Brianna's 2010 in Music.

It’s the start of the new year! And before running off to celebrate by not getting drunk I thought I'd post this. Rather then discuss silly little promises that I probably won’t end up completing, I’d like to talk about music. The music that I’ve discovered, loved or just plain obsessed over during 2010. So, I’ve put together a 20 song soundtrack that pretty accurately describes my entire year. I ask you to excuse my extreme geekyness. It happens.

So, Here’s my Soundtrack for 2010, with links.

1. My Eyes - Dr. Horribles Sing Along Blog Official Soundtrack - Neil Patrick Harris and Felicia Day
“Because the Dark is everywhere and Penny doesn’t seem to care that soon the dark in me is all that will remain,”

Okay, Itunes says this is one of my most-played songs. Coming in at 149 plays since I downloaded it earlier this year. In all honesty, when it comes to listening to music, I use my iPhone, Itunes is played in my house maybe 1% of the time. So add a few zeros to the above number.
End of story - this song is AWESOME. Great duet. I’m a big fan of both Neil Patrick Harris and Felicia Day. If you haven’t seen the movie - watch it on netflix, or better yet, go buy the DVD. It’s one of those movies you can watch again and again.

2. I Like To Dance - Lovesick Electric - Hot Chelle Rae.
“Forget the romance, this is what music was created for...”

My musically inclined friend Alex over at Fake Pink Glasses introduced me to this band, and this song in particular earlier this summer.

If you like great dance music, you’ll love this song.

3. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Fame - Black Cards
“Arms trade, I deal and drink in spades. But heaven's got a gate full of metal detectors,”

I’ve been a huge Fall out boy fan*cough*girl*cough* for years (Sue me). After their breakup this year I was a little disappointed. But Pete put together a brand new band with a brand new sound. And all was good.
Despite the fact that they’re a bitter disappointment live (Bebe’s voice is sent through a few too many machines before being released, and live she just couldn’t hold up,) The lyrics are (as always) very well done.

4. Sputter- Lost in Pacific Time - The Academy is.
“Don't waste your breath. You wouldn't want this anyway,”

Been a fan of TAI for quite a while now, and they didn’t disappoint with their new EP. I love , love, love this song. I find this song especially moving. *shrug* I’m a romantic. Or something like that.

5. The Scene is Dead, Long live the Scene - Hot Mess- Cobra Starship
“ I can love you like a sailor, I can make you dance all night,”

Oh yes he can. CS’s a fun little band that continuously pumps out great beats and awesome dance music. While this song is a little deeper (and frankly, a bit more depressing) then many of their others, I still enjoy it deeply. It’s pretty much been on repeat since August 09’.

6. The Great Estates -Weathervanes- Freelance Whales.
“Parade our souls out by the back gate,”

I first heard this song over the summer on an episode of Haven.
Doris’s voice is haunting. I don’t know much about the band, but Darren Criss’s (A Very Potter Musical, GLEE) brother is in it and if talent runs in the family then the rest of this album should be pretty damn decent.

7. Let me go - The House Rules - Christian Kane.
“Don’t you know I’m no good for you? It’ll only break your heart,”

*shrug* Typical country love song. I just really love it. I think everyone’s been in a place where they feel undeserving.

8. A Lighthouses Tale - Nickel Creek - Nickel Creek.
“And then he climbed my tower, and off the edge of me he ran,”


I don’t know why, but lighthouses are depressing. Just, overall. Write a song from a lighthouses Point of view and you’re in for a sad little ride.

9. Runs In The Family - Who Killed Amanda Palmer - Amanda Palmer
“All day I've been wondering what is inside of me. Who can I blame for it? I say it runs in the family,”

Frankly, I’m sick of hearing about Amanda Palmer. But this is just one of those songs you want to attempt to sing along with and the content is something we can all relate to.

10. We All Fall Down - Sweet Talk Radio.
Another Haven song. There’s very little lyrical content to it, but the music more then makes up for it.

11. Can’t Go Home Again - Leverage Soundtrack - Joseph LoDuca
"It's the dance of a madmen, until his heart stops. It's the voices of angels chained to the rocks,"

First of all, I love Irish music. Add to the fact that it was written by Joseph LoDuca (The guy that wrote most of the music for the television series Xena! Warrior princess,) and you’ve got something awesome.

... Shit...I’m old.

12. The One - It’s Always Stormy in Tillamook - Meg & Dia
“I loved you more, than I would ever dare tell you,”

*coughs* Again, I’m a romantic. Need I say more?

13. Celebrity Status - Masterpiece Theater - Marianas Trench
“Trading in who I’ve been for Shiny Celebrity Skin, I like to push it and push it until my luck is over,”

Just have to say, the Music video for this song is a cross between hilarious and AWESOME.
This is another song Alex sent me. The great thing about having friends like Alex is that you will never be without a good musical suggestion.

14. Dotted Lines - Sweet Talk Radio
"My paper heart has been burning, since you threw a match,"

Yet another Haven song. It’s always a good thing when the shows you love come with a great soundtrack as well. This band is going places. I'll tell you, everything they've done so far is simply phenomenal.

15. Thinking of you - The House Rules - Christian Kane
“When you find your way to another town, and someone tries to lay you down, and a feeling hits you right out of the blue. That’s just me. Thinking of you,”

I love this mans voice. His lyrics aren’t always amazing. But the amount of emotion he puts into his songs makes up for it. Also - Love this man. Marry me?

16. Ghost - Moenie and Kitchi - Gregory And The Hawk
“I woke up with my mind on a reason, for why it’s right to be leaving you,”

No idea where I even found this one. Not something I’d normally listen to, but I spent hours writing to it on repeat this Autumn.

17. Make Me Wanna Die - Light Me Up - The Pretty Reckless.
“I can see in your eyes, your eyes, you make me wanna die,”


I don’t know what it is about this song, but it always makes me feel like I should be in a club somewhere doing something that brings various amounts of shame to my family.

18. If I Die of Young - The Band Perry - The Band Perry
“If I die young, bury me in Satin, lay me down on a bed of roses, sink me in the river at dawn, send me away with the words of a love song,”

I’m starting to really enjoy country music again. This is just one of the songs I’ve found recently that’s made it to my “frequently played” list.

19. The House Rules - The House Rules - Christian Kane.
“Rule number 7 says don’t touch the women, but they can grab whatever they want to,”

Okay. Yeah. I’ve mentioned him a lot. Three times actually. See, I ran away from country music as soon as I could when I was younger. It was something my mother played constantly and I guess I was going through a point of needing some sort of separation and as a result country music hit the chopping block.
After I was older and had a general idea of who I was I strayed back a bit, only to find that the awesome Rock and Roll type country had been all but disposed of. Replaced with Country-pop and the generic “My dog hates me, I’m an alcoholic, and my wife left with the mail man,” type of songs. Big disappointment there.

Anyway, I feel Christian Kane is bringing the rock and roll sound back into country again.
I’ll admit it does help that I have a thing for both southern drawl's and dark broody guys.
Whether you disliked him as Lindsay on Angel, or even currently as Elliot Spencer on Leverage, you have to admit his music’s fun and funky.

Either way, He’s a trained fighter and can do things like this, so he’s okay in my book.

20. 17 - Sky Ferreira
“She got a fake ID, they’ll never know she’s 17,”

I think I like this song for the same reason I like “Make me Wanna Die”. Either way, Sky’s got an amazing voice, and the video’s pretty neat too.


And there you go. There’s my Year in music. Hope you’ve found something you enjoy or can relate too.

Happy New Year guys.
Lets hope for a interesting year full of adventure, love, excitement, and money.
Lots and lots of money.

<3

Brianna

Drabbles/End

Drabbles Plotline Order:
1. Agree To Disagree
2. Inside my head
3. Kiss you goodnight
4. What If?
5. Last Great Star in Hollywood
6.One Sail.
7. Going Away.
8. Are There Giants Too, In The Dance?
9. Here Here and Here,
10. Fighting For Nothing,
11. Bored Of Your Love,
12. Hug Me
13. Black Wedding.

And...I'm done.
Thanks again.
Until next time -
Brianna

13. Here, Here and Here.

So, I'm actually not here posting this. I'm out of town today until midnightish, so I'm having blogspot post it for me.
Anyway, thanks for the reviews and the offline messages I received about these. I had a lot of fun.

Song.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Been very far, made lots of friends
And I love my mother, hope to see her again,”

Living out of a truck wasn’t the grand adventure she’d expected. But it wasn’t terrible.


She’d gone miles from that little town.

It had been fun. At first. But it didn’t take long to realize that no matter how far or fast she drove, she still took herself, and her baggage with her.

Now the days seemed too long. Thoughts went back to the now-man she left behind and soon she was wondering if leaving him had been a mistake.

She checked the map one last time.

There was only one way to find out.

“I’m a wanderer now, sorrow befalls me
I laugh often so I suppose I’m gonna be fine”

Web Comic's? =D

Hey guys,
My brother Von recently started a webcomic. It's still in it's beginning stages, and he's just doing it for fun, but it's funny and I think it has a lot of potential.

So head over here. To read Mourn On The Macabre, and make sure to leave a comment telling him how awesome it is. It updates on Tuesdays.

Not really interested? Well you should be.

I make a guest appearance.

^-^

12. Kiss you Goodnight

So, we're almost done here, can't say I didn't enjoy writing these things. I'll definitely be doing more drabble challenges in the future.
Anyway, onward!

Song.

“You open your mouth, like an asthma attack, you repeat,
“If all that you take from this is courage, then I’ve no regrets.”

He found her completely inspiring. Her personality had grown tenfold in only a matter of weeks after leaving her boyfriend. She was everything he thought she would be and more.

She was intelligent and serious, whimsical on her own terms.

If anything, he liked who she made him. She made him think.
He could honestly say he was a different person when he was around her.

Her thoughts were said aloud, no matter how honest or odd. Her emotions were hidden, but only below the surface.

He found himself speaking his own thoughts aloud.

If only to make her smile.

“Don’t settle for less again. You’ve become more than I could have become for you.”

11: Fighting For Nothing

Song.

“I’ve got my words. I hope they hurt you.
I hope they scar you. I hope they heal you."

“You think you can just come back after what you did?” He snarled across the kitchen table. He looked older, felt it too. Life hadn’t been kind to him recently. Or his home for that matter. Bottles littered the floor and table.

“What did I do that was terrible?” She snapped back. “I wanted a life,”

“What about me? You left me high and dry, you have no idea what it’s been like since you -”

“Then tell me,” She reached across the table and downed the last of his beer.

It was then he began to cry.

“Make you see that your hands you’re accounted for.
Pick and choose where your sweat and your blood will go.
Make you see your life’s not to be lived alone.
Run their spit through your hair, you’re worth nothing.
Nothing.”

10. Agree To Disagree.

Agree To Disagree.

“There’s something bout’ giving up,
It sounds so bittersweet,”

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” He took her hand firmly and nodded, smiling.

She was cute, he noted while she returned the gesture.

Then again, the new kids always were.

Why her parents moved her here from the big city was beyond him.

He sighed begrudgingly at the bad timing as he watched her talk to some of his classmates.

If he hadn’t been dating someone, he’d be all over her like green on grass.

Just like his friends were right then.

He sighed again while glancing towards his own girlfriend.

Somehow, she just couldn't compete.

“Think I’ll throw in the towel right now,
(But fold it nice and neat,)”

9. The Last Great Star in Hollywood

There is a mouse in my house.
No song link tonight.
That should cover it.

“And why we’re patient no one knows,”

It was funny. How everyone psyched him up for going to war.

‘You’re gonna be a hero kid,”

“You’re sacrificing so the rest of us don’t have to,”

They were encouraging words, but hollow once he saw true war. It wasn’t beautiful or heroic. It was cheap and bloody and raw.

He worried he’d made a mistake.

The smartest person he knew had tried to talk him out of it, but he’d persisted pridefully.

And all he was left with now were a constant stream of letters from home all starting with,

“Dear idiot...”

“I ask for just one prayer that I can put me into.
We’re the most modern man machines”

8. One Sail.

So, I have a life and it gets in the way. No one reads these anyway. :D

“My love rests in a shipwreck.
With a compass in his head.
I’ll wait for him, like vultures wait for bodies,”

There’s only so long you can wait for someone.

Her mother had told her that.

Constantly.

And maybe she was right. What was she waiting for anyway? A boy with a silly grin and no real understanding about how the world worked. Jesus, it never even crossed his mind that he could die. It had never even occurred to him.

Maybe he really was a simple boy with big dreams.

But he was sweet and caring, and had his moments.

Besides, loathed as she was to admit it, she loved him.

And that’s really all she felt mattered.

“I miss your half- Irish grin,
and our love is growing upside down.
They say you’ll never make it home!
But I will wait, won’t bury your clothes,”

7. Bored of your love

So...I'm getting bored.

Song.

I wish you would put effort in trying to make this work
(I would if you ask me, I'd do anything for you)

“I am trying,” She countered, squaring for a fight.

“So am I,” He snapped. His shoulders slumped and he looked psychically shaken. “But it’s not working,”

The truth was, it hadn't been working for a while. And they both knew it. They weren't children anymore.
There was only so much one could do.

“No,” She agreed, nodding. “It isn’t,”

“Lets take a break,” He offered, swallowing hard. “Just to see where things are going,”

She shrugged almost uncaringly while she packed as if already defeated. “Alright. Lets do that,”

She kissed his cheek and she was gone.

Again.

I wish we were strangers
(It's not like were strangers)

Brianna attempts "Teamwork"

I'm taking a quick break from my drabbles to tell you about something very near and dear to my heart.

Just kidding.

It's just a story about how I hate everybody.

Enjoy!

When I was younger I was an incredibly frightened, painfully shy child. For some strange reason, my mother thought that things like friends, and love would make it all better.

So, she enrolled me in a private, advanced pre-school/kindergarden type place where you basically had your first year/year and a half of elementary school done and finished by graduation. (Age six or seven).

Before I go any further with this story, do you remember that kid back in school who was really, really smart, but sat in the back of the class and ignored everyone and you were secretly afraid that they’d finally just snap at the stupidity around them and do something terrible?

Well, Hi there petrified class-mate. That was me.

I don’t think my mother ever really thought about the reasoning for my shyness. In fact, now that I think about it, I think shy was a very misleading label. Shy seems to give the idea that one *wants* to do something “HI RANDOM STRANGER” but are too terrified too. *Random stranger = Pedophile*. While thinking back on it, I believe that I was just anti-social.

At school time I’d do all my work accordingly. During whatever big exam some outside-educators came and performed I hit very high marks. But play time was a happily lonesome time for me, because frankly, I didn’t like anyone. Torin was a spoiled rich kid who yelled and screamed when she didn’t get what she wanted. Cory was an abused kid from the ghetto that only got into the school on Financial Aid, and everyone else was kind of just there.

I also didn’t have a great love for the teachers. I was born with an innate sense of right vs. wrong, and frankly, I just didn’t like authority.

So, two years there and off to “real school” I went.

My mother, still trying to shower me with love and friends thought I should sign up for team sports.

She had NO idea what she was doing.

We started with soccer. Oh, yes, how I LOVED kicking that ball as hard as I possibly could at someo-I mean, a net. But I just never did get that ‘teamwork’ thing going on. So...I quit after a season.

Now, a year or so before all this I had started horse-back riding. This fit me just fine because there weren’t any teams. I started earlier then any of the other kids (The start-age at the time was 10) because, even at seven years old I was hog-crazy about horses. The instructor was more then impressed and I can’t help but wonder if I disappointed her with never going to competition with the skill. I wonder what she would have thought if I’d told her the only reason I had started was because I had this secret dream of becoming Xena: Warrior Princess.

On the other hand, I remember vividly the instructor running around her heated office editing legal paperwork that basically said “IF YOUR CHILD DIES YOU CAN NOT SUE ME,” and while I can’t remember exactly what was said between the instructor (who was impressed but still worried as hell) and my mother (who was trying *really* hard to make me happy), I can only assume it went something like this:

Instructor: She could die.
Mother: Okay.
Instructor: She could fall and become paralyzed or break her neck.
Mother: Alright.
Instructor: No, seriously, this is dangerous.
Mother: Where do I sign?

Anyway, I was all over horse back riding. Until winter came when it was cold and freezing and icy and who the hell wants to do anything in that? So, after my absolute failure at soccer, my mother needed something team like for me to do during the winter.

For some reason that still escapes me, she decided that I would benefit greatly shy- wise from Karate. Oh, mother mother mother, her high hopes were dashed again and again.

I remember my disregard for authority helping me very, very little in a dojo, and after the third class I was sobbing hysterically in my baby-way and begging never ever to go back.

Okay, I’m actually not all that cool. Really, some girl hit me and while I was scary at school, outside the protection of being the weird kid on the edge I was pretty much useless.

Karate was checked off the list of things to do.

My mother continued to try.

Writing classes, drawing classes, acting classes, money down the drain.

Finally, we started homeschooling, and after getting a dose of reality about how fucking crazy and weird homeschoolers were ( I mean, seriously, compared to them I seemed normal...) my mother gave up for a few years. All the books said to just leave your kid alone and let them figure everything out on their own.

This brought me archery and shooting, which I very much enjoyed, and guess what kids? You don’t have to be in a team.

Eventually, with my varying interest's Ieft archery and pretty much ignored extra curricular stuff.

And then,

It began again.

My mother decided I should try tennis.

Tennis and Sewing.

With other people.

“It’ll be fun!”

At this point, if there HAD been any hope of me liking people, it had long since been stomped to death.

Sewing was interesting, and I stuck with it for awhile.

Even after making another girl cry after a heated political debate. (She was a huge wimp).

Tennis.... in all honesty, I hated tennis.

I didn’t, and still do not see the point of running back and forth hitting a ball.

You aren’t even allowed to hit anyone with them.

So, yeah. That lasted.

Anyway, it’s been a year or so since my mother has pushed anything. Although sometimes, you hear her start

“Brianna, I think you should try *blank* I think it’ll be...” and then she stops herself and goes along with her business.

So what exactly are we left with?

Brianna.

Who does not play well with others.

6. Black Wedding.

Sonnnng...

What this is about.

Anyway, anyone who's been reading my writing for any length of time pretty much knows there's no happy ending.... not for me anyway.

Reference? Please? *sigh* My geekery knows no bounds.

"It's not all "roses" like your momma said,
We're not spoon fed anymore.
So you gonna tell, all our kids I was an "accident,"
Ironic, true, but that's the way you act, when you're upset, so let's take this outside."

This was not the wedding where he saw himself as the groom.

The women walking down the aisle was not the women he would have thought he’d be marrying.

No, that women was sitting several feet away looking incredibly bored.

But she wasn’t his bride and he was, unfortunately, the groom.

He wondered vaguely where everything had gone wrong while the wedding march played and the minister spoke. Had they had problems before he left? He could hardly remember anymore.

He’d loved her.

He still did.

So why in the world had he just said

“I do,”?

"Some people swore they saw the devil.
While most prayed they wouldn't last a winter.
It was a black wedding, your girl has blessings all around,"

5. Inside My Head

Song.

“My boyfriend used my palm, as an ashtray,
And that was on his good days’

They hardly knew one another. Not until that last year of school.

So it was silly that they bonded so quickly.

He was the only one that tried to help her. The only one that mentioned the bruises. The only one who did something about them.

She wasn’t the type to just bring someone home.

But she’d known the minute he’d vowed no one would touch her again, That he was the one she wanted to be with.

Forever.

The knowledge she lacked however, were his mutual feelings on the matter.

Watching from afar was getting boring.

“He got inside my bed,
He’s sleeping in my head,
He’s got hold of my hand...”

4. Are There Giants Too, In The Dance?

Song. ^.^


It was harder. After she left. The abandonment had been shocking. Although, he had yet to reason what he had expected. She was a free spirit.

And with his scars, he was anything but free.

For the first few weeks home, with her, he’d found them easier to deal with.

The dreams.

The shell shock was real and terrifying.

She’d given him a sense of comfort.

Hell, the only reason he’d made it home was because not seeing her again was simply not an option.

But he was alone now, just dreams and thoughts of dead friends.

“You've got to learn to act like God.
You rule the world.
You give the word
and if someone should fall behind
just let their suffering slip your mind.”

3. What If.

Annnnnnd....#3.
Song.

“What if you
Counting on my failure
Made me live?”

“You’re a student, they won’t make you go,” She said looking at him as if he was stupid.

“But I want to go, I’m signing up,” He was surprised that she didn’t understand.

“You’re the kind of guy that shoots himself cleaning his own gun,”

"I'll learn, I want to do this,"

She scoffed at him.

"But it'd be nice knowing I have someone to come back to. Will you wait?"

The silence was short.

"Do I have a choice?"

He smiled then. Knowing it was as close to a yes as he'd ever get.

“But these soles
Can fight the ocean waves
Dirty Laundry and
World War Two,”

2. Hug me.

Because I couldn't write a happy ending to save my own life.
Song is....Here.
Explanation on these Drabbles...?
Enjoy.
<3
Dommers.

“By the way,
I never really liked your hands on me
Never liked your ideas of
What is beautiful,
Or real
Or truly holy”

“It’s hardly the homecoming I was expecting,” She said, leaning against the porch railing.

“Well what did you expect?” He snapped, anger that she’d shown up acting as if nothing had happened. “You can’t say you’re surprised,”

She shrugged in an uncaring manner. “I was only gone a year,”

“A years a long time,”

“I know, I waited almost three for you,”

He was silent, and began to look uncomfortable.

She rolled her eyes before turning and walking away, but not before calling out:

“Imagine how you would have felt coming home to find me engaged?”

“And I must say, you've thrown your apathy away.
Grown back into your diapers.
Will you die first,
Before you admit the truth?”

1. Going Away

Song is here.


“Finally it’s my time to be lonely,
lost,
unloved,
and I can’t wait.”

“You don’t ask someone to marry you like that,” She was fuming, alone.

He was just back, practically right off the boat. What right did he have to go and propose like that?

She was special, and she knew it. She needed to travel, wander, to live.

Who said she wanted to settle down anyway? Just because he was ready didn’t mean she was.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to settle down. Ever.

Besides, If the boy had any sense he’d wait for her to figure it out.

Just like she’d waited for him.


“I said,
“Come on.
I’ve thought it over.
I don’t want to die here.
I’ve no desire to get married.”

Drabbles.

For those of you who read this blog. My friends who know me, my stalkers who used too, and the three random people from Germany (WTF) some of you may know I dabble in fictional writing as well as a steady stream of popular fanfiction.

Anyway, after taking a wonderful writing course recently, I’ve been getting seriously into writing again. Around this time, a fellow author from a fiction-sharing site I frequent posted a challenge.

The challenge was as follows:
“Alright, pick your favorite album or band and write a drabble for each song. You can only listen to that one song while you write, but you can repeat the song as many times as you need to. The drabbles can be on just one album or all of one band's albums. They can have any characters, any themes, any pairings. No hold barred!

GO!”

For those of you unawares, Drabble is a word often misused in the writing industry as “A short work of fiction,” In all actuality, a Drabble is a story that must be EXACTLY 100 words in length. Not 99. Not 101. 100. This is especially difficult for writers like me who spend most of their time on descriptions. This also makes for lengthly re-wording and editing.

So, here we go. I’ve started my Drabble challenge with Meg & Dia’s album Here, here and here.

So for the next 13 days I’ll be posting a Drabble a day. The Drabbles are in order of song placement on the album, not plot time line. So things may be a bit confusing. But that’s part of the fun. I’ll get around to posting the actual plot time line so you can go back and Re-Read them in correct order.

Anyway, the Drabbles are all connected, following a un-known time line between two main characters sometime during the 1930’s-40’s-50’s? (Even I don’t know!) Someone asked me recently to try my hand at romance again, so here I am.

As always, everything but the lyrics (Plot, characters, quotes) are copy written by me and the voices in my head.

Enjoy!
-Brianna

P.S. Because these are so easy to read (i.e. Short) and my first real attempt at romance in quite some time I would appreciate comments/reviews of them. *cough* Cookies for commenters...?

Outside?

It has taken me a long time to finally accept the fact that I am not an outdoorsy person.

For eighteen years I have tried really, really hard to mold myself into a wonderful outdoorsy, nature loving, woods wandering type of person.

I have failed miserably.

I don't know why but I've always had this picture of me living out in the middle of no-where with no one but the birds and innocent woodland creatures to keep me company. This is highly unrealistic for me, because knowing myself I'd probably either A. starve to death, or B. Accidentally shoot myself with my own gun when I thought there was a monster outside.

See, I have problems with most "outdoorsy" things.

The woods for instance. I love the woods. In theory. There's probably nothing better then taking a walk through the woods on a sunny day and admiring nature, or something like that. But lets face it, you can get lost in the woods. You can get lost in the woods and it can get dark. You can get lost in the woods, it can get dark, you can trip and roll down a hill. You can get lost in the woods, it can get dark, you can trip and roll down a hill and break your leg. You can get lost in the woods, it can get dark, you can trip and roll down a hill and break your leg and die. You can get lost in the woods, it can get dark, you can trip and roll down a hill and break your leg and die and then get eaten.

Seriously though, while your chances of those things happening are slim, why would you really want to take a chance.

Then there's the water. I can't stand not being near a large body of water. You must understand, I hardly ever *enter* the water. This is partly because of a horrifying past-life regression involving drowning, partly because of a crazy Fundamentalist actually attempting to drown me, and partly because there are all manners of biting, stinging, squeezing, tentacled, toothy, clawing creatures that live in the water.

I for one find it therapeutic to think about all of the creatures not devouring me at any given moment. Have you tried it? Next time you're having a bad day or a panic attack do so. You'll be surprised how much better your bad day is to say, GETTING TORN LIMB FROM LIMB BY A LARGE BEAR. Or, something along those lines.

So I sit on the beach/edge of the water and marvel at it's great expanse and appreciate all it's wonder.

From my safety on the sand.

I've tried desperately to get past these things. I even went so far as signing up for wilderness survival camp.

It went something along the lines of this:

Me: Mom? Can I go to wilderness survival camp?
Mother: Sure honey,
Me: Really?
Mother: Oh, wait *looks confused* you were serious?
Me: *nods*
Mother: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA *twenty minutes of almost constant laughter*

....Yeah...so that went well.

I've also tried:
Rock climbing, base jumping, repelling, swimming, tree climbing, camping, and I even went so far as considering dating a boyscout. That's how desperate I was.


Anyway, no matter what I've tried, More often then not, this is what happens when I leave the house:

"....What's that smell?"
"Fresh air,"
"I don't like it..."

....and that's why Brianna is a recluse who doesn't leave the house and writes stupid blog posts all day.

Birthday Weekend

I am making a half-hearted attempt to save my birthday. So I got up early today, did my morning chores, took a shower, and put on my ass-kicking boots



I love my ass-kicking boots. They are amazing. I bought them about a year ago for more money then I have any right too. But for days like this their worth every cent.

So, after I head to the barn in my ass kicking boots and give medication to my ass-kicking horse, I'm home with nothing to do.

So, I decide to get back in touch with some old friends. These friends may or may not include illegally downloaded episodes of Haven and Leverage. But they definitely include Sweeny Todd, Repo! The Genetic Opera, and Dr. Horrible's sing along blog. Because what better to do when you're down and out but watch a whole bunch of fun, bloody musicals?

Oh, and the only full season of Moonlight. When someone you've never met in real life burns it onto DvD's then sends it to you, you're kind of obligated to enjoy it.




Happy Birthday to me.

Irrational Fear #2: My Yard.

Okay, so not my entire yard. Not even all the time.

Just some of the yard, some of the time.

See, my yard is about 120 Feet wide by 80. So, it's a decent size.

Right in front of the porch is a line of large 6-8 foot tall bushes. These bushes block your view of anything past them. The porch lights do not work.

So, if you're anything like me, you're standing out there at 11 at night rocking from one foot to the other in the dark waiting for your dogs to pee, and you hear a noise.

It isn't a dog noise.

It's a serial killer noise.

We've all heard them so I feel no need to explain them. I have a tendency to work myself into a ridiculous state of complete paranoia, standing there 100% sure I'm about to die.

To make this even sicker I believe that if I stand out there on the phone with someone, the Serial Killer/Monster/Alien/Creepy Perv from across the street/Bear will have manners and go onto someone who isn't using the phone.

So, I have Late-Night-In-The-Yard-Dogs-Outside-Phone-Buddies. These people are used to me calling late at night. One friend dealt with it nightly for almost two years before getting bored of my ranting.
Anyway, the conversations usually start like this:

"Hello?"
"RyanI'mOutsideAndThereAreMonstersOutHereStayOnThePhoneWithMe?"
"...I'm having dinner..."
"What if I die? Do you want to deal with that on your shoulders?"
"....Goodbye Brianna"
"What if they never find the bod-"

So, there you go. Irrational Fear #2. Believe me, 2 of many people. 2 of many.

Runs in the family

Someone I know is an editor. She's also a writer, woodworking, bicyclist, and several other things. She's currently working with the writers of the next version of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. A book which is used widely by therapists, psychologists and other mental health professionals. It lists all mental disorders by name, number and symptoms. Because we're always learning more about ourselves, self absorbed as we are, the book is updated regularly. The book in editing is Book 5. Which will be released in 2013.

It is also the first book that will list, as a mental disorder -

Evil.

This group of mental health professionals believe that the person suffering with this diagnosis is born this way. It isn't something learned, and it can not be corrected. It's hard wired. Very much like ones sexual orientation.

So what definition are they using for Evil?

"Sacrificing someone else's well being for your own,"

Don't freak, we all do that, at some point or another. What differentiates us from the "Evil" people is that we are capable of feeling shame after the act.

These "evil" people are unable to do good (We'll get back to this momentarily) and in fact are only capable of committing evil acts.

So what about "Good"? Can and will that ever be considered a disorder? Are there people out there only capable of committing "Good" acts? Well, our mental health professionals have covered that too:

As a branch from the "Evil" diagnosis is a group of people who are born NOT capable of committing evil acts. So that makes them good right? Not so much, they are also not capable of committing 'good' acts. They are known as the enablers for our "Evil" group. They have no social conscious telling them that Evil is wrong. So they engage with these people and enable them.

So, why hasn't evil been diagnosed until now?

Because, for evil to exist it needs OTHER mental disorders to be able to survive. It needs them to be able to manipulate. Our mental health professionals are claiming that "Evil" hasn't been noticed until now because it's been hidden under layers of schizophrenia, bi polar, and other mental diseases.

They've estimated 10% of the population has this disorder. 10%. That is, as of right now roughly 687,865,691 "Evil" people on our planet. Look at that number. That's nothing if not insane. Oh look, a pun!

So, how is "Evil" treated?

It's not, and that's probably what's the most scary of all. These people can be treated for they're other diseases using drugs and therapy. This makes them less dangerous, as they aren't as cunning and able to manipulate. But really, they are just able to fix a fix a symptom of the problem. And how can someone who's hardwired to do evil things ever stop? Theres a good chance they won't end up in therapy or on pills unless they're caught doing something truly heinous and illegal.

So, with 687,865,691 evil people running around, are you scared yet?

And John Steinbeck wins again:

"I believe there are monsters born in the world to human parents... The face and body may be perfect, but if a twisted gene or a malformed egg can produce physical monsters, may not the same process produce a malformed soul?"

Moving Pictures.

Have you ever been in a situation where you're telling a story you think is absolutely riveting, but the person you're talking to is looking more and more bored? Now you can't just sit around and let your social awesomeness fade away. No, you have no self confidence. So this just won't do.

So what do you do?

Well, you can't end this awesome story with:

"And then she got back into the car,"

Because this would be proving to your friend-who-just-doesn't-get-it that you are indeed and in fact boring.

So...you stretch the truth a little and instead of "She got back into the car," what comes out of your mouth is:

"And then she just took all of her clothes off,"

There you go. Now you've done it. You've got their full attention. Your social awesomeness has been restored.

But see, you don't think about the aftermath of this tiny little lie.

Because right after, this happens:

"I did not!"

"I always knew she was a whore,"

"....I'm standing right here,"

And then everyone knows that's not how the story ends and while the unnamed she very may be thought of as a whore it's still all your fault for bringing it up and what's wrong with you anyway?

So you stand there awkwardly while you watch your awesomeness bubble get smaller and smaller and smaller.

But really, what other choice do you have?

It's a lose lose.

Really you only have two options.

A. You can stand there and end the story with what really happened and your-friend-who-doesn't-get-it will nod in that condescending way that say's 'You poor dear,' and then walk away. Leaving you in a self proclaimed panic that you've made such a horrible fool of yourself that no one will ever like you again and you'll end up that person on the train no one ever talks to because you're just boring and strange and it all started at that party when you told that story to your-friend-who-doesn't-get-it and she nodded at you and thought 'You poor dear,'

B.
You can lie so hard you could teach a class on it. You can even justify it. See, you've seen the future of option A. You don't want to end up that person. It's just a little lie and Julies been lying about dating Mark exclusively for six months now and no one calls her on it. It's safe. So you lie, and lie, and lie some more. Lies pour out of mouth at a great speed, making the once boring story strangely relate strongly to last weeks episode of House. You may even throw in an encounter with a large jungle cat for good measure. Because what's more interesting then a large jungle cat?
But sadly, there's a future to option B too. You're halfway through you're awesome story, you're going to pull this off. You are AMAZING. EVERYONE loves you. You are so cool you run down hospital hallways with Large Jungle cats. But then that smart-ass that no one invited to the party in the first place and only goes to RUIN YOUR LIFE walks over and says this: "Oh? You saw that episode too? Are you on any of the fan boards?" And with that one sentence, you're back where you started and wishing you'd gone with Option A.

Or, you can do what I always do when I'm telling an AWESOME STORY to friend-that-just-doesn't-get-it who is showing her increasing lack of getting it.

"SO THEN I REALIZED THE PERSON I"M TELLING THIS STORY TOO IS TOO DUMB TO UNDERSTAND HOW AWESOME I AM,"

End.

Down And Out

I should have a boyfriend. There are a ridiculous amount of reasons I should have a boyfriend. Actually, there is a ridiculous number of reasons anyone should have a boyfriend. I can think of several right now, carrying heavy items, picking things up from the outside world you're too lazy to get, helping release spiders and other insects into the outside world.

Thats just Logic.

But none of these reasons are nearly as important as this:

Checking out that weird fing noise that's coming from your kitchen/basement/attic/bathroom with the pool of blood sliding under the door.

See, I am a naturally very paranoid person. Every time a cop drives by I go through some sort of inner panic that involves all of the horrible things I've done that are arrestable offenses. Nothing can persuade me from this inner panic. The fact that my largest offense in the last few years include only J-walking and angry letters to members of several political parties mean nothing. They could know things even I don't know.

I live by the rule that Just because you're paranoid does NOT mean they aren't out to get you.

I explain all of this because despite my paranoia I have another insane quirk that makes me want to investigate all of those strange noises coming from behind the pool of blood in the bathroom.

I have never claimed to be smart.

In this case, last night, while in a state of half sleep I hear a noise. No, it's not just any regular noise.

It's.
Coming.
From.
Inside.
The.
House.

And it isn't a normal noise. It's a clicking.

Click.

Click.

Click.

It's nothing. I tell myself. It's a bug. I decide against going with logic which states that that has to be a BIG FUCKING bug to be able to make such a loud clicking noise.

CLICK.

CLICK.

CLICK.

It's in the kitchen. RIGHT IN THE GOD DAMNED KITCHEN. And the noise is getting louder. I shrink under the covers.

CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK

It's sounding like a possessed computer mouse trying desperately to relate it's message in morse code.

Well what can I do? I can't just sit here in bed while a potential giant bug/kitchenmonster/possessed computer mouse runs around my kitchen trying to get some message across.

So Uma plays the role of my future boyfriend who, I can only hope is already an insomniac because if not my crazy, paranoid ramblings that get him out of bed will make him one in the end anyway.
As it is, Uma doesn't want to hear it. She does that strange rollover thing we all tend to do when we're pretending not to hear something. In the end I'm forced to drag her off the bed and into the kitchen to investigate. Hopefully future boyfriend doesn't have a collar.

I do this now because I'm totally convinced that whatever is making the noise in my kitchen is some second rate SciFi movie monster that, while looking utterly ridiculous, still has red eyes sharp claws and no social conscious that says breaking into peoples houses and killing them is wrong.

Why I do this to myself is totally beyound me. All I know is that I'm convinced that having future-boyfriend or large dog with me will magically make the SciFi movie monster transform into one of my feral cats who's having a fight to the death with a hair elastic.

Without them, it just stays there looking all SciFi like and waiting to slay me.

My logic is nothing if not flawless.

Ghost

"There's a fine line between what is justified or just obscene,"

Breathing is overrated.

‎"...So you weren't paying attention?"

"Hey! Don't make this my fault! I have a lot going on, I'm really stressed out. They're renovating my bathroom and the workmen are scared of my dogs so I have to take them everywhere with me which isn't easy, and my pony is sick and may be dying and I don't know how I'll be able to afford the vet bills, and the guy who works at the barn knows dick about horses and is fucking everything up and I can't move him to another barn because some ass blond fucked with me a few years ago and is Satan,"

"....Do you believe you're a threat to yourself or others?"

"No,"

"Great, lets get you discharged,"

Slipping

When I get to the barn this morning Hopi is outside with the group of other horses. Having more then just sprained my ankle two nights ago walking that far out and getting him is a challenge. The fact that I left specific instructions to only have Hopi be put out with his girlfriend, or alone if he was well enough to go out at all makes me more then just a little pissed.

Another horse in the barn, Spanky is an asshole with no manners in the field. Peter, now actually knowing anything about horses ignores the behavior and refuses to fix it, claiming it's not his job to train peoples horses. Spanky is more then just a little dangerous. Having been chased and kicked twice in the field, and bit on another occasion I can attest to this.

After a twenty minute fight involving a whip I've gotten Hopi and myself out of the field with minimal damage.

When I ask Peter why Hopi was out with the other horses instead of with his girlfriend, Bewitched, I'm told that he threw a fit. Hopi lulls sickly to the side and it's more then apparent he couldn't throw a fit about anything.

I explain I can't safely retrieve my horse while he's in a field with Spanky.

"I'll get him for you," Peter says, apparently believing this is a solution to the problem.

"What if you aren't here?" I counter, my ankle hurts and I'm more then a little peeved that my instructions were so blatantly ignored. Especially after explaining how sick Hopi possibly was.

"Then you can't get your horse," Peter says grumpily.

It becomes obvious that this is going to escalate into something much more.

"Besides I'm not going to fucking be here," Peter starts, his father, a little goblin like man in his late 70's approaches from the Hay loft. "They're making me get a fucking job!" Peter curses.

They, being the owners of the barn. Peters been fighting with them for years over whether he should pay rent or not. In most barns with apartment situations the barn hands are given free board and free lunches plus an hourly wage. Peter claims to get only 150 dollars a month, although I'm not at all sure I believe him, having caught his lying about many things in the past.

"Peter, that isn't my problem," I explain calmly "But you need to make sure Spanky is under control and Hopi is kept safe,"

"I don't have time for this shit," Peter's father suddenly breaks in. "You people are just trouble makers, This isn't even any of your business," He's screaming already.

"Excuse me?" I'm totally unprepared for the attack.

"This isn't any of your business," I tell Peter's father, and in all honesty, it isn't. He has nothing to do with the horses, and doesn't live on the property.

"My son does all the work around here and they don't want to pay him!" Apparently the man is under the impression that I care.

Before I go further I'd like to explain that I am an incredibly even tempered person. It takes a lot to get me going, but at that point I can feel myself tense.

"What does that have to do with me?" I say, trying to calm myself.

And then it all goes to hell. The man is screaming about how he's had a hundred horses, how he knows how to take care of them, etc, etc. He's in my face, screaming so loudly Hopi stops looking blankly at the floor and actually raises his head in alarm.

"If you know so much about horses why doesn't your son know how to do anything?"

That ruffles Peter's feathers, "I take care of them just fine!"

"If you did we wouldn't be having this problem," My mother snaps.

"Listen you!" That's old dude screaming again, right in my face. "I'm homeless and don't have time to deal with this,"

"Well maybe you deserve it," I say loudly, and all goes silent for a split second. See, I don't like being rude. I don't like being mean, but if you attack me first I will hit you as low as I possibly can.

I'm also right. The man has 5 children, all grown. Either he was a bad father and they don't want to help him, or he didn't raise them to be able to take care of themselves. And I tell him so.

Color drains from the mans face and he storms away screaming about how he hopes I become homeless and what a terrible girl I am.

Peter's yelling again in the background, something about not being taught to respect elders.

And then I'm crying and screaming about my horse dying and how it isn't anyone fault that I'll have to put him to sleep but I don't deserve to be yelled at by a nasty bitter old man. Believe me, it takes a lot to get me going, I'm beyond nasty when angry, but my hysteria is much scarier. I'm ranting and screaming and crying all at the same time, Peter takes a step back.

When I finally settle down I continue

"This is business, YOUR business. Either keep your father out of it or quit,"

"I can't tell my father what to do," He says softly, fight slightly draining away from him for a moment.

"Then learn,"

Then he's back to being Peter, explaining why nothing is his fault and everything is the owner of the barns fault. He's do anything for any of the horses but nobody appreciates it.

I sigh heavily. Noting for the seventh or eight time that it's a very, very good thing I don't have a gun.

Forward Motion

I woke up early this morning, having to be at the barn by 9. Packing up the dogs and many necessary items I'll need for the day, I bit Antonio a good day and tell him I'll be taking the dogs with me for the day so he doesn't have to worry. He mumbles something about worrying and goes back to laying tiles.

Hopi is my pony. He's small but sturdy and full of personality. He hasn't been too up to snuff lately, and given the signs he needed a routine cleaning that males horses get once or twice a year. So I ended up calling a friend to come check him out. I also booked a farrier appointment for the same day so that we could get everything over with in one sitting

Rachel is an ex Large Animal Vet Tech, she's also one of the most knowledgeable horse people I know.

Sheath cleaning is common among people in the horse world, it's also the chore that no body in the horse world actually wants to do. It involved putting your hand in places you really don't believe it should be going. So most of us hire vets or friends to do it.

So, after putting on some rubber gloves and lubing up, Rachel told me very calmly that there were lumps and she couldn't perform a cleaning. Rachel knows what she's talking about and asked us to call the vet.

I called the vet and explained the symptoms and was told that they'd call me back right away. When they called I was told that the vet was busy on a farm call near by and would show up in about an hour. Despite what you may think, this is indeed bad news. See, with horses, if you're unsure about something and call your vet and it's something minor they'll make an appointment for a week or two down the road.

When whatever is wrong isn't obvious, such as wounds needing stitches or some form of colic, you always want your vet to make an appointment somewhere down the line.

When they say they'll be there right away it's a bad sign.

Throughout all of this the animal control officer for Rehoboth is there, making her yearly 'inspection' which actually means, sitting around and talking to people without bothering to check on the welfare or health of any of the animals. But whatever. She sat around trying to convince me to breed my dog, complaining about PETA and explaining why foxes and coyotes needed to be culled.

Disgusted, everyone around her walked away several times in hopes of some sort of escape. None came.

Our vet's a cute, young women who wears awesome hats and brings her dog everywhere she goes. He's a small cattle Australian type dog that sits in the front of the pick up and makes sure everything is the way it should be.

Rachel immediately began firing off what was going on and what the problem was in tech language. The vet nodded and explained that she'd be sedating Hopi just to see what was going on. Ten minutes later he was standing in the cross ties trying to stay on his feet.

The animal control officer was still milling around, apparently deciding to watch the entire going's on uninvited.

Peter, the barn manager stood silently in the corner, upset that one of his horses was sick and it had gone totally over his head.

Following descriptions may be disturbing and should be read at your own risk - skip if you're a male with a weak stomach.

After feeling around for quite some time the vet's hand cam back bloody, and when she finally got a hold of his, more personal anatomy and was able to pull it out the problem was obvious.

Half of the tissue has rotted away and was bleeding heavily. Most of the tissue was black and chunks of tissue fell to the floor before the blood started to make a puddle on the mats.

After she began cutting dead skin away, and giving both a liquid pain reliever similar to morphine and a strong antibiotic directly via syringe directly to the injured area (Something that had Peter running for the office in a fit of dry heaves) we were told there was nothing she could do immediately.

End disturbing images?

"It's either an infection or a type of cancer these horses usually get. But the way it's bleeding and because it came on so quick I'm leaning towards the cancer," Of course, she said it much more professional and calming then I did, but the results are still the same.

The biopsies she took will be back in 7-12 days. If he comes back with cancer the price for the necessary treatment would be more then astronomical. In the mean time she leaves me with both an oral antibiotic and pain reliever. I also shouldn't worry about all the blood.

Because Hopi only eats hay as opposed to grain I'm told to buy Hay extender, something similar to grain with less calories, as the vet warns he also needs to lose about fifty pounds.

Rachel helps me get the stumbling pony back into his stall where he stares blankly and sleepily at the wall.

I bid Rachel, Peter, and the Animal control officer a hasty goodbye before headed to the feed store with a long list of supplies to make him more comfortable.

When I return from the feed store with more hay, shavings, fly spray, hay net, and a fifty pound bag of hay extender I leave it for Peter to put up into the hay loft and check on Hopi, who is still more then a little woozy. He ignores his hay and stands mopier then I've ever seen him. The sedative should be wearing off, the vet says when I call. He's just sick.

When I solemnly return home Antonio has an important announcement for me.

"I'm not scared anymore!" He tells me in his heavily accented English when I approach the bathroom to inform him both I and the dogs have returned.

"I'm more scared of you now," He continues before breaking into a hum as he sets down a tile.

"You don't walk on the tiles," He starts again "Don't walk on the tiles until tomorrow. You walk on them and I'll kill you,"

Some consistency would be nice.

By the end of the day all they've finished for the day has been the floor. We're still out a bathroom.

When I return to the barn around five Hopi won't take his medication. I mix it with a hay extender and he ignores it. Beth, another boarder who also has an ill horse offers me some bran mash, a treat much more tasty then Hay Extender. It's also ignored. I ended up leaving it in his bucket in case he changed his mind. In the mean time, all involved pace around nervously.

Pressing On.

I woke up today to my mother throwing a cat at my head and hurriedly explaining that the work men that our landlord hired to renovate our bathroom were here. On time. For once. Antonio's an older Portuguese/Italian guy who show's up at least four hours after he says he will, if he shows at all. So I was expecting to sleep in this morning. Which I could seriously need after my 3AM bedtime last night.
But no, I had to get up and round up the cats into one room so no one made a great escape into the great outdoors through the open walls. Two of our cats are feral. Which, after thinking about it for a minute makes them very much like old Vietnam vets. They're both incredibly paranoid and won't let you near them, and they know without a Shadow of a doubt that you're out to kill them, so they should at least attempt to kill you first. 20 minutes and some blood later I'm watching Tony, Antonio's much younger helper watch awkwardly as Antonio dives head first through the open bathroom window. Antonio is absolutely terrified of my dogs, which is slightly hypocritical seeing as he has several lovely family Pit Bulls sitting at home.

Tony, at the risk of getting caught laughing at his boss turns away and awkwardly pats a dog on the head.

Then it's all noise. They're tearing down walls and breaking windows and for some horrible reason - listening to Rhianna on repeat.

Today is also my mothers birthday, which of course, means I must make a half hearted attempt at baking. Please don't get me wrong, I love the idea of baking. I love the measuring and the checking and the frosting and all of that other cool stuff. However, the fact that I have yet to make a cake that doesn't collapse in on itself weighs heavily on my mind. A box of instant cake mix later, and I'm well on my way to another magical collapsing cake.

I start to worry about the boy that ever decides they want to marry me. Poor soul.

It's also at this point when I hear Antonio chattering on in a mix of Portuguese and English very similar to spanglish. Here I could pretend to tell you that, having lived in a Portuguese neighborhood all my life I somehow understood half of what he was saying, but in all honesty the only thing I can say to a Portuguese speaking person is "thank you" and some very choice words I learned when my neighbor found her husband cheating on her and proceeded to beat him with various sports equipment on their front lawn.
While not understanding the words I got the general jist. Something was wrong and it was in some terrible way going to effect me.
As it turns out they ordered the wrong tub. The tub they needed had to be 4 foot 6 inches, and the one they ordered was only four feet. Leaving not only a ridiculously tiny tub in the room, but a six inch empty space where the tub should have continued.
It'll be fine, he explains to me while Tony shakes his head.

I'll drywall the extra six inches. He says.

It's at this point that I send Uma into the bathroom with the command to "Get him". Antonio backs up against a wall and throws his hands up while also attempting to mask his movements and somehow keep his manly dignity. He fails however as the dog trots in wagging her tail intent on licking the drywall dust off his cheek.

You have to understand, if you know me, you've heard about my bathroom. It's four and a half feet by six feet. Which sounds like a perfectly nice size to most people. And it is, when the room is empty. Add all of things bathrooms need to be bathrooms and you're stuck in crowded, claustrophobic little room.

No way in Hell he's taking away those six inches.

Over Antonio's dead, chewed up body.

The problem is the 4 6" tub is a special order, and he isn't going to go around looking for someone who happens to have one in stock. We're at a stand still.

An hour of frantic cursing phone calls and Antonio's on his way out complaining about missing his lunch hour to go get a tub.

This leaves my self, my mother and Tony. An awkward 20-something year old who obviously isn't sure what he's supposed to be doing in a strangers house now that he has no reason to be there. He asks about the dogs and tells me about his girlfriend who works at a pet store apprehensively. So I give him a piece of magical collapsible cake that magically did not collapse today for the first time in forever. It makes him feel slightly more at ease, and seeing as I don't eat cake - somebody has too.

My writing class was canceled earlier in the morning and I'm left with nothing to do for the rest of the day. At least, nothing I don't already have an excuse not to do. So I wander the internet or marvel at how big 4 foot 6 inches by 6 feet really is.

About and hour and a half later, Antonio returns with a tub that should fit. After fifteen minutes of the the two of them trying to get it in I offer my worldly advice that the tub looks about an inch too large for the space. Antonio threatens to smack me and sends me away. 10 minutes and some stripped wood later, the tub fits and Antonio is thanking us for saving him the extra work of extending plumbing and adding more drywall.
"In fifteen minutes you'll be able to take a shower!" he announces. Glancing around the room that currently lacks walls I nod unenthusiastically, and then the house if filled with more Rhianna, a buzz of some sort of saw and a nail gun - a power tool that I've always felt very close too.

While this goes on I sit around hungry because they've blocked all access to the refrigerator and they're both in and out of the kitchen. I consider going down the street for food but decide I'm both too poor and too lazy for it. So instead I sit shifting through email and developing a headache.

I later find that the only place I can find any sort of relief is face down on my living room floor, cheek flush against the hardwood with limbs outstretched in shapes that almost mimic some sort of ritual sacrifice.

Twenty minutes later I decided that there were indeed things I needed to do (including going grocery shopping), I forced myself up and went along with my day.

When I return I find that several sheets of drywall are already up, and Antonio is working on some of the last of it. Hope has returned that maybe tomorrow I can sleep in! They'll be practically done if they keep up at this rate!

Of course these are stupid thoughts, because they don't have anything really done. Unless I want to give up on this whole bathroom idea and instead decide to have a dark, empty green meditation room. Which, as my headache returns starts to sound like a lovely idea.

As Seven o'clock shows itself it becomes apparent that we'll have Antonio and Tony trekking through our home for at least another two days. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing. It just kind of sucks.
You can't really act like it's your house when you have workmen wandering around now can you?

As the boys pack up to go I make a list of things I have to do tomorrow.
Sleep in is not one of them.
Another day, Another dollar, another 4 hours of sleep.

The Scene Is Dead. Long Live The Scene.

So this is something I've been thinking about since heading to a The Academy is Show in August. That show was dead. I mean, stick a fork in the crowd, we're catatonic. There were maybe 70 or 80 people there, most of them for one of the 5 local opening bands that sold their own tickets. This is The Academy Is people. For those of you who don't know who they are, go look them up. They've "Headlined" Warped tour, (Well, as much as a band *can* Headline Warped Tour). They've had multiple headlining tours, national and world wide.
They have a fan base. But I remember standing there in the crowd feeling a deep sense of disappointment. It wasn't one of the shows I loved attending, and it wasn't the band I fell in love with.
Nothings changed, they hadn't rearranged the dynamics, they hadn't replaced a drummer or don't something morally wrong to lose my respect. They just weren't themselves. The words of appreciation to their fans were hollow, the songs sung hundreds of times were just that, rehearsed, polished, overdone.
I've been listening to Alex over at Fake Pink Glasses talk about a feeling very similar. I met her at a show a year or so back and we hit it off (or maybe I just creeped her out). She's a biologist slash music blogger who I hold a great deal of respect for. I voiced my concerns about this show in question and at the time she very much disagreed.

FastForward a few months later to a dark club with Pete Wentz and a cute new frontgirl named BeBe and I think she's thinking the same thing.

The Scene Is Dead.
This has been proven by the decreasing numbers of concerts goers, the decreasing record sales, the decreasing amount of people who care.

I'm disappointed and in all honesty quite sad. I wanted the scene to continue, to morph to...somehow come back from life support.
I'm sick of going to shows and having 12 and 13 year olds running around caring more about how attractive a musician is then what his music is about. What his or her lyrics are saying. Please don't get me wrong, I'm not being hypocritical here. I get celebrity crushes and appreciate an attractive man just as much as the next person. Hell, I'll even talk about it with you.
I'm sick of the celebrity of the whole thing.
I miss the band dudes and the crew dudes who'd hang out outside a venue for hours and talk to you. Honestly talk to you. Not about the next record or how many awards they've won, but honestly talk to you. About life, about how they got there, about you.
I miss the little opening bands from a town no ones ever heard of who would completely light up and get all giggly you when you asked them to sign their 3 dollar CD you just bought. Because they're little and everyones ignoring them for the headliner and no one wants their autograph.
I miss those band boys (and roadies!) that remember your name.
I miss the people you could stand in line with and talk to about something other then male hotness or celebrity gossip.
I miss the scene.
So what was missing at that The Academy Is...show? Not the music, not the band, not even the fans, but the caring. No one seems to care anymore. Not the fans, not the management, and in some cases - not even the bands.

So, as Gabe Saporta and Alex say -
The Scene Is Dead, Long Live The Scene.

Update.

In the last several months I have....---->

Burned some bridges:
But that happens a lot anyway - where's the news?

Opened an animal rescue:
Look! News! I've opened a Rhode Island based rescue dedicated to adopting and placing dogs and cat who's owners can no longer care for them.
This is Paz, our first "Official" rescue:


And this is Paz in his new home:


Almost died:
That was fun.

Ran almost 100 miles.
.....ouch.

Started Geocaching:
Geekist, most awesome, most amazing, coolest thing ever.

Walked around in public as a member of Team Rocket:
I have an awful lot of fun.

Started Learning Latin:
Who the hell speaks Latin? Why does anyone even know this language? Oh? The church? Oh, gee, thanks, another thing to thank you guys for.

Wrote a novel:
Self explanatory.

And
Found a college.
Again.

Anyway, long story short I've been pretty busy. If I haven't been in contact with you, I apologize. (Although then again you *could* pick up the phone...) I'll be all over New England this winter covering all of my more major projects, and honestly, I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update this blog. Which very much leaves me feeling a bit nostalgic. Anyway, I'm on twitter and Facebook. Keep in touch with me there.

-
Brianna.

‎In the great scheme of things what matters is not how long you live, but why you live, what you stand for and what you are willing to die for.

Uma is Elite.

Uma is a very mature two year old German Shepherd Dog. You have to understand, she was trained by Ivan Balabanov - the only American Shutzhund trainer to ever get onto the world team. She has thousands of hours of training under her belt. She can spot someone with bad intentions at 100 paces and take him down in 2.3 seconds to boot. She's bilingual. She is Elite. She is special, and she has papers to prove it.

So you can rightly understand the look she gives me when I walk into the yard with a 70 pound male mutt. He's huge, he's three years old, he's goofy, uncoordinated, he needs to wear a funny harness that doesn't really fit because he's worn it out with his pulling, so it flops to the side. He wouldn't know a bad guy if he bit him in the leg, and what the heck does sit mean anyway?

She stops several feet away and looks at him funny. What's wrong with him? He pulls suddenly and she's face to face with him. Her hackles raise and he wags his tail obliviously.

"No way," She thinks looking at me, "What did you do?" Her look turns accusing.

He continues to wag his tail and throws himself onto the ground. "Want to play?" he asks her.

She turns her nose away. "Hardly," She saunters off. She's too good for him. She is Protection dog, and she has an equally special boyfriend anyway.

She noses a tennis ball and delicately picks it up. "Throw it," she tells me.

"BALL!" He yells tackling her face. She loses balance and falls onto her side in a rare display of clumsiness. He gets the ball.

She lays there dazed for a moment before sending me a glare, ears falling back.

"What did you do and where did this little shit come from?"

Hotel Paper

Okay, so some of you who have read my blog have been asking why I haven't posted my fictional stories on my normal websites/here on my blog.

Some of you had asked if/why I had stopped writing.

This screen Cap of my current desktop should assure you that, no, I have not stopped writing. All of those document files are stories I am currently working on/in the process of editing.

I will be posting the sequel to the story I posted here several months ago titled "Just friends". It's been finished for almost six months but I never did get around to posting in. In all honestly I forgot I'd written it. Sorry guys!
In the mean time, enjoy Jason Dohring's gorgeous face. <3

EDIT: So after rereading the sequel to "Just friends" for the first time since I wrote it, I realized how absolutely terrible it is. It could compete with the Harry Potter fanfiction "My Immortal,". Seriously though, I realized how closely it mimics someone's personal life that is very dear to me, and I've decided against posting it anywhere. If you would like to read it, email me at briannamooradian at gmail.com and I'll send you a copy. Seeing as I don't know half my readers, I don't actually care who you are.
Again, I apologize and I'll work hard on finishing a story to post here or on any of my fanfiction sites very soon.

"Huh, that was weird,"

I am a strange person. I’ll admit it. Personality wise I’m very tolerant and level headed, while also being capable of becoming a mega-bitch in several short seconds.

No matter what group of friends I seem to be in, I’m the “Go-to” person for everyone drama’s, problems and gossips. I’ve been told I’m very good at dishing out advice, and ridiculously tolerant to others woe’s.

While I’m very good at understanding what people should do, I’m not very good at understanding WHY people do the things they do.

I don’t understand why or how people can completely disregard or abandon friendships or relationships that they’ve had for years because someone new and shiny comes along. Or because they’re following someone else's lead.

This bothers me. Not because I dwell on it or it still upsets me. It happens, it’s over. Get on with it. What bothers me is not understanding something. It gets under my skin. To the point where I can be slightly obsessive.

A friend of mine asked me to learn the chords of a song last week. The chords don’t exist and there isn’t any sheet music anywhere. I’ve spent the last week playing and messing with chords until my fingers have literally bled figuring it out.

So not understanding peoples motives truly bothers me.

Recently, an ex sent me a letter concerning his horrible plight of sitting there feeling guilty about what he did to me. It was well thought out and pitying and shallow and as always, all about him. When I showed it to someone they said (and I quote) “ Wow....He managed to make an apology letter offensive!”

Basically the letter explained how not only was I a horrible person, but somehow he also thought (with atrocious arrogance) that HE is the sole reason for me 'being the way I am now'! I mean wow. That's pretty epic.

I guess this goes back to that quote “Forgiveness heals us emotionally, not those you forgive,”

But here’s the thing, he wasn’t asking for forgiveness. In all honestly, I hadn’t thought about the kid in at least six months. He never made any great impact on my life. He did hurt me, several times. But it wasn’t anything major, and while I believe he’s kind of sort of scum, he wasn’t someone I cared enough about to be angry at.

So what was the point of the letter? Well it was to let me know (in a very nice way!) that, while I may never be a good enough person to reconcile with him like I should, he made such an impact in my life that I would, never, ever be the same again.

So, what exactly was the point? What motivates someone to sit down and write something like that, especially with it being almost two years after the facts?

I often wonder why we feel the need to feel better about ourselves by looking down on others. If anyone has any sort of scientific facts about this I would love to hear them, because it’s a genuine curiosity.

I guess in the end we aren’t necessarily supposed to know. We’re supposed to look at it, say “huh, that was weird,” and get back to that song we’re all working on.

So, for those of you asking about it, I’ll chalk the whole thing up as

“Huh, that was weird,” and try to figure out this next chord.

Lonely?

On the road again

I travel.

It’s what I do. I don’t settle in well, so living for the same place for the last eleven years can feel incredibly claustrophobic. Over the last year or so, I haven’t been able to go anywhere other then small day trips that never seem to last as long as I want them too.

Taking care of the family is a constant priority. One that’s made me stick in the same place for much longer then I would have liked.

Anyway, my mother is the same way. If she had it her way she’d be living out of an RV somewhere traveling every other day.

So there comes a point, be it after a poetically heartbreaking experience (yes, poetically), or just a week of monotonous work, one of us will look at the other and say

“Hey, Lets get out of here,” and so we do.

The day before a road trip is always the busiest. It’s also the day the dogs enjoy the most. Seeing as we never have much time planning our trips, we don’t run out of food stuffs. So the dogs get everything.

Today it was about seven pounds of various meats, left over mashed potato’s, an egg, and a pound of egg salad. It may sound like a waste, but we’ve found it’s much better then leaving it and taking a chance of it going bad, or taking it with us and wasting it on the road.

Teah’s our dainty little lab who thinks she’s a socialite. She’s loud and bossy and has enough attitude for four or five dogs her size. But she’s great on long trips and very much enjoys the hotel life.

Uma, my sixty pound German Shepherd, who’s trained to take down a six-foot-three body builder is always a welcome travel companion.

Packing light is essential. Although, my mother hasn’t quite gotten it down yet. I can live out of a backpack, with my laptop, DSI, various note and sketchbooks. She...can live out of a suitcase...with a briefcase for her electronics.

We usually rent a car for these excursions, simply to save wear and tear on our older Jeep. There’s also something about getting into a completely detailed fresh smelling car that adds to the overall adventure.

Then again, you can never rent an SUV at an affordable price. So we’re stuck in tiny, cramped cars. It doesn’t help that, when driving in anything smaller then an SUV I am completely convinced that death is around the corner. Have you driven in some of those cheap little rental cars? One word: Cardboard.

But we manage.

The dogs take up the entire back seat, and the trunk is left for our luggage. We make it work.

At home, before we leave I put all of our Cat food and Litter out into my front hall for whoever is going to take care of them, having given various friends keys long along for this sort of thing.

As we pack Dora, our Alpha-Kitty watches us, completely delighted that we won’t be home to stop her antics for a few days. Sometimes I think they’d all be happier if we never came home at all.

I clean as much as I can. Which isn’t much. I throw the trash out, sweep, straighten what I can. But I often joke with people when they come over.

“Come on in, excuse my mess of a life,”

It’s only a half-joke though, because more often then not my life is in some sort of shambles. Besides, with the life I live, it takes hours just to make my house presentable when guests come over. Never mind “clean”.

We throw our luggage in the trunk of the small, white rental car, and the girls hop in. Teah, dutiful as always, pushes her way into the drivers seat, it’s where she belongs.

Driving around the block, we stop at home one last time to pick up whatever we left this time. (Coats, keys, cell phones chargers) and then we’re off.

On the road I call various friends and tell them I need to get out of town for awhile and can they watch the cats?

It’s not a lie.

There are some places that you need to get out of. You get out or you self destruct.

They agree. It’s not much work anyway.

And then we’re gone. For however long that may be. Going wherever the heck we want.

This time, the plan is Virginia for various reasons. My time limit is August 10th. Because I have concert tickets that I’m insanely excited for.

So there’s thirteen days to learn, see, meet and heal.

Thank god,

I’m on the road again.