put up about me?
er...
1)I'm a straight A student.
2)I'm yet another product of American-born-desi-ism. More commonly known as ABCDs.
3)I go to Cypress Bay High.
4)I sing, play some instruments, and I dance.
5)Heh. I forgot. I'm a female.
6)
Oh, and my father wants some tea. I'l be back.



Yup, back. Where was I?
Let me get some stuff straight about el primero up there. Yeah, I'm that straight A, goody two shoes girl. Trust me, I don't do it on purpose. I don't wait and pray and hope to see some guy smoking so I can rat him on so I can get a good name so I can get into Harvard so I can be a good career woman so I can... Yeah. I just aint that straight yet. My parents? They're proud of my achievements, yeah. But they don't care much about my grades.

Ah. It also occurred to me to explain numero dos a bit better. ABCD stands for American Born, Confused and Desperate/Desolate. Yes, i am american born. Am i confused? No. Desperate? No. Desolate? LOL. No.

Three. Well,
Cypress Bay is a pretty good, cool, normal, marijuana-cocaine-and-other-drugs-filled-high school. It's the only jungle scientists have not dared to enter in fear of getting wiped out of the phase of earth. There's enough drama here to fill ten page 4s with.

Number four.
I sing:
Hindustani
Carnatic
Specialised in abhangs.

I have done my arangetram in the above and in Bharathanatyam.

I play the veena, the harmonium, the jalatharangam...


lol. and if your not an indian, you'd probably have neverheard the above terms in your life at all.

Five. Yeah, I'm a female. I'm all that extra-sensitive material, yada yada yada.

Maybe that justifies why I'm typing a blog entry that I never will give to anyone.

sigh...

this blog is actually a mediumin which i plan on attaining two goals:
1)Realizing my life is actually like those serials (lame, but still entertaining) soaps about teens.
2)Improving my writing skills...something i take pride in. Also, something i did not mention up there in my "so-called" acheivements. Even today, for example, i got a pillow from my english teacher for writing something really touching. Maybe I'll put it up here later, if im jobless enough.



Oh well, i could go on and on about my life so far, but i wouldnt have enough time. I guess i just have to start from tommorrow.

Well, biology, here i come! (not that it would make a difference, i have a above 100% in that class now. :-D)

Disclaimer: This blog is only and only for my use, i have no intentions whatsoever for any of my friends, matbe except shreya ramnath or someone equally understanding to come across this once in a while. If you did, it's certainly not my fault.


Oh, and the spellings. There's something termed typos, so get over it.