story time: so as a kid my bff and I were absolutely obsessed with her ouija board. honestly like we were already the weird kids who could spout mythology and urban myths on cue and stuff (which isn’t very weird, I know, but for our very small whitebread town it was) and she dug this old 80s glow-in-the-dark ouija board out of her basement one day and for like a month that is all we did
I know for a fact we annoyed the bajeebus out of her parents with it since we would set up and just ask all these dead people really boring questions because hey, we were like twelve, and didn’t really put much thought into it
highlights include (but are not limited to): getting Merlin pissed off at us, having two different gods tell us blatantly contradicting prophecies, annoying several dead relatives by temporarily bedazzling our planchette, and completely misreading everything the devil told us because it was the ass crack of dawn and we refused to turn a light on because the ouija board glows in the dark!!
moral of the story is that being dead, a god, and/or the devil will not save you from the horror that is two preteen girls
okay so my brother works at marina bay sands hotel in singapore (where the team cap meet happened today)
joe russo & chris arrived earlier in the evening on a separate flight, and they were really sleepy so they didn’t talk very much.
but then seb & anthony arrived late at night and my brother and his colleague were in the elevator with them and anthony was saying it feels like a sauna and that he’s been sweating since he got off the plane. And then he picked as his shirt and was all “look it’s stuck to me ugh” and then seb was all “well actually it’s pretty dark so we wouldn’t have noticed” because the elevator and landing are dark (black tiles, low light) and then they laughed a bit about it and then my brother and his colleague laughed along and without missing a beat the BOTH of them stared at my brother’s colleague (this petite girl) with a straight face and went “what’s so funny” and she pALED
and my brother tried to stifle his laughter and she looked TERRIFIED and seb and anthony couldn’t stop giggling like the 4 year olds they are “we’re just kidding sorry we had a long flight we’re exhausted god” and she was still freaking out and she looked scared and anthony had to hold out his hand and say again “I swear we’re just kidding oh god sorry” and sebastian just kept giggLING dsnksjks
seriously though, i had all but given up on this goal around march. i mean, it’s pretty demotivating to start something… and then have no will to continue the thing you started for three solid months. (those january words were all on the first day of the year, naturally.)
but if nothing else, doing this has proven one thing to me: it doesn’t matter if you get started late, or have to take a break, or simply have no motivation to continue. these things happen.
my 2016 was terrible and aside from a few short things i had very little will to write at all. it wasn’t until november that i managed to write something of any length, and though i wanted to continue into december i didn’t do it. i started 2017 with the grand hopes of Writing A Lot… but it was an absurdly lofty goal considering how much i’d written the year before (at a rough estimate, 60k). no wonder i didn’t just jump into writing. 250,000 words is an enormous number to stare down at the top of a year.
sure, it breaks down to 684 words a day. but that’s 684 words every day! it’s 20k every single month! what if i missed a day? what if i didn’t feel like writing? what if i was busy? surely i’d fall behind and i’d never be able to make it. i’d only ever really written during nano and short periods of time. i hadn’t written for a whole year before.
so, naturally, i didn’t write at all. and when april’s camp nano rolled around i figured i’d try, but that 250k thing was out of reach, surely. it had been a decent new years resolution, but, well, i’ve never actually done those and why start now?
except april went well. really well. and it made me remember just how happy writing makes me. so i decided to give that whole writing every day thing a shot. and here we are.
i doubt myself a lot. more than i like admitting to. and that doubt stops me from doing a lot of things. i don’t like starting things that i’m not confident i’ll succeed at. i did feel confident when i set this goal, but that confidence slipped away very quickly as motivation left me in the first few weeks of the year. it means a lot to me that i’ve been able to come back and succeed at it after all.
Why does no one talk about that time in a liveshow after dans rebrand when he asked what he should have changed his name to and someone in the chat said Daniel lester and he said good suggestion why does no one talk about this moment this happened and it needs to be recognized
I sometimes think about the conversations Dan and Phil have like
“hey could you film me dressed in my giraffe onesie talking animalese and giving you a toaster?”
“sure just let me have some breakfast first”
Send “slurred words” to hear my muse describe yours whilst ridiculously drunk.
From the curious, wandering eyes of a spectator, he would’ve just been presumed to be suffering from an early-morning bar comatose. He sat a little too still on the bar. Just still enough to appear asleep, with his head down and lean arms folded up underneath, like a napping schoolboy, disinterested in what the daily babble had to offer. Cow-licks, tawny and caramel sprouted from his head, one here, two there–– mere weeds planted amongst the rounded, soundless cranium belonging to the young man. Soundless, but awake. His head was turned to the left, away from the entrance, and down, pointed towards the bulk of the bar. Half of his expression was buried, one half-open eye visible over a motionless bicep, glazed with outward indifference. He was nothing more than a prop, but he was far too self-indulged to be spatially self-aware. He was focused–– honed in on his own rhythmic breath hitting the soft flesh of his elbow; the way it sounded, the way it felt. It was a cycle, he’d composed: one, two, three, breathe. A comfort had grown in the radiator of his chest with the placidity he’d acquired, his eyes on the working bartender ten feet down, conversing with an older man.
One, two, three, breathe. His chest rose as the bar door opened, a rush of city noise finding his left ear for a few moments. Suddenly, out of his peripheral, a woman passed, and though her mannerisms were unfamiliar, he noted: average height, petite, long blonde hair that swayed at her waist, and a summertime dress that gripped her hips. She sat, her profile in his view, her plump lips curved upwards into a smile, her sloped nose scrunched with expression as she greeted the tapster. One, two–– his head began to raise. His resurrection was that of a fawn, wobbly, weighed down, and enough to catch the quick, questioning look of the worker who’d been there since he had. Bryce’s rosebud lips remained slightly agape, the sticky coat of perspiration that had gathered on the right side of his face evident and visible, accompanied by the placidness of his damp t-shirt. Slowly, he looked over, then down, and then really down, his hand patting for his pocket. A wallet was retrieved, only to be placed down on the bar, and then following shortly, a phone, the device not meeting the fate of the wallet, but instead pressed to life.
The screen, blue and vibrant illuminated the boyish contours of his face, causing eyes to squint and brows to furrow, attempting to find a proper adjustment. It was a quick pick to the contacts app, and then a slight scroll down the ‘A’ section to find who he was looking for. Adrian. Now, had his taunting sobriety been the demon that had encapsulated him, he would’ve looked, stalled, clicked out, and gone to bed. Tonight, it was different. All common sense had been rubbed down to a smooth nothingness and impulse inflated with a potent. His reasoning was simple: she’d pick up this time. It had been a few months since he’d tried calling, that had given her enough time. This wasn’t a call to get her back, this was a call to let her know that in the middle of Manhattan on a Friday night he found someone that looked exactly like her. That was cordial. It wasn’t problematic. It was pathetic, like before. It was fair and she’d answer, she would have to answer, and this time, he wouldn’t be disappointed.
The phone was set down and line tapped onto speaker, turned up, so he didn’t have to lean in to hear. It rang, and rang, and rang, and rang… Until it didn’t. The line was cut, and her voice came through, buoyant, clear as day–– a pitch from a distant memory, “Hey, it’s Adrian,” And it went on. It was the same as it had been four months ago, the last time he’d tried calling, and the same nearly ten months before when he’d tried dialing her first. It was her voice, nonetheless. Something, particularly in his inebriated state that he wasn’t prepared to hear–– something he didn’t consider having to hear, though the notion would have been a given to him when clearheaded. He let it run until she chimed ‘goodbye’ and the machine operator kicked in, informing him to wait for the beep. His eyes were down, frozen, but his heart rapid and his cheeks hot and the mere thought that after all these months, when she had all the time to change it–– to remove it and let it slip straight to the machine instead of echoing her far-away voice; when she knew that he’d definitely try calling again, stung him to his core. It was the typical repercussion of a drunk decision, one that, in any other state you would’ve seen coming, but alas was swiped from your view with the sinking of a bottle. He hung his head and brought his clammy fingers to his eyes, pressing down on the lids, creating stars amongst the darkness.
“Who’s the girl?”
The words hit his ear sharper than he expected, causing him to jump, chest twitching with surprise. He looked up, seeing it was the woman who had just entered, close enough to where he could count the differences between her and Adrian. She had moved down, leaving a seat in-between them, but with the intrigued, playful lean of her upper torso and the cross of her legs, their distance was trimmed. His eyes, pink with irritation grazed over her, his brows furrowed, not with intrigue or curiosity like they normally would, but with a personal vexation. Her light-hearted demeanor began to shift with realization. He was in no state to take an ebulliently charged conversation, and she heeded, leaning back in place, the drink that had been raised to her mouth retracting. Who is the girl?
‘First off, you’re right. She is a girl. She’s a child, just like me, with our showy personalities and our quirky innovations, and like with any child we both needed–– need, someone to depend on. Someone wiser, someone who can take care of them and patch our scraped knees… So, you tell me, do you see where the problem lies? With two kids in love. Or how about just one, when the other just can’t seem to give herself all the way? It was a game that couldn’t be won. It didn’t matter how many times I tried to talk her down from the ledge, and into my arms, she couldn’t stomach the height and ended up taking the stairs. The saddest part? She didn’t even need to use the steps. She could’ve jumped from the peak and I would’ve caught her. But what does that matter when there always seemed to be another guy in the picture? Or when everyone told you that you weren’t good enough and that she’d get bored and leave. So you’re right. She is a girl. She’s fickle and doesn’t know what she wants and I think she’s lost, but I wouldn’t know because I’m just a boy, and I’m in my own maze trying to work it out.
Who she is though?–– That’s a question I can’t answer, but I can tell you what I do know: she likes macaroons and the French people. She enjoys books that make you think and staying up late into the morning. I bought her a telescope for her twenty-first birthday because she liked the stars, but she left it when she left and now it sits in my closet. She never let me meet her mother because she thought her family would scare me away. I took her to the London Eye and asked her how many times she’d been in love; she replied, ‘only once’, and I kissed her three years too late for the first time. I promised, when we first met, to write about her even though I wasn’t a poet, but left her with disappointment. She wants to be remembered by everything and everyone and dedicated into words because I think she felt the opposite her whole life. Like maybe her dad and her mom and all the men she brought home were trying to forget her. But I can’t forget her, and I can’t say I completely know Adrian, but I do, and that’s the most frustrating place you can be with a person when all you want is have them let you in, and I do–– I call for her and call for her but she never answers, and all I’m left with is the same recording and fear because I don’t know where she or what she’s doing or if she’s safe or how I can fix it.
But maybe it’s because I just can’t.’
He blinked a series of blinks, clearing his vision as he took another moment to consider her question, his eyes having fallen while his body had shifted to face the stranger. His head felt heavy, and his chest sunken in, and he felt the urge to go home. But not to his apartment two blocks away. To home. To his mother and his family and the old linen sheets that still dressed his childhood bed. A hand raised to wipe his own mouth, the boy slowly standing to his feet, and gathering his belongings before he finally looked at the blonde with a frown now dressing her lips, “She’s just a friend.” He croaked. And that was that.
My favorite moments are the times I get to curl up in my softest blanket and sink more into my stuffed animals and forget all the worries from the day. Being surrounded in soft things makes me feel safe and secure.
“You should respect the past. You should never forget the past. But you can’t live there.” - One Summer
Another month has passed which also signaled for the start of Christmas Countdown. I didn’t expect “BER” months would come this quick because I was enjoying whatever my life was two months before; being an design intern and wow time flies so fast! I am now finished with my OJT and now I am preparing for my next agenda that will determine my future. Okay, seriously, that deep? haha! No, but kidding aside, I do hope that for the next couple of months, I will be over with IT.
Moving on with this post, I originally plan on putting all of my September Instagram photos here but I was surprised because there were too many of them. Thus I decided to highlight just a few of the important moments that happened this SEPTEMBER 2013.
It has been an unbelievably busy July. Obviously, I don’t post and I never expected that I would back log this long! Nevertheless, July was still awesome and let me show you a glimpse of my July! (at least some part of it where as I still have time in my hands)
“A sign that is morning.” My first instavideo.
“Ultimate favorite snack. Any brand is fine as long as it’s seaweed!”
“Movie date with @karacabarle and @gracey4you. We watched #WorldWarZ!”
“It’s Fryday! Today, it was my first time to make Croquettes and good thing it was a success!”
“There are no ugly women, only lazy ones.”
“With the right shoes, a girl can travel the world.//”
“I love coffee but I hate its after effect. A very sinful cheatday indeed!”
“Mission: Eat to your heart’s content. Mission accomplished.”
“it’s not wasting film, it’s called happiness. Missed these girls!”
“Pixie dusts on your nails? Why not! Feels magical.”
“A fruit of my labor- an olive maxie from Uniqlo.”
Two favorite go-to colors: black and gray. #OOTD
“Keep Calm and Carry On. Ran a few errands today. #OOTD
"It has been a while.”
“Buy only what you need.”
“First OJT: Palafox Associates 07-08-13”
“Office lunch: Tofu rice puff and sweet and spicy korean pasta.”
“Make your weekends stress free!”
“Lunch for today: The Ultimate Burger Steak of Jollibee. #AnoAngDiet?”