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Jan. 20th, 2008




Snagged from noakun:

I want to know 20 things about you. I don't care if we've never talked, never liked each other, or if we already know everything about each other. I really don't. You are obviously on my list, so let me know with whom I am friends! JUST HIT REPLY.

hey, my bitches!

Okay, okay...

I know, I know...

I'm a liar. Deal with it.

HYDE concert reports? What about 'em? Life just kicks you in the ass and before you know it, it's all black and blue and nasty-looking. Point? Wear a butt-pad. 

Anyway, for those of you wondering... I have finished the third chapter of my fic. But I'm also having difficulties with the formatting. Copying and pasting from Word onto El Gay is not going to work; huge chunks either end up missing or misplaced.


"I looked into his eyes WHOO-WEE! COSMOS FOR EV'RYBODAY! Bored, I stuck a fry up my nose."

Any solutions? 

Also, how do you quit your job with as much grace as possible?  Damn my friendliness.  Why do I always feel compelled to be SO FCUKIN' CHILL WITH EVERYBODY to the point where it's become seriously problematic?  Be a hardass, Mari!  You're a hardass.  Hard.  Ass.  You choke bitches for fun!   Believe it.        

Oh yes, and I had a vanity attack a few days go.... 


For those of you who were wondering, "What pictures?" look back to the previous post.

I will now... rest.


... Dude.  Dude, my cat just took a bite out of my blueberry muffin.  

The hell?


How's everyone doing?  Good?  Great?  Excellent?  Sup-erb? I'm sure a significant number of you are still basking in the beautiful afterglow of having seen Him live as I am.  But enough idle chatter; I have just recently returned from my three week vacation on the West Coast and -- my dear, neglected friends -- come bearing lots and lots of PICATARS!  No.  Seriously, guys, if you have dial-up, this page will take a decade to download.  Just give up, now.

(Did anyone see me?  If you went to the Filmore, I was wearing a coral pink shawl around my neck and shoulders.  My outfit at Slim's wasn't as distinctive, but I was, uh, wearing a red hoodie, grey slacks, green... t-shirt... No?  Yeah, I didn't think so.)    



. . . . . .



Crazy, huh? I never thought this day would come -- where I would actually take money out of my own pocket and pay those bitches to teach me. College is different from high school; I have to show up or my money's for shit.  And for now, that's incentive enough for me. I'm doing all (most) of my homework, too.  I’m…at a loss for words…as, I’m fairly certain, are all of you. 

But then...instead of showing up at the beginning of one of my classes, I showed up at the end.  I guess it’s comforting to know that some things will never change; my impeccable punctuality for one.  Damn.  That was awkward.

[peers through window]
Mari’s Head: Hunh.  The classroom’s dark…maybe I’m too early.  Guess I’ll just wait.  Hum de dum.
[classroom lights go on]
Oh hey, that’s my cue!  I bet I’m the first one!
[opens the door]



[takes the only empty seat -- at the front]

I realized my little predicament before I stepped in, so I played it off real nice.  I played like I had a pounding headache because of some grown-up altercation I had before coming in (you see, that’s what held me up) and absolutely, under no circumstances, was I to be disturbed or looked at strangely…or blood, yours, was inevitable.  So, I sat down -- that is, with a plump -- shot out my feet and glowered.  Prettily?  Or maybe menacingly. 


The other scenario I had in mind was, you know, I’d come walking in with my jacket all askew, one of my shoes missing, my bag on the floor being ostensibly dragged behind me... I had, obviously, just been in a Brutal Ninja Battle.  All is forgiven, your tardiness is excused.  Here’s what you missed, Miss Mari.  No penalties, I, your professor, understand that the World of the Ninja is something that cannot be grasped by even my scholarly intellect.  But then I figured... nah.

Oh, and then I ended up arriving 'bout an hour early the next time.  Come on, man.

(9:05 and 9:50 are the same in the morning when your eyes are crusted shut.)

Had I been back in Texas, Lindsey would be shaking her head; Gin would be going, “Oh, Mari!” and possibly sigh dramatically;  Alicia would be corporally punishing me and Joy, like Lindsey, would be shaking her head and looking skyward, her theist self.  Mystic elephant...Oh God, my heart, it hurts.

So, anyway, on a completely irrelevant note:

Josh Lucas.  Hot.  His eyes, man, they’ll drown you.  That's Josh.  Not George.  I'm not too sure about George.

Oh yes, and because someone was curious as to how I broke into my house and later my relatives' house, here's you a little anecdote.... or two:

So, I was out in the boondocks where Trolls, whose deeds are too dreadful, too monstrous, too numerous to recount, reign supreme and where lost wanderers, most innocent and fresh, are captured and then -- through a slow, torturous process -- transformed into trollish mind-numbed minions ready to do their new masters' biddings (the facility with which they do them, however terrible, causes me great sadness).  Knowing if I did not act soon my fate would be as bleak and dark as theirs, I ran.  To what destination?  I did not know, I just knew that 'Anywhere but here' was as good an answer as any.  So I ran and ran, the baneful sounds of the forest amplified by my heightened senses, until I could run no longer... 

Then I saw it.  Amidst the dark, twisted wilderness, a haven of sunlight.  Well, it was bathed in sunlight, anyway -- looked like a piece of shit, really.  Point is, Trolls cannot bear the caress of sunlight on their foul hides, for it burns their flesh like an infernal fire.  So, good sanctuary.  But further contemplation on its goodness was interrupted by a gluttural howl in the distance, which chilled the core of my very being.  The bastards were close.  With swift feet, I ran towards my sanctuary and pulled on what appeared to be the knob on what appeared to be the door.  

But it. Would.  Not.  Budge!

Blah, blah, blah... writing allegory is hard.  Let me just give it to you straight.

Okay.  So, I'm skipping school.  My house is right across the street.  Real nice.  But I don't have the house key since The Banshee is usually home by the time I get back.  So, I go 'round back so people won't see me breaking into my house... because people wouldn't know that, the "my" part.  So, to describe the back door.  First there's the jail gate; I like to call it that because it's basically a series of vertical bars and then a knob.  Attached behind is a screen.  So, first obstacle: I need to unlock it from the other side somehow (because I've already tried the paperclip/hairpin method and how the hell do they that do that, anyhow?).  I start looking for a sharp object.  Fortunately, not too long ago, my dad broke a large mirror while trying to get it out of the house.  I was assigned the uneviable task of cleaning up; shockingly, there was debris left!  So, I pick up a shard shaped like the blade of a scythe, walk towards the jail gate and as cleanly as I can, make a slit in the screen next to the lock.  Luckily, I have long fingers, so I take the longest one -- the middle -- stick it through the slit (this is beginning to sound vaguely sexual) and stretch it out as far as I can until I'm able to turn the little knob enough to unlock it (and release the torrential passions within!). Forever, man. So, next obstacle:  the other door.  This one is a little less sternuous in undoing, thanks to the window in the middle.  Trying to train the dog on the opposite side on how to unlock the door proves a fruitless endeavor (beat her later).  So, what I do instead is spit on my hands, put my palms flat against the window and push up.  Pushing out would be bad, possibly destructive.  (I was aiming for discretion.)  Few tries later, I successfully push it up.  I essentially punch out the screen behind it because, damnit man, what else?  I reach my hand through the door, unlock it, and walk in.  (The screen was unharmed and I was able to put it back, none the wiser.)

Whoo, windy.

Second time.  Short and sweet.  Came home late; around 3:00a.  Relatives assumed had key.  No.  Did not.  All windows downstairs locked; all doors locked.  Windows on second story unlocked.  Brilliant.  I take ladder.  Put ladder against house.  Climb it and onto roof.  Pitch black.  Cannot see damn thing.  Go to nearest window.  Spit on hands.  Push up.  Several more tries.  This rich house -- sturdily built.  Opens.  Jump in.  Close window.  Head for bed.  Next day, relatives inquire about ladder against roof.  O Fuck!  Look at me.  Look at them.  My ass: grounded because what did was so dangerous!  The fuck?  Am ninja, damnit!  Will never fall off roof; can see 'spite darkness, etc.  Assholes.


PS I need to find a water tower.  Man, I miss those open ranges in Texas; taking all those road trips to Garner State and Perdenales Falls.  The Morgan family's ranch.  Miami's all right, I s'pose.  If you like beaches, which I don't.  Sand up the ass and all. 

PPS I also realize I said I'd update this thing more frequently.  So, let me apologize yet again for my extended absence.  I'm just a very busy and important person.  I lie, but I have my reasons.  Oh wait, I AM busy.  And oh wait, I AM MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOU.  This excuse is legit.

. . .

PPPS I joined the gym.


I’m feeling a bit more introspective today. Maybe this entry will have more substance than my usual blithe entries. So, stop now if you don't give a damn about the ramblings of a mind lost, but if you're interested, proceed.

Preferably with caution.

There’s Something About Mari
The problem is me, I think. I’m emotionally detached when it comes to people. Yes, I’m very friendly; smiling constantly, so much so that my muscular cheeks have become a formidable force to reckon with. I can put you at ease, make you laugh occasionally, either at me or with me. Mostly the former. (Hah! Look at this idiot! Next to her, I look good.) I can never get close to you, though. One day, we could be having the time of our lives; come tomorrow, I could be gone and you might never hear another word from me again. So, my apologies to anyone who’s suffered my supposed nonchalance (because I do care). It’s not you… it’s me. No, honestly.

what's the ninja thinking right now?

Wilma, you bitch!
So, I met Wilma; didn‘t really think much of her. Honestly, she was kind of a bitch. And true to the Bitch’s Code of Conduct, she showed up with her fuck-all ‘tude then left. On a good note, though, she brought us all non-bitches closer together because for a while, there was no cathode ray tube with which to commune and each other was all we had.   Aw.

Life’s a bitch, but it’s got its charms.

*shed is blown viciously apart by 110mph winds*
Mama: Oh no! My Christmas decorations! Oh no! I collect for ten years! Mari-chan..!
Mari: Shit. *runs out as fast as she can to retrieve ten years worth of Christmas decorations; runs back even faster, heavily laden as she was*
Mama: Oh good! Thanks, Ma-chan! I was so afraid I was going to rose. Ten years, Ma-chan, ten! I’m so glad I didn’t rose…
Mari: *blink* . . . .  *ponders Mother's reaction if errant limb of Big Tree had ended eldest child's life prematurely*


Also, FOX sucks. What the hell were the execs thinking when they decided to cancel one of the greatest gorram TV shows to have ever graced its network? A show that had substance and intelligence; a great script with lots of witty repartee and… expletives in Chinese; brilliantly thought-out characters with distinctive personalities; a show that went beyond titillating us with Hollywood's dynamic duo Sex and Violence, a show that--

. . . well, fuck me. That’s it, isn’t it? Any show that stretches the viewer's imagination a bit and boldly strays from shoddy mainstream tripe into the realm of thought and more thought (but pretty interesting thoughts) simply does not get viewers a-hankering to see the next episode. This is the era of vapid, mind-numbing reality TV focused on petty people with petty problems; you give the viewers philosophy and their eyes go glassy.

Dear Society, you suck balls.

A Browncoat Conversion. . .
I went to the theaters with no idea of what movie I was going to watch. Being somewhat of a sci-fi fan, I saw that Serenity was playing and thought, ‘Why the hell not? Everything else looks like crap’ (even though Serenity looked like crap as well, but it was sci-fi crap) and bought myself a ticket for the 3:30p showing. I walked in there not expecting much (the previews kind of, well, sucked) and was completely taken by surprise. The cheesy trailers and promotional posters simply do not do this movie any justice. The party that was in charge of promoting this movie…you’re all fired, get the fuck out.

The strongest aspect of this movie was no doubt its characters. None of them seemed contrived; none of them seemed like what they essentially were: actors. Real good chemistry; casting was brilliant -- no-names, too, all of them -- to shame all you well-known crap actors! Nathan Fillion, Summer Glau, Cheeto Ejiogoofur (Chiwetel Ejiofor?), etc.,  you all get Mari’s Equivalent of an Oscar Award (more estimable, for sure). The people they were portraying were real; they just had one galactic-sized problem up their collective ass, so to speak.  And real cool spaceships.

For all you anime fans out there because I know I have quite a few in my flist, this movie/series can be best compared to Cowboy Bebop: philosophical, retro-futuristic sci-fi with an engaging crew of the criminally inclined. Best sci-fi movie ever… even better than S_AR W_RS.

Please, for my Christmas present, just buy me multiple copies of the Serenity DVD or multiple copies of the TV series Firefly. The actors are signed up for a trilogy, but if the DVDs don’t sell well, it’s good-bye and that means I’m going to shit my pants and cry like a baby.

… And as Mr. Castanza so eloquently puts it: [buy] SERENITY NOW! 

Yes, I know. There’s quite a few of you waiting for the next installment of my fic. Quite a few. Numbering the thousands, actually.  It's crazy.  I’m currently, as of right now, working on chapter three.

Maybe I should start updating this thing more frequently.

Also, to explain my absence because this time the excuse is legitimate (not to remove credibility from any previous excuses): I had no electricity until now. 


walkin', talkin' dead

Hola! Como estas mis compadres? Mi nombre es Mari!

I thought introducing myself would be a good start in case you've all forgotten 'bout li'l Miss Mari stationed down here on Uncle Sam's Naughty Bit*. (Look! I've decided to use capitals now! What a hassle! It sucks! In fact, I'm going to stop. Right. now!)

i know, i know: what the fuck happened to you, you crazy little cracker-jap? where the fuck d'you go off to? truth be told, absolutely nowhere besides my usual swanky hang-outs: In My Head, In My House, and ICHI Sushi. yeah...crazy. i'm working there six days a week now because sayaka quit, so now i have to cover for her fresh ass. bitch. oh well, whatev'. mas deniro para mi, no?

oh, check it, these are my new nicknames: mari-juana, mario, maricon (apparently, that's "fag" is spanish...), and mary lou

OK, i understand where they're coming from in reference to the first three, but the third one? nah, man. honestly, that's just harsh. mary lou – oh gawd, it’s like smelling the cheese after scratching the source. is it 'cause i'm from texas? (and no, believe it or not, i have never smoked a joint in my life. don't be hatin' 'cause you wish you could be just like me. i understand some of you disburse some major dough, commit felonies, kill kittens just to get to the level i’m at... shame.)

also, i think maggie got a bit carried away when she was plucking my eyebrows; i can't decide whether i look ghetto fabulous or geisha. neither look really appeals to me.

maggie: oh my god, girl! look at those eyebrows! they're like bushes!
me: yep.
maggie: (sternly) sit down.
me in my head: shit.

all aside, i think I inadvertently taught my mother a new word.Collapse )


i’ve also recently been getting a lot of e-mails like this:

Kaka, enjoy a 100 percent match-up”
Kaka, cut the deck for a USD60!”
“Win big on the fruit reels, Kaka!”

did i, at some ungodly hour in the morning, unwittingly sign up for something and create a new pseudonym for myself? i have no recollection of this, but it seems highly likely.

currently reading neil gaiman’s ANANSI BOYS.


why is Gackt such a pussy?
(since this image is one i so painstakingly created, please credit.)

I [heart] nerds…so much
(swiped from the friendly neighborhood hyde spammer, helayne!)

i gootz a pen up mah nooz
i gootz a pen up mah nooz


till next time...peace, mis amigos.

i'll be watching....



PS the eye is pretty, ain't it? no; i don't do commissions -- only if i really like you. and no, i don't.

oh, mother.

real quick update (mother wants me to carpet clean her room -_-'):

first of all, let me establish that i have not disappeared off the face of the earth -- on the contrary, actually, for i have been busy doing very down to earth tasks.

so, my relatives from japan are coming in later tonight: aunt sumiko, masutaka and yasuyuki (yatchi-kun as we all prefer to call him).   i have not seen yatch in at least eleven years.  crazy.  last time i saw him, i was eight and he was two.   my fondest memory of him involves him falling into a pit of tar (correction 8/18/05: drainage from the pig house uphill) or something equally black, thick, and noxious.  i laughed so hard i cried.  i think he was crying, too... i did help get him out, though.  i think.... i mean, i was eight and stuff.

so, we painted the living room.  funny story, actually, 'cause we ended up painting it twice. 

true story:
(mari and hide come home from work to see everyone looking at newly painted wall)
dad: (to himself) we live... in a cucumber.
mama:  kind o' a... greenish, uh, green-green, neh?  i don' like-u much.
miyuki: . . .
dad: . . .
mari: . . .
hideyuki: mmm... key lime pie... ho-ho yeh...
cat: (hisses)

so, mother made us get some new paint, even though the rest of us figured we could all live with it.  we had to prime it again and everything; by the time we were all through, none of us were coherent. ma was beyond help; we were all like "the fcuk?" and lookin' at her funny 'cause she was so crazy.  crazy lady.  in conclusion, paint fumes make you strange; i've evidence (see cut).


i almost forgot!  guess who a couple of our regulars are at ICHI?  c'mon... guess....

stunt men from PIRATES OF THE CARRIBEAN! right now, they're working on II and III!  cool.

now that i know who they are, next time they come in, imma ask them ask them to bring depp along.  fuck, that would be awesome, wouldn't it?  depp would realize in shocking clarity the error of his ways, ditch his french girlfirned, and abscond with me.  now, if only anyone associated with hyde frequented ICHI....


and another random note before i depart: whoo-hoo!  i lost most of the weight i gained in texas!

'til next time, adios~