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Arch-Angel

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  1. Arch-Angel

    Columbine Massacre

    By Arch-Angel,

    April 20th, 1999

    Two boys entered Columbine with guns and bombs.

    Lest we forget.




    A mourner moves slowly past the casket of Isaiah Shoels at the Heritage Christian Center. Isaiah, who would have graduated two months later, was buried with his diploma and in his cap and gown.

    The Victims, Both Injured And Dead

    1. Rachel Scott, age 17, killed by shots to the head, torso, and leg on a grassy area next to the West Entrance of the school.

    2. Richard Castaldo, age 17, shot in the arm, chest, back and abdomen on the same grassy area.

    3. Daniel Rohrbough, age 15, killed by a shot to the chest on the West Staircase.

    4. Sean Graves, age 15, shot in the back, foot and abdomen on the West Staircase.

    5. Lance Kirklin, age 16, shot with wounds to the leg, neck and jaw on the West Staircase.

    6. Michael Johnson, age 15, escaped from the grassy knoll with wounds to his face, arm and leg.

    7. Mark Taylor, age 16, shot in the chest, arms and leg on the grassy knoll.

    8. Anne-Marie Hochhalter, age 17, shot in the chest, arm, abdomen, back, and left leg near the cafeteria's entrance.

    9. Brian Anderson, age 16, injured near the West Entrance by flying glass.

    10. Patti Nielson, age 35, hit in the shoulder by shrapnel near the West Entrance.

    11. Stephanie Munson, age 16, shot in the ankle inside the North Hallway.

    12. Dave Sanders, age 47, died of blood loss after being shot in the neck and back inside the South Hallway.

    13. Evan Todd, age 15, sustained minor injuries from the splintering of a desk he was hiding under.

    14. Kyle Velasquez, age 16, killed by gunshot wounds to the head and back.

    15. Patrick Ireland, age 17, shot in the arm, leg, head, and foot.

    16. Daniel Steepleton, age, 17, shot in the thigh.

    17. Makai Hall, 18, shot in the knee.

    18. Steven Curnow, age 14, killed by a shot to the neck.

    19. Kacey Ruegsegger, age 17, shot in the hand, arm and shoulder.

    20. Cassie Bernall, age 17, killed by a shot to the head.

    21. Isaiah Shoels, age 18, killed by a shot to the chest.

    22. Matthew Kechter, age 16, killed by a shot to the chest.

    23. Lisa Kreutz, age 18, shot in the shoulder, hand and arms and thigh.

    24. Valeen Schnurr, age 18, injured with wounds to the chest, arms and abdomen.

    25. Mark Kintgen, age 17, shot in the head and shoulder.

    26. Lauren Townsend, age 18, killed by multiple gunshot wounds to the head, chest and lower body.

    27. Nicole Nowlen, age 16, shot in the abdomen.

    28. John Tomlin, age 16, killed by multiple shots to the head and neck.

    29. Kelly Fleming, age 16, killed by a shot to the back.

    30. Jeanna Park, age 18, shot in the knee, shoulder and foot.

    31. Daniel Mauser, age 15, killed by a shot to the face.

    32. Jennifer Doyle, age 17, shot in the hand, leg and shoulder.

    33. Austin Eubanks, age 17, shot in the head and knee.

    34. Corey DePooter, age 17, killed by shots to the chest and neck.

    Hate breeds hate.

    ~AA
  2. Arch-Angel
    Recently, Mae and I have hit one of the biggest rough patches we've ever faced together, but for reasons of her own privacy and potentially maybe graphically and possibly legal reasons, I can't disclose that information. She and I are still strong and we still love each other, so to be honest, I'm just happy I can still hold her in my arms. If any of you have been praying for me recently, I owe you more thanks than you realize. Thank you.
     
    On to other things about life, I'm not sure if any of you realized this, but "The Day After Tomorrow" was playing outside my window outside, and must I say, it was boring. Like, I didn't get any wolves chasing me, New York is not flooded or a frozen tundra, I didn't get the chance to take refuge in a library, I didn't run away from ice, and I still make fun of Al Gore just because I make fun of everyone equally out of general principle.
     

    Diversity doesn't mean we shouldn't mock each other.
     
    So yes, I have won the 6-Day weekend as much of New England has, and get more time to study for Midterms. Or to spend it just like "Snow Day" like the younger version of Josh Peck did (anyone remember that Nick movie? No? Dang it, I'm getting old.)
     
    So, I'm continuing my work with the GSA, and we're off to starting the Ceiling Tile Project mentioned in the last entry and I've decided that won't be the only thing I'll be doing. I want to support many a charity and humanitarian effort in the world, including Save Darfur and American Eagle's Help Haiti Heal T-Shirts. I want to see if I can go to the Dominican Republic or Haiti this summer or, what I want to do even more, go to Africa (preferably help in the refugee camps in Chad from those who escaped genocide in Darfur).
     
    Oh, in case you all didn't know, THERE IS A GENOCIDE HAPPENING RIGHT NOW.
     

    Seriously, it ain't "Hakuna Matata" there right now. Or a Disney version of Hamlet either.
     
    Update yourselves.
     
    Aside of knowing what I want to do for the rest of my life, I'm also going to be applying for a community college to get core classes out of the way. It'll reduce the cost of college if I attend for two years, potentially get a job if I get an Associate's degree, and getting job and acting at the same time is possible. And if I make money from acting, then guess who's donating even more money to relief efforts?
     
    You don't have to be rich or famous or important to help people.
     
    ~AA
  3. Arch-Angel

    Canadians

    By Arch-Angel,

    Yesterday, after a lovely day at school (by lovely, I mean it was about as graceful as a gazelle stomping on a baby lion for revenge)...
     

     
    He had it coming, trust me.
     
    My mother left work early and we went to an orthopedic surgeon to diagnose if my ankle needed surgery or not, or whatever he could do to it. So, after poking my foot in 14 places as if he was a pressure point master working his voodoo on my appendage, he wrote a form for me to take an X-ray on my foot. We head over to radiology and get the X-ray, come back, and found that the condition has become a little worse than expected. It's a ligament tear, but also with bruising of the bone and surrounding tissue. He gave me a boot to secure my foot in and told me to get crutches and to completely immobilize my foot for six weeks when we'll look at it and pray that I won't need a cast.
     
    The things is, crutches basically immobilize me. If that was the case, I would've broke my left leg to balance it out and get a wheelchair.
     

     
    I knew exactly where to go if ever the motivation.
     
    So, until the 13th of December or so, I'm pole-vaulting every step I want to make. The only benefit of this all is the thought that I'll be in walking condition soon enough. Really, this effects everything from my grades to my acting. I can't cross STAGE LEFT to STAGE RIGHT in character. Nor can I walk to the store to grab food after school. Or walk to Barnes and Nobles, get coffee and snack'ems, read books, write essays and lab reports, get into a depressed mood, and write really bad poetry. I mean, even my bad writing is taking a hit from this! Come on! This isn't fair now! I can't think of any good writer who had a disability! Not a soul!
     
    Aside from that, I spent today just simply trying harder.
     
    AHAHA, I'M JUST KIDDING, I NEVER COMPLAINED MORE IN A DAY IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!
     
    You see, what happened before getting the crutches was a class called Exercise Physiology. Physiology, but with exercise as labs.
     
    So because we need to sign a contract saying we consent to their exercise labs, no matter how painful, we had to do bicep curls. Until we couldn't anymore.
     
    5 times.
     

     
    I'm not this guy, but I just saw Batman & Robin, so I know that I'm a better actor than him.
     
    So my arms are having a hard time even extending fully, let alone lift anything.
     
    Including my 210-pound frame.
     
    SO WHERE'S MY FREAKIN' WHEELCHAIR?!
     
    Right now, I'm limited to a pair of crutches and a boot. Which is why I titled this entry "Canadians".
     
    Get it? A boot? Aboot? Canadians? From Canadia?
     
    Better than Alaska, though.
     

     
    Alaska: Canada's Canada
     
    ~AA
  4. Arch-Angel
    Seriously, fill me in. I'll give you an update.
     
    Grade: Senior (stayed back my sophomore year)
    Relationship Status: In a Relationship Since June. Her name is Maegin (pronounced Megan). She knows you all. She reads this blog.
     

     
    She knows what kind of people you are.
     
    I've had a lot of time to rest, think, be myself, learn about myself, be a ##### to myself and those around me, and all have an excuse as to why I have that right. I've become what monks called enlightened.
     
    I found my true, inner disliking to large groups of political parties and people entirely.
     
    You see, back last year in August, I fell and twisted my ankle. Or I thought I twisted my ankle. I was trying to perform a 540 kick, but I stopped midway in fear of how awesome it might be and the consequences that would follow. I saw that, because of the fact this kick was going to be so cool, I could disturb the very reality of the world I live in. It would cause earthquakes, erupt volcanoes, create tsunamis, drop the stocks, stop the production of water bottles. COMPLETE AND UTTER CHAOS.
     
    Because I prevented your death, no good deed goes unpunished. I received a small tear in an ankle ligament on my right leg. For the last year, I've been walking on it, avoiding running unless extremely necessary (we won't talk about those moments) and limping. A lot. Mostly all the time. Apparently I have whats called a 'High Pain Threshold', so being in the middle of a financial crisis, I didn't sway anything. I had no health insurance. I had no money. We were living in someone else's house, and we did for nearly a year. It was one of the lowest points of my life money-wise. But we got back on our feet, my mother found a job, and so did I. When you hit rock bottom, the only way you can go is up (or continue being in rock bottom, but that is dark and spooky).
     

     
    I couldn't really connect with the people there.
     
    Now we live in an apartment complex again, tight space, but we've made it home. And we're happier. We aren't out of the blue quite yet, though. MassHealth is annoying. Got a doctor's appointment tomorrow, if you want great news! But I didn't tell you the cool part though.
     
    I went to London, England and Edinburgh, Scotland!
     
    In London, I picked up a new best friend. His name is Tiny Tim. Spirited, young, tough as steel.
     
    Because he is an adjustable walking cane.
     
    You see, because of all the walking we did in London, my ankle was ready to give. I couldn't stand it at that point. We walked 15 miles of London, with hardly any rest. It was torturous. We stopped by a row of ATMs, and our director Donna told us this will be our one time to take out cash before going to Camden Street (if you know Camden Street and you're a tourist-y tourist, you'd want money). Because I believe in a large, spiritual being who looks at me occasionally and kindly thinks, "Hm. Sure, I give him a bone", there was a pharmacy across from the ATMs.
     
    There, Tiny Tim and I were united.
     

     
    Pictured: Sexy
     
    Since London and Scotland, though, because of the aggravation, the pain hasn't ceased. It's gotten only worse. The cane became permanent overseas. I walk in school with it, I walk to places, I go to Starbucks together with it, I fight crime and beat the innocent (to make up for fighting crime), and at the same time, I dislike it. It's annoying not having two hands ready and available when you walk and stop and have to manage the cane you now have to hang on your pocket to do stuff and whatnot.
     
    But just because I got a cane doesn't mean I can't enjoy it.
     

     
    The flames makes me go faster.
     
    So, that's what's up with me. What have I missed?
     
    ~AA
  5. Arch-Angel
    Video of Speech



    I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

    Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

    But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

    In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the "unalienable Rights" of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."

    But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

    We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

    It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

    But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.

    The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.

    We cannot walk alone.

    And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.

    We cannot turn back.

    There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: "For Whites Only." We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until "justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream."



    I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have come from areas where your quest -- quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

    Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

    And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

    I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

    I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

    I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

    I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

    I have a dream today!

    I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

    I have a dream today!

    I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together."

    This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

    With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

    And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

    My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.


    Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,

    From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

    And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.

    And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.

    Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.

    Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

    Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

    Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

    But not only that:

    Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

    Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.

    Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.

    From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

    And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

    Free at last! Free at last!

    Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

  6. Arch-Angel

    U Turn

    By Arch-Angel,

    Last Thursday, my US History class took a field trip to Boston, to see the many locations of the historic city. Two classes went, my class and another. Keep in mind I stayed back a year, and that before I used to look at these sophomores as the annoying freshmen who haven't hit full maturity, or three quarters. They're getting there, but most are get too annoying to handle.
     
    Of course, I wasn't the oldest among the group, simply one of the people really wishing he had a wad of cash on him. Boston has markets around every corner. The history teacher running it (my teacher), Mr. Martell, had to press the cross-walk button every time we reached the end of a block. We must've passed about six SevenEleven's, and I was getting depressed with the loneliness mentioned beforehand. A Pepsi would've been great, had I had the cash for it. Though really no one went inside the stores surprisingly.
     
    Though there was one that itched in the back of my mind.
     
    Nick.
     
    A freshman (sophomore now), who's got plenty of cash and unfortunately no real good looks, no good sense of flirting, no good aim for the right girls, and his voice is in kiddy-mode so he 'sounds gay' when he's actually straight(which he is constantly had been made fun of in our class until I demanded through some physical means par say to the two guys to quit making the offensive artwork). He's a nice guy, reminds me of Tom, only more dumb, no common sense, and REALLY REALLY annoying.
     
    Throughout the trip, he was practicing some of his Portuguese. One of the brazilian girls in our class taught him how to speak a few words and phrases, but gave him all the wrong definitions as to what he was saying.
     
    ...
     
    So the entire time he's swearing in Portuguese, and constantly I have to tell him to shut up. Then he'd actually say something in Portuguese he understood, which isn't the kind of phrase you'd wouldn't say around your mom (if she knew Portuguese). So at around 9 AM as we were in the Massachusetts State House, he went on while we were in the House of Representatives, and I turned to him, said something I can't recall what, and I shut him up.
     
    Victory...
     
    But after five seconds of the beautiful silence, he said, "Yeah, well, at least people like me. Vanessa hates you, she thinks you're a creeper and a sketch, and everyone in drama company agrees. Actually, most of the people in drama company hate you."
     
    So I play it off like I could give a dang less about drama company, and left him defeated.
     
    Though I took a heck of a hit.
     
    I love the people in drama company, and I love Vanessa, so my mind soon processed that I didn't have friends. For one, Vanessa always called me a creeper but I proved her wrong and then we'd laugh about it, but I was convinced that she was talking behind my back and sincerely meant it. My loneliness broaden, and I truly felt like nothing.
     
    Oh! Now I remember! I didn't say anything to Nick, I backhanded him lightly, tiny tap.
     
    Today, Nick asked me if I was going to the drama company meeting today after school. I wasn't planning to take a late bus home, so I told him no and added extra flavor to it saying, "...And besides, why bother? Vanessa and the rest of drama company hates me anywa-"
     
    "Oh, I was just kidding. I was just angry."
     
    "Because you couldn't come back with anything else?"
     
    "Yeah."
     
    "Oh, okay."
     
    I laughed inside. All that trouble, for nearly nothing.
     
    Well, I got to open up to two girls, who I now consider my trusted friends. I showed them the blog entry after I felt better because they were on the little notes I left there.
     
    Now, I guess, I don't feel lonely...
     
     
     
     
     
    So wait.
     
    What was the moral of the story?
     
    ~AA
  7. Arch-Angel

    Bitter Coffee

    By Arch-Angel,

    The bitter taste of the Starbucks coffee was hardly a concern. Normally, Chris would complain about how it tasted a bit processed and that he wasn't about to put in a fifth Splenda, but today wasn't one of those days. Today was the day Chris needed to rest himself, his mind, and his heart. It's been a while since he has had to make a decision he believed would mark the rest of his life. He chose to be answerable or accountable, reliable or dependable, and to be focused on one thing.
     
    Responsibility.
     
    For a person.
     
    This person wasn't as any person, as he just agreed to be there for that person. Through thick and thin, and for as long as need be. As long as possible. It his Erica, his girlfriend, for Pete sake, but he felt, in some way, now tying the knot. No ring, no Bachelor's party, no wedding, no reception, no Honeymoon. Married. He felt married.
     
    "Since when does it feel this bad?" He thought to himself, "Why am I not happy? Do I not love her?"
     
    His coffee cup, cardboard, bony white with green, Mother Nature logo, was still in his right hand. His cell phone in the other. The most important phone call he might ever had, on the most typical day. It just hit him that the taste was sitting in his mouth, getting worse as it dried up as he left his jaw hang while in plaguing thought. He hasn't been responsible for anything in so long. He's gone to college, he got his degree in English, he worked his way into Grad School, but that was just passable to him. He could've decided to live his life extremely different. His parents had money, they were happily married, and it seemed that they haven't lived a hardship since Chris's Appendicitis scare when he was fifteen. And that was because it was a camping trip. Yes, he felt lucky to have survived, but he isn't traumatized by it anymore. It was a medical emergency in the middle of the woods, and it was treated. That's it. But this, this was something different. He repeated the words in his head, and he didn't like them. He didn't believe himself. It wasn't true to him.
     
    "We're having a baby. You're going to be a father."
     
    "How do tell someone that on the phone?" He said out loud, realizing he spoke too loudly. Some people looked up, then went back to their original preoccupation, believing it was just better to leave the lone coffee drinker to settle his own stress. It's the smart option: someone is in distress, so best not to get involved and let them handle it. It's their problem, they'll sort it out. Heck, they might become a stronger person. And when they have kids and grand-kids, that person can help them through that stress because life blessed them with the opportunity to learn from trial and tribulation.
     
    "Kids?" Chris whispered in thought, "Grand-kids, even?"
     
    The thought of it made his head spin like a dreidel. He wasn't going to let his kid do this in life. Not make the same mistake.
     
    "Mistake! No! Not a mistake! He is not going to be a mistake!" He shouted in his thoughts, "He is a blessing! A wonderful surprise!"
     
    He looked down at his coffee, still bitter, still warm. Then Chris realized that he just gave the baby a gender. He realized he subconsciously wanted a son. He thought of the baby as a boy, and not only just a boy: his boy. His son. He imagined a tiny newborn, so adorable and so at rest, with not a care in the world as he cradled the child in his arms. He wanted to protect that little one. His little one. He was going to grow up. Get his first baseball cap. Become a Yankees fan because he wanted to be different, and to tease his old man when the Sox lost a game to them. And they would play catch, and he would go to school. And he would study hard, and he would work hard, and he would be a great athlete, and would go to college. And Chris wanted to love him all the way. And even if he didn't do any of that, he would support him. If he got bad grades? Help him out. If he didn't know how to work? Teach him. If he wasn't good at sports and liked acting or singing or whatever? Help him become more then he imagined. If he was gay... well, even then, he was going to love that little boy that he once held in his arms. And at church, or at barbecues, or at parties, he would wrap his arm around the boy's shoulders, bring him up to his friends, and say, "Hey fellas, I want you to meet my boy."
     
    He laughed to himself and thought, "I love the son I don't even know I'm having. Oh, my gosh."
     
    He chuckled some more. The entire time he was sitting there for at least an hour. His butt felt numb, and he realized he was sick and tired of Starbucks' ###### chairs. Their natural glow and fake wood panels. Their funny way of saying sizes like Grande and Venti. Most of all, he was tired of buying the same burnt and bitter coffee and hating it, then coming back the next day to buy it again. It was a habit. It was ritual and he just realized it. Here he is, right now, sitting in a Starbucks, not doing anything. Now, he has to do something. He is going to drive to Erica's house and tell her that he was going to stay by her. Through thick and thin. He is going to tell her that he was going to take responsibility, and he was going start making changes in his life for this child. The boy he never met, but loved so much.
     
    He got up from the uncomfortable chair. He grabbed his coat. He took his coffee and headed to the door. He dropped the half-empty coffee cup right into the trashcan and watched it fall like a rock. The lid opened up, and the brown liquid spread out and released itself from the cardboard prison. He stepped out of the cafe, and he took a breath of the crisp, fall air and felt the chill go up his spine, and underneath his skin, feeling every one of his hairs stand up with pride. He swallowed, and remembering the taste of the past, knowing it would be the last time he ever would.
     
    His phone began to ring.
     
    "Chris, I'm so sorry. I read the box wrong."
     
     
     
     
     
     
    ~AA
  8. Arch-Angel
    For a time I felt secure. I had friends I could laugh with, friends I could trust, knees that wouldn't hurt, Pepsi that wouldn't be out of reach (<-dang good time), and I had a home in an apartment building and not homeless like we were in danger of being fourteen months back. It was another chapter in my life, the time where Jon's life seemed happy. Unfortunately, whenever the next chapter began, after conquering the endeavors of the previous chapters, he would be back in another trial of life. The peace and happiness he had left, now he is more loose in anger and sorrow. He hates sorrow, hated how misery became his posse. He enjoys superkicking misery time and time again, but misery carried an iron jaw.
     
    Stubborn friend.
     
    (back to first person)
     
    The rain is around, the clouds discourage. It's psychological really; dark and gloomy weather brings depression in forecast while the sun is bright and shining, and the light brings happiness and smiles on faces. Though I am conscious of this fact, my heart is still aching.
     
    Hey Wrinkled Lion, what's up? Thought I'd catch you off guard in my blog, knowing you don't like my dreadful entries of depression and how I complain and yada yada yada. I'd send you some offensive sign language considering I'm in that mood, but Omi's always on me about my blog (and I don't blame him. It's his job) and I guess it wouldn't be the most mature thing to do.
     
    It'd be the humane thing to do.
     
    You've heard the sentence maybe a hundred times:
     
    "I have no friends."
     
    Now you usually hear the discouraged person speak that, and it's truly a lie, an accidental lie. What they probably mean is that they have friends to laugh with, but none to cry with. Now I know you guys out there tell me I have to I could talk to, but come on. You're hundreds of miles away, and the closest one of you all is Mojjy who lives in western Mass, and the only reason I'd go there would be for Six Flags.
     
    I don't really have anyone I can have fun with and talk to anytime I want at the moment, and I feel quite lonely. I don't have anyone but my Spanish teacher to vent to, and was one time two weeks ago... and it's my bloody Spanish teacher.
     
    I love my family. Love my mom, love my sister. Though sometimes I just don't like my sister, and my mom is too overprotective of me and doesn't trust the fact that I'm a straightedge. I'm sixteen, after going this long without a cigarette or a drop of alcohol, I deserve a freakin' merit badge with the crud I have to deal with everyday. I can't hang out with people cause I don't smoke, and I don't plan on buying Glen a pack of a cigarettes at Store 24 because I look like I can pass as 18 with my 5 o'clock shadow, I don't want to party with the cute girls and drink until my liver is tired and my brain demands I vomit, I don't want to change the way I look to fit into one crowd (because if you wear American Eagle or Hollister, you're a tool and deserve to die! [/sarcasm]), I don't want to listen to one kind of music, I don't want to shave my head bald and hate others, I don't want to fight people I don't know, I don't want to tell people who to be, and I sure as heck don't want anyone talking smack about me.
     
    I'm just lonely, dang it.
     
    There was this one person, but I'm not even sure if she's even alive. I'm tempted to add another dove to the first content block.
     
    After watching Madagascar 2 with my mom and sis, on the way home as my sister went on to my mom about the mechanic at the Toyota Dealership who is apparently stupid and can't fix the noise she keeps hearing, I found myself doing something.
     
    I was thinking about what I would write to each individual I know. Suicide letters.
     
    Suicide. It sounds so bad. It is, really. Some people think it's a horrid thing, some a disgraceful thing, others- not a thought in the world about it. Me? I don't know. It's something I've thought of a lot in my life. I've tried writing my own goodbye letter but my hand was shaking wildly and I quit on it and torn up the letter, thinking of my mom and how much she'd die inside.
     
    I hate the mere thought, but I want to tell everyone everything I've thought about them. I want to tell this one girl, though she already knows it, that I love her blue eyes and how they stand out from her black hair, that I could stare into them for as long as I could, if I could. I want to tell her boyfriend that he's lucky to have such a pretty girl as his own. I want to tell another girl that I'm sorry we couldn't be friends and that she's just too mean around people she doesn't know to even so much give them a chance. I want to tell another girl (TOO MANY GIRLS) that I enjoyed the time we were together as friends but the smack she talks isn't justified and that she has to less affected by the amount of crud around her or she'll burst into emotional flames. I want to tell another friend that life can be fair, so long as you stay fair and people will treat you nice if you treat them nice. I want to tell this one girl I liked her for her brains, and her looks didn't matter. I want to tell another girl that she isn't the witch she thinks she is, just amazingly honest to the point (no matter how sharp that point is). I want to tell this one teacher his method sucks, but it's what makes him so freakin' cool. I want to tell another kid that smoking will kill him, not a bullet or knife, because those things haven't come yet. I want to tell you love birds out there how to get a girl, but you're relying on inexperience of the people that you think knows what they're doing instead, but I understand why you'd do that (and it makes me chuckle sometimes at the sad fact, and I just chuckled right now). I want to tell another guy to stop thinking overtly about himself and look at other people's problems, and turning on the TV to watch the news isn't a bad idea either, you moron. I want to tell this girl that I like her a lot because she's smart and pretty, but I don't love her, because she's meant for someone more honest and open. I want to tell another girl that she's so smart and pretty, and I hope she finds the English rockstar stud she's hoping to find. I want to tell another girl that I wish I could hold her and tell her I'll be fine and I'll never forget her, and-
     
    I need a Pepsi, badly. I need something.
     
    Unfortunately, I won't selfishly kill myself. I fear my spiritual beliefs got me in the end, because thinking of others and the result of my death didn't work. Thank the Lord (literally).
     
    Well, another day will come. The sun will rise, the sun will set, and I'll be alive, I bet.
     
    Please, don't comment with stuff saying I can cry on your shoulder via PM or IM. I need someone I can physically be with and hug tight.
     
    Should I buy a teddy bear?
     
    I dunno.
     
    Peace out, and by 'peace out', I mean the end of this entry, not my life.
     
    ~AA
  10. Arch-Angel
    The GSA stands for the Gay/Straight Alliance. Recently, I have joined my school's GSA. Not due to my political opinion on gay rights or anything pertaining to my sexual orientation.
     
    I think I realized what I want to in life the most.
     
    I think I want, more than anything, is to fight for equal rights. Whatever one's political opinion may be.
     
    So, since the GSA at my school is large in size but small in... doing anything, I decided to take an initiative and get started on something called, "The Dream Project". The idea of the project is to spread the message of Anti-Bullying and Suicide Prevention. Letting kids know there are proper adults ready, willing and able to talk to you if you ever felt targeted or had dark thoughts. So Dream Project is the major title, while the project itself is many little projects which include:
     
    -The Ceiling Tile Project
     
    -Starbucks Coffee Bake Sale
     
    -UNOs Doughraiser
     
    -Barnes & Noble Book Fair
     
    -Other potential fundraisers and cause outreaches
     
    The Ceiling Tile Project is a concept I came up with when I saw an art student's work in my class. He painted a picture of his girlfriend on a ceiling tile, and put it up in all of her classes. Why? They had to be separated because her parents extremely disliked him. They came around, but still, it was a message to her that he was always there with her. It was sweet. The story made me tear up.
     
    Then I went into business mode and capitalized on that.
     
    Paint the ceiling tiles of multiple classrooms (the Principal approves and loves this idea and wants it IN ALL CLASSROOMS, if the teachers are willing) and have it start classroom discussions when a student asks about the tile.
     
    "Why does that tile mean?"
     
    "It's in memory of a student who died because he was bullied."
     
    Well, that hits home.
     
    Raise your hand if you been bullied or have bullied. Raise your hand if you have thought of taking your own life.
     
    Statistically, that's a lot of high school and middle school students.
     
    I also want the project to be "alive" as well. Or as I like to call it, "with a pulse." The teachers can switch around tiles, so that there is never one tile that is painted that melts into the background. Teachers in Massachusetts and in many other states are required to discuss issues about bullying and report concern for a student if signals are sent.
     
    So, why not try to change the world, even as small as a school?
     
    Oh, and when this Ceiling Tile Project is done, we're going to ask the middle schools if they like this. I've gotten the interest of other GSAs in neighboring towns to do this.
     
    Keep in mind, The Dream Project isn't just for gay anti-bullying or gay suicide prevention, but AGAINST ALL BULLYING AND ALL SUICIDES OF ANY FORM.
     
    Away from the Ceiling Tile Project, there is also the matter of funds. The GSA has none. It has no need for funds.
     
    Well, that don't sit well with Jonny, because Jonny likes funds.
     
    The GSA at my school forget the meaning of the word "Cause". So The fundraisers are being made to make funds to put into our bank account (they forgot they are also a non-profit organization) and at the end of the year, we pick where we'd like to donate that money. The money more than likely will go to a support group clinic or Teen Outreach that counsels depressed teens and/or adults, or churches or temples that have support groups or group therapy. That's what a Cause needs to do. It needs to actually do.
     
    So, I guess you can say I'm in Cause Marketing. Because change in the world doesn't happen unless you try to change the world.
     
    ~AA
  11. Arch-Angel
    Blog approvals... Ever since the Blog of the Week, we seem to have had a steady increase in making, earning, and asking for them. Some look amazing, some look thrown together, others you REALLY want. It seems to be that no matter how much you blog, you can't get that one member to find your blog approving of them. Though, in the process, we get the approvals that are so rare to get, you forget the one you really want and you're happy you got them.
     
    But I want to know, what blog approvals you got and how? Whats the story behind them? Your Metals of Honor (I call them) have all been given for some reason.
     
    Members who have given their Blog Approvals:
    Taki (2)
    Cap'n Goldfish
    Dalek
    Jack Skellington
    Teebert
    ChocolateFrogs
    Merriment
    Necro
    Kopakalaka
    Kohaku
    Valenti
    Mandragora
    Dorek
    //// Dalek Paan ////
    ~Blue Diamond~
    bfahome
    Air-Master
    Bundalings the Bunny
    The Xaeraz/The Dr. Zephyr
    Omicron
    Lluvio
     
    One's Earned through Friendship and/or Blog Readers:
    Taki
    Cap'n Goldfish
    Dalek
    Teebert
    ChocolateFrogs
    Necro
    Kohaku
    Valenti
    Dorek
    ~Blue Diamond~
    Kopakalaka
    Bundalings the Bunny
    The Xaeraz/The Dr. Zephyr
    Omicron
    Lluvio
     
    Given Through (indirectly) Asking or Blog Approval Trade:
    Jack Skellington
    Kopakalaka
    Bfahome
    Omicron
     
    Have shame in:
    Kopakalaka (I asked for it, but I didn't earn it. I'm undeserving of it)
     
    That one entry got you that approval you've wanted so bad:
    Dalek
    Kohaku
    Valenti
    Merriment (Hey, I didn't know him, but I wanted the approval when it was given)
    ~Blue Diamond~
    Air-Master
    Omicron
    Lluvio
     
    That approval you wish the Member would resize already(!) ><:
    Necro
     
    The Approval that you never saw until the day you got it (giving it that special feeling):
    Taki
    Teebert
    Merriment
    ChocolateFrogs
    //// Dalek Paan ////
     
    Approvals you want and hope you get:
    Omicron
    ~Blue Diamond~
    Biomech
    Bundalings the Bunny
    MercenaryXero
    MercenaryXero (that Chuck Norris one is pretty cool)
    Toa Lluvio
    Cederak
    Air-Master
    Ca'gerrin
    Bfahome
    Sunburst
    ~Po~
    Bonesiii
    Darth Vader
    Turakki's #1 Lavasurfer
    Munkiman
    ~Aklan~
    Arpy
    -SZ-
    Cee-estee
    dexterack.77
    Gryphus 1
    ∞*Barrahkshi*∞
    Nieve

     
    ^Consider that my check list of sorts.
     
    What are yours?
     
    ~AA
  12. Arch-Angel

    Two Zero Zero Nine

    By Arch-Angel,

    Well, it being the time of year, I feel like owe it to you guys to tell you that I still remember this blog, your blogs, this site, and how my life ranconcurrently with the blog entries.
     
    Guess you can say I'm coming home.
     
    It's been busy. I've moved from my last town, Framingham, to the town next to it, Ashland.
     
    Finances finally caught up with us, and now I'm roomates with my amigo Thiago, whom I've known literally since his birth (I was sleeping in the waiting room with mommy holding me while he was busy getting out of the stork's bag, you can say) with my mom and sister renting rooms in his parent's house, which is close to the Framingham/Ashland line.
     
    Have to say, living like this is tiring and at the same time, all the freedom in the world. Let's run through a daily rountine.
     
    6-7 AM- Wake up, shower and all that jazz, BOUNCE.
     
    7-8 AM- Try to make to school on time, stay there until it gets out at 2 PM.
     
    2-??? PM- Hang out after school, rehearsal for school play, if no school play- hang with amigos until probably 5.
     
    ???-??? PM- Find a friend's house to stay at or (a) friend(s) to hang out with, wait for a ride home or get a ride home from a friend.
     
    Whatever-time-I-get-home - when-I-sleep PM(or AM)- Do homework.
     
    The majority of each day since moving here back in mid-October is spent outside of the house. A blessing and a curse, really. Relaxing doesn't usually fit in here.
    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Around October, I got myself a girlfriend. See if I can wash away any lingering thoughts of the previous relationship. Unfortunately, even after a year, I couldn't feel actual feelings for her. And she saw that.
     
    We broke up, no tragedy.
    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    I'm still a part of the Drama Company, and working for it is harder then ever now. Since we were invited to join and perform at the World's biggest theater Festival in Edinborough, The Fringe, we're trying to pull off something no one else is really crazy enough to do.
     
    Send 75 people across the Atlantic.
     
    You see, when you add up everything needed for such a trip (two weeks in a hotel, airfare, food, the works), it's price-y.
     
    Like 5000 dollars kinda price-y.
     
    So, what's a guy gotta do to get there?
     
    Labor.
     
    I worked the summer with my dad again, saving up 1800 dollars, all of which is already invested into the payments for the Fringe. The head of the Drama Company, Donna, is helping out with the payments as well, and told me to worry about fundraising and I'll be doing my part.
     
    So, after continuingly busting my butt, I can say Donna was pretty happy to hear my name pop up so much at the last Scotland meeting. After raising 400 dollars in a UNOs fundraiser, getting a 300 dollars donation from a woman who wanted her yard raked (Big yard + Landscaper-for-a-dad Experience = Me) and dubbed me hardest worker, assisting an eBay fundraiser (ON-GOING)and a Papa Ginos fundraiser(this Wednesday), most of the parents who attended the meeting said I deserved a break.
     
    Well, it was fun...
     
    ...think I'll do some more.
    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------
     
    I miss you guys.
     
    ~AA
  13. Arch-Angel
    Routine lives are usually what drives insanity. A man that works a 9 to 5 job in a cubical without any social life outside of his prison will damage his mental stability.
     
    Unless his daily life is either one of two things:
     
    1. Removal of routine and do something different which may change up every once in a while.
     
    2. Keep with a routine, BUT... the routine evolves differently every day.
     
    That's Number 2 for me- Rehearsal.
     
    Rehearsal for my show, '¡Bocón!', this week was nothing short of great. This was the final week for rehearsal before we were up on stage performing for our first our school, then our family + friends, and finally for the preliminary round of Festival.
     
    Everything is great from Monday to Thursday. Our performance level grew better each coming day. We felt ready for our performances coming up; so ready that it felt kind of repetitive.
     
    Friday, February 27th 2009
     
    Our first performance was in the morning during D Period for all the Spanish classes and my Acting class. The feeling backstage was one that basically said, "Here we go for the hundredth time, only with 300+ classmates."
     
    That was the only thing routine about this week.
     
    Soon after I walked out of the dressing room, the vice principal pulls me out of my crowd of amigos, grabs a social worker, and a cop.
     
    Son of a...
     
    I knew what this was exactly for too.
     
    Two weeks ago, were had to write journal entries. But these entries had to based off the assignment they gave us: Creative Writing. Write a short story. Simple, right?
     
    Then they gave us the category of fear.
     
    Even simpler. We all fear something.
     
    So I talk to my English teacher and told him that this was not foreshadow, but a legitimate fear. He said okay, and I figured that was that. I wrote my rough draft of the fear. I handed it to him and reminded him it was fear. He said it was a pretty good story, the fear being under siege. He understood. The fear was a school shooting. Nothing scared the ###### out of me more than Columbine or Virgina Tech repeat. What can be worse than facing a gun at a place you consider safe?
     
    So when, at the end of that week, we had to finish the story and type it up, and the only story I could give an ending to was the 'fear' rough draft. It gave a setting, a character I could use, protagonists, antagonists, the works. I'm a writer, I go for this. I've taken a Creative Writing class (any long-time readers will know THAT was "fun" up until the last day), and I love to read, so I believe I can write a suspenseful story if need be.
     
    I wrote it up, full two pages, double spaced in MLA format, and turned the dang thing in.
     
    Now here I am, a cop staring at me, a social worker thinking every sentence I say is a hidden message that I need help, my vice principal, and the principal.
     
    Apparently there is no precaution you can take.
     
    I explain everything in detail, answer every question, and I stayed honest. Honesty is the only way I get out of most of my problems. Even with what I said, even explaining that I told my English teacher before and after and had him proof-read the rough draft, they weren't convinced. I understand their reaction, I just don't understand the over-reaction.
     
    They called a 24-hour Psychology Service to psychologically evaluate me, to see if I was 'safe'. The vice principal goes to see my English teacher to see if what I said was true. The officer waits to spice things up.
     
    Apparently my English teacher has selective memory, because he recalls nothing of the sort WHICH DID HAPPEN. I didn't another word for my fear could be "under siege" if it wasn't him.
     
    The psychologist comes in, a woman, nice lady. By the end of the questions and conversation and she sees me as safe and fine and NO THREAT TO ANYONE. They call my mom at work asking to come over to see how I react around her with this information. She's got bills to pay, she sends my sister who is also my legal guardian. Everything is fine. my sister understands me. The psychologist understands me. They are dubbed the only sane people in my head.
     
    Cue Officer Pain-In-My-
     
    He says that he and another officer should go over to my apartment and search my room for weapons. I let them search my pockets, my backpack, et cetera. Now with no evidence, they want to search my room.
     
    I let them. I didn't want to go through the process of them getting a warrant if I refuse, and I figured the less I fight, the better I prove my innocence.
     
    Hard to do when you have a lying teacher, a social worker that like to put the exclamation point at the end of all my sentences, and a overly cautious hard-headed rude cop wanting to prove you guilty, thinking you're in need of mental help.
     
    He comes back, finds nothing. He even went on my bookface plus mypersonalspace.
     
    LOOK AT ALL THE EVIDENCE THEY HAVE AGAINST ME:
     
    1. A paper about my fear of school shooting, guns, and all that THEY are afraid of.
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Fascinating.
     
    So the psychologist is told to set up an appointment for counseling on Monday. My sister comes by (she went with Officer Rudemuch) and picks me up from school. I didn't go to one class, not one. I was aggravated.
     
    My sister and I talk in the car as she took me out to lunch at the local Brazilian Steakhouse. The one good thing from all of this was that I got closer to my family. We were all aggravated from this.
     
    I get home around 3:30PM and have 2 and a half hours to get back to the school to prepare for the night showing of '¡Bocón!'. Relax a bit, take an Advil in case the knees start acting up later on and to take care of the headache I got from the whole... thing, and took a shower.
     
    Went to the show, got make-up on, costume, played my role, took care of the set, had dinner that night with the rest of the cast, carried on.
     
    Perfect way to end a horrid day, and it was still a bad day.
     
    But the best memory I had that night was at the end of my show, my dad walked up to the stage and got Steve (our set designer, practically my American dad) to call me. The moment I walked onto the stage and saw him, I ran and jumped off the stage and hugged him as tight as I could.
     
    '¡Bocón!' is a story about the journey a 12-year-old boy from El Salvador trying to cross the border into Los Angeles after his parents are taken by the soldiers controlling the country with an iron fist.
     
    My family immigrated here, my distance families immigrated here, and more of my family with immigrate here. I know this story. I know the people who've experienced it. They are mi familia. To see something telling the struggle... what more could I ask for?
     
    Saturday, February 28th 2009
     
    Festival.
     
    It was a lot like Theater Exchange, except most of the schools kept to themselves because... it's a competition (not like it's a sport Oh freshman drama children...).
     
    When we went up to our play, the feeling of the play suddenly changed. It was serious atmosphere. This was what we prepared for since December. Time to pull out our best and aim for the prize.
     
    We received a heck of an applause after our performance, which, even though we got a good crowd reaction, still left us a bit nervous as to if we would move on to the semi-final round. We striked the set, went back to our dressing room, got changed and back into the theater to watch the last show.
     
    I get a call later on.
     
    My mom and my sister came in five minutes late. They couldn't see the show because the ushers outside wouldn't let them in. My mom cried, angry with herself. Sister told me she kept saying how this was the one moment I've been living for in months and when I wanted to show her, she messed up by being late.
     
    I wasn't surprised. Really, my mom's late for nearly everything. So at first hearing this news, I was fine.
     
    It didn't take long before getting under my skin.
     
    This was something I wanted to show them so badly. It was my pride and glory. No other show I could do could carry more inner meaning to me than this one. And the possibility of not going to the semi-finals to give another opportunity to see me was enough to shoot down my happiness.
     
    Rachael saw the look on my face and knew something was up.
     
    Leave it to a girl to crack me open. How do they do that? Nevermind, I already know.
     
    I confess the stress to her and she attempts to encourage me. She told me that '¡Bocón!' was awesome and their is no way we couldn't get into semis. Doubt still lingered in me and of course, she knew. She distracted me with her humor and by switching topics, and eventually they worked. I was distracted by it. Even more so when we went downstairs to the Festival Dance in the cafeteria.
     
    Flashing lights, deafening sound of songs, single chicas?
     
    All I needed was a Pepsi and I was halfway to being home.
     
    I danced mostly with Rachael. She has a boyfriend, and she knows I want her to only be my friend even if sometimes the Crush Rush lands on her. So with this in our minds, we didn't have any trouble dancing away; fast dancing or slow dancing.
     
    By the end of the dance, I think I danced with five girls, picked up two, did one group dance, and lost five pounds.
     
    The time came for the Award Ceremony, and everyone at the dance walked back to the theater. This was the moment of truth for all of us. The judges that saw our plays would now hand out awards for each person(s) that they felt deserved it, and at the end announce which three plays out of the seven that competed tonight would move on.
     
    The Award Ceremony was exciting, and each time you heard one of the judges describe the winner you felt either you were it or someone in your play was. There was a time where a judge described my character and some of my friends up front guessed me quietly, though I thought it wasn't me. I chuckled at myself when I was right and didn't get the award. It didn't matter to me. They can keep their awards. I just wanted '¡Bocón!' to move on to the semi-finals.
     
    When the time came for the plays that'll move onto semis, everyone grabbed hands. The first play was announced; Weston's For All The Wrong Reasons moved on! They wrote the play themselves, and included a perfect sense of emotion and comedy. You could give empathy to each character and laugh at the silly jokes they gave. But at the end of the play, your eyes swelled up with tears as you saw a man's life broken by his ignorance of responsibility.
     
    We gave an applause and held hands again.
     
    I prayed. I prayed hard. I begged and begged and pleaded and I don't think I stopped until I heard the next name.
     
    "¡Bocón!"
     
    We jumped in the air at the news. Everyone started hugging the other. I started thanking the Lord.
     
    We sat down and waited for the next name.
     
    Algonquin's The Underpants! My favorite comedy play I've seen so far is moving on! I don't care if they're competition, they're acting is great, their script is great, their execution of saying things that would make me start rofling on stage was great!
     
    The judges said good night and we got up and started doing what we been urging to do: hug each other.
     
    In the mist of hugging Rachael, I suddenly realized something.
     
    My mom and my sister will get to see my play. Everything this play has to say, I get the chance to say it to them again.
     
    I started tearing up again.
     
    Then I just started crying I was so freakin' happy.
     
    After clearing up the water works, I went around, joining the hug fest celebration with the rest of the cast. We go out to eat at Friendly's, have a grand time, and I finally go home with the good news.
     
    Monday, March 2nd 2009
     
    Snow day.
     
    Tuesday, March 3rd 2009
     
    Fifteen minutes before first period ended, I get a call to go to the main office.
     
    Sean warns me. The main office is the Principal's territory. No good news will come from it.
     
    I knew that. After what happened Friday...
     
    I get down there, and roll my eyes the moment I see our Friendly Law Enforcer, Officer Pain-In-My- through the office windows. I hoped this wasn't about Friday... again.
     
    Walk in, am introduced to the Principal's office, where four people at a round table sat waiting, and one empty chair waiting for me.
     
    I take a seat and the discussion begins.
     
    After realizing my existence on Friday, the Principal was informed by my grade office principal that my grades weren't good enough to be in this play. They let me perform on Friday and Saturday because they heard the news that day and there wasn't enough time to replace my role. I received four F's last semester, but my midterm grades were great. Even then, though I am showing improvement, I cannot be allowed to be in it.
     
    There went everything.
     
    I lost my motivation in school that moment. Whatever got my progress up, that was gone. I don't like school. Who does? I stayed in school because I met these people. I lost the people I love since coming to this town, and I finally find people I can love. I find something that allows me to send a message to the community, to the world, and it has closer meaning to me than anything else I've found on stage. Being in that play made me drive for better grades. Made me drive to maybe make a career out of it. Be an actor on stage? Perform in theaters in Boston? Perform on Broadway? Perform on the road? Perform in a movie? Perform in a award-winning movie? Perform in an Oscar-winning movie? I always wanted a little golden man on a mantel in my living room.
     
    But most of what shot me in the heart was the fact I'll never be able to perform that play for my mother. Ever. Because they can't see the reason I went from failing four classes to one class is because they're looking at the person I was before I changed with this drive.
     
    The thought of it lights a fire in me. An angry fire. NOW I want to shoot somebody!
     
    I lost everything that drove me in the school, so did you think I cared what came out of my mouth? I kept my logic up as I insulted each one that played a role in this since Friday.
     
    "I got a cop outside the door that thinks the slightest twitch I make means I'll shoot up the school, a principal that thinks I'm obsessed with Columbine and Virgina Tech, a English teacher upstairs with selective memory as to what material he reads, a vice principal that didn't know a thing about me and tries to be my friend, a social worker that likes to put the exclamation point at the end of every sentence I speak, and this all rounds up together with me getting kicked off the one thing that's been driving me to do better in school, friends that'll believe I've betrayed them, still going to an English class being taught by someone with amnesia, and random psychiatric counseling sessions because you all think because I have a 'troubled past' which means I could possibly eventually pose a threat to this school! I don't have any problems in my life right now until you guys saw me and tried to fix a problem that wasn't there. Congratuations, you've made a problem. You got rid of my motivation, got rid of my social life, and gave me unnecessary counseling."
     
    They asked if I wanted to see the social worker. I told them the last person I wanted to see was him. They believed I wasn't in the right frame of mind to go to class and see the English teacher that started it all, and they were right. I would've started throwing words at him that would've left the man bruises. I would've lashed out harder and faster than I ever have had before. For all I knew, I would've punched the man in the jaw and simply walk out of the room as if nothing happened.
     
    They asked again if I wanted to see the social worker.
     
    "I don't want Mr. (social worker), I want my God!"
     
    Figured the only thing at the time that could give me any comfort was a Bible.
     
    They said they had to leave me with a trusted adult until they felt I was calm enough to go back to class. Fair enough. No one popped up in my head that was available, so I got...
     
    The accursed social worker!
     
    My vice principal was walked in with a Bible after spending fifteen minutes in SW's office. Spent the next hour trying to read various parts of it and commenting back on his questions. I couldn't get a peaceful moment out of it unless he walked out of the room to handle other business.
     
    Eventually I was able to calm down enough to prove to him I could go to class without having an incident.
     
    Walking down the hallway where most of the Drama Company gang hangs out isn't fun when they all know you're out of the show that means the world to you.
     
    Rachael grabbed me yet again and I vented to her what happened.
     
    After school, I went home and by force of the school because of Friday's incident and the Social Worker dude, I was brought to the freakin' psychiatric counseling. More venting. I rambled on and on about the day and how much Drama meant to me, and how it was gone. After a half hour, I got a slip again proving I'm sane and I I was to give this paper to SW.
     
    I left the building, headed over to the Dunkin' Donuts next to it, ate a Turkey-Bacon-Cheddar flat bread and a Diet Pepsi, and waited for my sister to drive me home.
     
    I got two or three hours of sleep that night.
     
    Wednesday, March 4th 2009
     
    I woke up feeling stranger. I felt lost, yet on a set path. My eyes burned with each glance at light. I knew today was to be a busy day. Had paperwork to hand out.
     
    I grabbed my shades and didn't bother shaving, and headed out the door.
     
    Once I got to school, I made a bee line through the drama kids and only stopped for one hug from Vanessa.
     
    I went on a hunt for the social worker. It took 15 minutes and I couldn't grab breakfast because of it, and I handed to paper of proof I went to the unnecessary counseling.
     
     
     
    After school I went to the rehearsal to watch the show for the first time offstage.
     
    I felt uneasily when my replacement went up on stage as my character. He doesn't have the happy loud-mouth father figure I wanted my character Luis to have. He's a great actor, one of the best we have, but I've worked on this character for three months... he had until March 14th.
     
    By the end of the play, I was in tears. Not because of the fact I wasn't onstage, but the message was sent to me rather than me helping to send the message.
     
    It felt so strange being on the other side of the theater...
     
    March 5th skipped to March 14th 2009, Drama Festival Semi-Final Round
     
    After a near-hour bus ride to Andover, Massachusetts, we get off and head into our assigned classroom, which is basically given to us to put in whatever personal crud we feel necessary to leave in there.
     
    I didn't have anything so I took the gallon of water they gave us and the tiny paper cups and had a shot row. I felt kind of dry.
     
    After watching six plays in a row including our play (Beyond Tolerance, ¡Bocón!, forgot the name of this one whoops, Tom Jones, History & Poetry, and Sakuntala), go to a 'dance' (it was horrible, the cafeteria had a glass wall thing, lighting the place with sunlight and we wanted something along the lines of a Under 18 Club? Me and about fifteen other actors/crew went outside and played extreme catch), we went back into the theater to attend the Award Ceremony.
     
    The Award Ceremony was full of tension in the air. It seemed all friendliness is gone. It's Finals or bust. Happily we got quite a few awards for our cast and crew, all of whom deserved it. The look on their faces when they were completely bewildered they got anything built up the happiness you had for them, mostly because it was entertaining to see.
     
    Though through each chosen actor and technical crew member that received an award, you got the build up of nervousness. Did our play pass? That school's play was amazing, and I wasn't watching me on stage. Oh boy...
     
    Finally.
     
    The time came.
     
    We held hands once again. I had a corner seat and had to cross my arms yet still reach my friend Harry behind me. Dang near start choking myself trying to hold it.
     
    "And in no particular order, the first play that will go on the Final Round of Festival is...
     
     
    ¡Bocón!"
     
    We leaped into the air. It was Hug Fest '09 from there.
     
    "And the second school to go with ¡Bocón! to the Final Round is...
     
    Sakuntala!"
     
    We got up and applauded Cambridge Rindge & Latin School onto passing Finals. The judges said good night and everyone went right back into the hug fest. The excitement and happiness we felt overwhelmed some to tears, but the ear-to-ear grin on my face was good enough.
     
    March 21st, 2009
     
    The last week, I was feeling cold.
     
    Not an emotional cold.
     
    Not a "I have a runny nose" cold.
     
    A "The very blood the run through my veins has been laced with icicles" cold.
     
    I was shivering. I wore multiple layers in weather that should only require a sweatshirt.
     
    The touch of anything remotely cold sent me shivers so strong you could hear the chatter of my teeth across a room. My sister and mom have noticed I ran light and high fevers throughout the week, and something wasn't right.
     
    I wore my thinsulate gloves, my heavy jacket and my sweatshirts just to feel comfortable as if in room temperature. At night, I bundled up on thick blankets whenever I went to bed, still shivering, and woke up in cold sweat.
     
    After serving my Saturday School detention, my sister picked me up.
     
    When my sister picks me up, there is always consequence. If she has to pick me up, there will be no such thing as going straight home, but instead a trip across the county of Middlesex, Massachusetts.
     
    I'm still bundled up in my sweatshirt and jacket, and holding even a can of soda that was in the freezer can make me feel like I'm naked in a blizzard. So when I go into the Liquor Store and buy a water bottle and Diet Pepsi, wait in car as my sister is getting fitted in a Bride's Maid's gown, I turn on the heater.
     
    When I was finally relaxed, she came back and turned off the heater, telling me it was too hot. The moment she rolled down the windows and we were up and running, I started the shivering. After a while, she sympathized with my chills, turned on the heater to guard me from the cold wind of the window she kept down on her side.
     
    Suddenly, my vision changed. It was as if the sun was behind a cloud the entire time that bright day. The road lit up. It started growing shades of brightness and things became white. My nausea grew and I started taking deep breaths, thinking it would help (it didn't). I was demanding with what I could for her to pull over. She parked the car, I got out, and my stomach made it's final turn before I spilled.
     
    It was mostly water. I know you were curious.
     
    My sight was back, and some people stared in the Walgreen's parking lot.
     
    I honestly thought we were on a highway, not in-town. My vision at the time didn't help.
     
    After calming down and my sister calling my mom as she went inside Walgreens to buy me Ginger Ale and Chicken Noodle Soup as directed, we decided to wait for my dad. After all, he lived in the town and he was the closest responible one who knew what do to (mom went on a Church retreat). After some discussion with him, we figured we let me off at home and see how the day went out.
     
    Three or four hours later and a few Advils, I felt good enough to go out with my dad for dinner.
     
    I felt as if I just woke up from bed, and dragged my feet as we walked in the mall. The dinner was simply half a glass of water, an untouched glass of Diet Pepsi, and Calm Chowder (my favorite).
     
    When we walked back to the car, I felt nausea again, but it ended up with nothing.
     
    I go home, go to sleep, and hope Sunday will tell me the sickness is gone.
     
    March 22nd, 2009
     
    It was 3AM when my sister woke me up. She said I was going to the emergency room because as she came in to check up on me, my fever each time was a different temp, all hot.
     
    Now, I hate hospitals. I hate the ER. Not because of personal reasons, but financial reasons. We have no health insurance, and keeping my health is a priority for me sometimes, simply so I don't have to give my parents this bill to worry about.
     
    But what can I do when I have orders from both mom and dad?
     
     
     
    In the ER, they draw a vile of blood and test that for... something. I get the usual round of questions sent at me, and with Advil PM in my system, caring is hard enough.
     
    An X-Ray showed I had a beginning stage of pneumonia and was told the most likely reason of my misery was probably Mononucleosis. The doctor said she felt 99% sure, but I needed a Mono Spot Test to confirm. I'm prescribed a 5-day antibiotic medication for the pneumonia and we were off by the crack of dawn.
     
    March 24th, 2009
     
    I see my actual doctor, the pediatrician who been taking care of me since I tiny enough to punt. At that point, I felt much better. Headaches and fevers don't come and go, and I feel at 100%. He checks all the symptoms one should have for Mono and cleared that I had another infection and the antibiotics I took for the pneumonia took care of both.
     
    What a relief.
     
    March 26th, 2009
     
    The first day of Finals. Not much to say other than the John Hancock Theater needs Pepsi.
     
    The excitement of Finals is brought up to a point where making friends with other schools seems easier. It was without tension, but no one can be sure there won't be any once the Final Award Ceremony begins.
     
    Unfortunately, I'm not in the play.
     
    But look, I'm still with the people I love. I have them, I have my grades up, and I have my self-respect. I have who I am, and it is who I want to be. Life isn't easy, I still have my pressures, sure, but who doesn't? Not like tomorrow I won't face another batch, and then another. It's my life, and though I write it down in this blog, I'm not complaining. I want these memories. I hate when I come to this chair and type things I have vague memory of, so what I have now is what I am. These are my memoirs, my journal, my biography, and my portal into deep thought of my own reality.
     
    And I wouldn't trade my memories for the world.
     
     
     
     

    Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. 
    Try again. Fail again.
     
    Fail better.
     

    -Samuel Beckett 
     
     
    ~AA
  14. Arch-Angel
    I know the brothers. The 16-year-old and I sit at lunch together. Heck I sat with him yesterday eating his nachos. We get into deep thought conversations about nearly everything.
     
    The victim I talked to occasionally on the late-bus rides home.
     
    I was in the building when it happened, but not at the scene of the crime. Maybe it would've went down differently, heck I myself could've been arrested or something fighting with the stabber. I knew I would be able to get the 16-year-old to his senses, but no, had to get a detention on the other side of the school...
     
    Looks to be a lonely lunch tomorrow... my teachers better leave me the heck alone.
     
    Of all weeks...
     
    ~AA
  15. Arch-Angel

    Noisy Silence

    By Arch-Angel,

    The following is a Creative Writing essay I had to write for class. The assignment was to take a picture of our choosing and write a story on it. I based the character 'Marcus' after two people, both knew Karate. Marcus was the name of this friend of mine who was a bit on the violent side back in the 4th grade. Didn't like him at times, especially during the headlocks. The other, where the character is more closely based, is Max. Nearly ninety percent of 'Marcus' came from him. Not many people like him.
     
    Enjoy.
     
    Jonathan
    Ms. Dennis
    English 10
    2 April 2009

     
    Noisy Silence
    I limped across the field, my feet aching. The last day of school and the sun shined through the clouds, lighting up the Earth I walked on in beauty. The grass bounced the light back, showing off its chloroplast. The trees selfishly did the same, waving in the wind as if it were a model turning for the best angle to let the world see the elegance. The blue sky was doing was it always did: sit at the top of it all, letting God’s green creation find a matching color. The planet Earth was the most eye-catching thing in this universe (and that’s because you can’t see the sun). Earth is that hot girl in third period French. Although, the problem with Earth was that it had a zit. That zit flawed the grace of the planet. That flaw was my so-called “best friend” Marcus.
     
    I swear Marcus could not shut up if his life depended on it. Ever since he started Karate classes back in the third grade, he’s done nothing but talk about how good he was. Truly, I could care less about how to block this punch, press that pressure point, twist this arm, all of that. The fact of the matter was that if he thought you were his friend, you were in for the biggest roller coaster ride of ignorant gloating of a lifetime.
     
    “Jon, seriously, you know no one will try to fight me. They know I’ll take them now fast,” he boasted.
     
    “You’re a black belt, Marcus, people know that,” I responded, thinking if I gave in to it, he’d quiet down.
     
    “Yeah, but sometimes I just want to see them try. I can only use it for self-defense,” he went on. Marcus was skinny. You could find poles thicker then him, but no mouth bigger than what God gave him. It was a motor that ran day and night, and barely stopped for fuel. I felt sorry for his jaw; wondering how it has been going on for so long is mind-boggling.
     
    “Well with the way you talk about your skills, don’t you think you’re bound to receive a challenger?” I retorted.
     
    He looked up with his disgusting smile, his perfect white teeth about as smug as he was, “I don’t talk the talk if I don’t walk the walk. I’m not challenging anyone, I’m simply warning everyone.”
     
    “Not to mess with you?”
     
    “Exactly.”
     
    At this point, considering we were both so far from the rest of the class, earshot was completely lost. He was behind me as we walked, a distance not too far but not too close. The temptation to turn around a punch him was great, like the devil was speaking to my subconscious. Maybe it was the Earth itself asking me to. All I needed to do was find a way to shut him up.
     
    “Did I already show you how to block a direct strike?” He asked; he practically beseeched me to give him a chance.
     
    I heard the snap of his jaw shutting closed, the wind of his neck going backwards and his body about to repel with it, and finally the beautiful, sweet noisy silence. It was me, the beautiful grass and trees, and the face of the Earth whispering “Bonsoir” to Marcus.
     
    My feet felt massaged. Well, my left foot anyway.
     

     
    ~AA
  16. Arch-Angel

    Song Of The Day 76

    By Arch-Angel,

    NOTE: Suggestions of 'Song of the Day' are much obliged, so if you have a song thats clean or mostly clean of swears and/or profanity (rap/Hip-Hop/R&B allowed of course), than PM it, and it might become 'Song of the Day'. INCLUDE WHY YOU THINK IT SHOULD BE SotD.
     
    This song is actually not as popular as I hoped (either that or it's because I completely avoid the radio at this point because auto-tune is piercing my ears like a rusty scalpel), and its actually quite inspiring. The lyrics are quite poetic, and the artist himself is one of the artists I'm happy is successful because of his appreciation of musics. This is the very first song in his latest album "We Sing. We Dance. We Steal Things." And if you don't know who he is already, than search him, you won't be disappointed. If you are, you're a rotten ignoramus!
     
    Make It Mine by Jason Mraz
     
    ~AA
  18. Arch-Angel
    NOTE: Suggestions of 'Song of the Day' are much obliged, so if you have a song thats clean or mostly clean of swears and/or profanity (rap/Hip-Hop/R&B allowed of course), than PM it, and it might become 'Song of the Day'. INCLUDE WHY YOU THINK IT SHOULD BE SotD.
     
    Think of the loser of the presidential election will be hearin' this from our new prez, whether which one wins.
     
    Beat It by Fall Out Boy.
     
    ~AA
  19. Arch-Angel

    Tyler Cyr

    By Arch-Angel,

    On Sunday, April 5th, my friend David told me while watching Wrestlemania that our elementary school friend from back in the day died last year of cancer.
     
    After moving from this town back in the summer going to the sixth grade and moving back the fall of my tenth grade, I had faint memories of him. I'm surprised I remembered David.
     
    Last night, I tried finding everything I could on Tyler. I tried bookface, and they removed his page for being inactive. I found the groups: "Relay For Life: Tyler Cyr" and R.I.P. "Tyler Cyr, We Will Miss You!!!"
     
    One gave me the address: www.tylercyr.com
     
    Then, I remembered everything the moment I saw his face. The fourth and fifth grade... the recesses... Mrs. Starr's class (those were the days)...
     
    I just wish I knew the guy before he left. I remember last year my friend Nomso telling me the reason he and others were dressed in a formal black attire was because after school they were going straight to Tyler's funeral.
     
    It all came together in my head.
     

     

     
    See you on the other side,
     
    ~AA
  21. Arch-Angel

    Acute Maturity

    By Arch-Angel,

    ...So back on May 12th, I woke up at 6:30AM on a Saturday in pain. It was strange to me. It was like indigestion, but it packed more of a punch. I had to wake up early that morning anyway, had a Saturday school (like I said before, I'm no saint ) so I figure considering I felt something like this back on New Years and I simply waited it by reading Breaking Dawn from halfway to finish. Unfortunately...

    The pain got worse.

    I couldn't stand it. I woke up my mom and told her about it. She gave me Mylanta; the stuff you take for indigestion. I feel better for fifteen minutes, and I'm back to pain.

    The pain increased.

    I started writhing. I was contorting my body in ways you'd think I was possessed. Right across the middle of my abdomen, to the shoulder blades and kidneys, I was in pain. I could not lay down in peace, could not stand in peace, could not exist in peace.

    Now, I don't have medical insurance because we couldn't afford it, and the last thing I want for my family is a bill past the two digit range. So when I started begging my mom to bring me to the ER, you know I'm tortured.

    After waiting an hour in the ER, we got a room and a doctor.

    Thank you Lord for morphine.

    I got out of the hospital on Tuesday, and missed a week of school (and with that got my half-credit in Biology which I aced anyway for my attendance record). Luckily there was a House marathon that Monday to give me some irony.

    After an ultra sound revealing I had gallstones and a CT Scan confirming I had acute cholecystitis, I was given antibiotics to fight the infection, and was told that I was going to have surgery in four to six weeks to remove my gallbladder. With the gallstones in there, I could receive another infection or get cancer later on in life.

    You all know I hate the very thought of cancer.

    I was placed on a low-fat diet. For the last two months, I could not have any diary, pork, NOTHING over 4 grams of fat. Chips? Nope, pretzels. Chocolate milk? Nope, skim. Pizza or a burger? Nope, turkey wrap hold the mayo.

    Next time you think you should ask God to help you lose weight, you better be ready.

    In the first 2-3 weeks, I lost 10-15 pounds.

    Last Monday, the 6th of July, I had surgery to remove my vestigial organ. I spent the last six days recovering, and right now, I can walk. =D

    -------------------------------------------------------------

    The last three months had it's fill of drama. People thought Rachael was cheating on Miguel with me, I denied the claim and convinced Miguel otherwise, thus bringing back the couple. I stopped all rumors in the freshman class (stupid freshmen... *sigh*) that we were going out at all because I went to Cotillion with her (Miguel had a bumpy road in his life and I was her #2 guy if he couldn't go) and aside from vanquishing rumors and stopping drama from happening best I could, the school year ended well.

    The last 180+ days have been... staggering in making an impact in my life. I made a career choice, and I made an effort in my grades. I made so many friends, and lost who I loved. I have no contact with old pals, but made a best friend in Rachael. I remembered how to smile, but forgot the tears.

    I think I grew up a lot this year. And the best/worst part is, there's a whole lot more of it to do.

    ~AA
  23. Arch-Angel

    Home.

    By Arch-Angel,

    Don't worry guys, I'm back and I'm staying. Thank Da Mista Mike for the lifetime. I owe him a lot for the 35 bucks, so that's why when I meet him I'm buyin' him lunch.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    How long has it been? Two months today? It's been a while.
     
    A long, painful while.
     
    A few weeks after I lost my last premier membership, I found out something that brought me down like the twin towers.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    I remember that sad night weeks ago... I just got back home from hanging out with my sister who through her deception and manipulation got me to go to the salon with her because she hates going anywhere (except work) alone. The salon was downtown, so everything was basically right next to each other. Outside the window I saw a band getting ready to perform in the auditorium across the street, and when I saw them go inside the pizza place next door, I decided to meet them. They are called 'Red Car Wire' and once coming back home and going to their website, I was frustrated because they were great and I could've befriended Davey, the lead vocals, and maybe have gotten in for free (hey, I'm broke, what can I say?).
     
    I came back home and after my sister leaves for church (it's a Saturday, though Saturday church? I don't understand that concept, but ah well) so I stay home talking to Taki and hanging out on BZP. My friend's call and they were goofing around at one of their houses and got the crazy idea of me singing to them on the phone. Me, being me, went ahead to sing what songs I could remember. Yes, I did rickroll them. I have a deep voice, so I thought I could sing it well.
     
    An hour or two later, I could tell Taki was hiding something from me. He confessed.
     
    Bionigirl made him promise to keep it a secret for as long as he could.
     
    She has cancer, and it's terminal. The treatments have failed.
     
    I was shook to the very bone, my heart sunk to Davy Jones' Locker.
     
    I tried to snap out of my grief, but I couldn't.
     
    I sang to myself in tears streaming down my face, Cancer by My Chemical Romance.
     
    I came into school Monday dressed in my darkest clothing, my pair of sunglasses on me to make my eyes hurt less in the light.
     
    What really hurt was the continuing question:
     
    Was she dead or alive?
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    I joined Drama Company. They take offense to calling it 'Drama Club' for some reason. It took a while to fix my tongue to calling it a company.
     
    I performed as a scary Hun in the children's play, Mulan. I made many friends, mostly girls, but simply friends.
     
    Unfortunately, at the end of September, I found myself in a Love Triangle.
     
    The props director, Vanessa, is a great girl. A bit melodramatic, but I soon found myself shadowing her life in some way.
     
    Vanessa's first boyfriend back in freshman year started off as a good relationship. Her boyfriend, RJ, seemed like a nice guy.
     
    Turned out he was an abusive ####.
     
    Vanessa was caught victim to him, her heart not knowing what to do during each fight they had. She calls herself stupid for going back to him each time she apologized. This went on for two years, then RJ got cancer.
     
    I call that the Karma Slap.
     
    Unfortunately, of course there was still some bearing love for RJ (and this news was given AFTER the official break-up), she was hurt too.
     
    A year later, my story happened, and she was first person I turned to.
     
    There came another girl in my picture, and that was Aline (A-lean-knee). Short, adorably cute, fun girl who loved my hugs. She called me her teddy bear. Heh.
     
    I could always have fun talking to Aline. She had no tragic past I knew, so she never knew about the whole Bionigirl thing because it was at such a personal level, I allowed only a select few know.
     
    During our five-day weekend, Aline asked me out, which I decided to say yes to for my healing process; get Karley off my mind.
     
    Turned out Vanessa had a thing for me and got angry at Aline, who I forgot to mention, was her best friend.
     
    You see, RJ, back in the day, liked to control Vanessa through jealousy. During one of their short break-ups, RJ went out with Aline (who didn't know about RJ's abuse), and when I accepted Aline, Vanessa was having deja vu.
     
    Somehow it was all cleared away and the whole thing ended by Columbus Day. I basically confessed to Vanessa (who I personally call VV) that I liked her more, Aline and I never went out, and we were all back on the friendship trail.
     
    But something was missing out of the both of them.
     
    I could never confess a sad, personal matter to Aline for I don't know what reason.
     
    I could never hug Vanessa for as long as I wanted, but with Aline, it can be for as long as we wanted to embrace.
     
     
     
     
     
    The Mulan plays went great. I scared the crud out of little kids in the crowd and I had to literally roar three times in order for my monster of a character to look savage. I also had the pleasure as to picking up the Emperor of China onto my shoulders in a fireman's carry during our seize of the palace. It was pure fun. Acting, to me, never made me smile more inside. Theater was great. After both plays we had dinner parties at (after opening night)UNO's and (after second play, in the afternoon) T.G.I. Friday's. Lots of fun. Sure to stay in my memory, I hope.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    For some reason, after almost being rid of the pain of unknown status of Bionigirl, I felt dreadfully horrible. I haven't gone to church in well over three months, and every time I watched Joel Osteen on TV I felt better. It was strange, or was it? I just know that after last Wednesday, I know where to go tomorrow.
     
     
     
    Michael W. Smith and Steve Curtis Chapman are on their United Tour. After spending two hours in the auditorium, my mind was flying. The thought of her wouldn't escape me. I tried almost everything. I vented to my best trusted friends, I flirted with girls I had any interest in, I looked for jobs, anything I was willing to do to keep her out of my head.
     
    There was one last thing I didn't try.
     
    Worthy Is The Lamb was being sung.
     
    And I prayed.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Today, I feel good. I'm happy. I'm energetic. I'm at peace. I've got my blog for keeps, I have my friends, I have my music, and best of all, I have my Pepsi- nevermind. Just finished the can.
     
    The story continues, guys.
     
    ~AA
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