If I Ever Leave This World Alive -Flogging Molly

This song is so mellow and my irritated mood is fighting against the music. I feel like turning on something angrier, but I guess I'm stuck with this one. I always match the music I listen to to the mood I'm in.
I'm irritated because I made the fascinating discovery that Wal-Mart has some sort of vendetta against me. They always quit stocking products I absolutely love. It all started a year ago with Mrs. T's Potato and Cheddar Cheese Pierogies. Wow, I miss those. Pockets of sheer delight. Now they quit stocking Ban solid deoderant and Simply Ivory body wash. I'm especially ticked about Ban because it's the only deoderant that has ever worked for me. Now I have to use Degree which by the end of the day leaves my pits smelling like a sweaty flower that someone buried in a litter box. Okay, maybe it's not that bad. But it's no Ban. Ban is like a little layer of heaven under my armpits.
One of my cats is giving me love bites on my arm. They really hurt, but I can't tell her to stop because they're out of love. I'd be rejecting her love. And that's just mean. I'm a cat freak.
During the softer parts of this song, I get distracted because I can hear my friends' "raid talk". They're playing WoW....again. I really want to play Star Wars Battle Front II. Right now.
The one thing I hate about writing is that the reader can't hear vocal tones or inflections. Those make it so much better.
I need to find a new roommate. Why does everybody I room with move in with their boyfriend? I think it's because I'm not wearing Ban.

6 words

1. Made mistakes. Made even more mistakes.
2. I'm a female Rip Van Winkle.
3. Fell in love. Fleeing was easier.
4. Heaven bound. Hell bent. Change lives.
5. I play video games too much.
6. On occasion, I forget to breathe.

9/11

Study Hall was incredibly boring. I had the meanest teacher on the planet. Her name was Mrs. Ashmore, but mostly everybody called her Mrs. Ass-more. For the first 30 minutes of the hour and a half class, we were forced to have silent reading time. Something I hadn't had to do since third grade. For the remainder of the hour, we were to do homework. Telling her you didn't have any homework was the dumbest thing you could do. Simply because she would respond with, "Well if your teachers aren't giving you enough homework, then I'll have to give you some. And it's due by the end of the hour." As the fates would have it, she was a math teacher, which made the extra work even more excruciating.
September 11th, 2001. I headed into Study Hall, dreading the next hour and a half. The first 30 minutes slowly and painfully went by. Then, snapping me from my daydreams, a ruckus was occuring in the hallway. Intolerant of any distractions, Mrs. Ashmore went to see who was disturbing her class. Before she made it to the door, a student entered. As he stood in the doorway, he spoke to us all, "The World Trade Centers have just been hit by planes! It's on TV." "Young man, get back to your class!" Mrs. Ashmore snapped. He left. He knew this teacher's reputation. Our classroom began to buzz. SLAM! Mrs. Ashmore was glaring at us as she shut the door with force. "This is Study Hall. So if you don't have anything to study then come see me. And no more talking!" She strided back to her desk and sat with a watchful eye. And that was it. That was my experience of one of America's greatest tragedies. Sitting in Study Hall unable to speak. Of course I watched the news and was very quickly updated when I got home that afternoon. But I'll never quite forgive that teacher for removing me from such a pivotal moment in history.

Lobster Tickling (spring break)

Not attaching a snorkel was a bad idea. After the first few dives, I was completely exhausted. I flippered my way back to the boat. My dad could tell I was drained. "Want a vest?" he offered. "No. Just a snorkel please!" I replied. He tossed me a bright blue snorkel and I quickly attached it to my goggles. Relief at least. Now able to breathe, I focused on the task at hand. Catching tonight's dinner. I swam over to Wendy, my tag team partner. It takes two people to catch lobsters. One to tickle and one to grab. She spotted a hole and waved me over. The ocean waves tried to direct me elsewhere but I managed to get where I needed to be. I gave Wendy the signal. Armed with my tickler, I dove under. I poked the long metal stick into the hole. I felt the first lobster. Using the angled end of the tickler, I tapped the lobster on its tail. Wondering what just hit it, the lobster meandered out of its home. Before realizing the trap, Wendy made her move. She grabbed him. We both swam to the surface. Using the measuring utensil on the tickler, I made sure the lobster was legal. From between eyes to the back of the head, the measurer fit perfectly. Just barely legal. We both paddled over to the boat, lobster in tow. Wendy placed our dinner into the boat's compartment for such things as lobsters, crab, and fish. Back to the sea we went. After raiding some traps, which is illegal, we headed home with four lobsters total. Not a bad haul for this late into the season.

Pan's Labyrinth (translated)

The captain sat at the wooden desk fixated on the silver pocket watch. Looking through his eye loupe, he carefully and gently used a small brushing utensil to clean the inside mechanisms. He cradled the watch, not lovingly, but respectfully. A soft knock came at the door. “Come in,” he said sternly. It was the doctor. Unlike the captain, he was an older man, wore thin black glasses, and had a tidy beard. Unlike the captain, his face was full of worry and concern.
“How is she?” the Captain asked flatly.
“Very weak,” the doctor answered with traces of sadness tinting his inflection.
The Captain did not look up but continued working on the watch. “She’ll have as much rest as she needs. I’ll sleep down here.” He closed the watch and looked up, “And my son?”
“Pardon?” said the doctor, confused.
“Excuse us, Captain…” An officer said as he entered the room accompanied by a fellow soldier.
The captain glared and slightly raised his black leather gloved hand as a signal for interruption. “My son, how is he?” he continued.
“For the moment, there’s no reason to be alarmed.” The doctor replied.
The Captain nodded with approval, “Very good.” He rose from his chair and put a lit cigarette in between his lips.
“Captain, your wife should not have traveled at such a late stage of pregnancy,” the doctor said with uneasiness.
The captain paused for a moment and took the cigarette out, “Is that your opinion?”
“My professional opinion, yes, sir.”
“A son should be born wherever his father is. That’s all.” The captain said condescendingly. Taking a long drag, he began to walk from his dimly lit quarters towards the two awaiting men.
“One more thing, Captain.” The doctor added. “What makes you so sure the baby is a male?
Cigarette smoke sputtered through the Captain’s nostrils as he chuckled. Turning with a malevolent smile, he retorted, “Don’t fuck with me.”

Childhood memory

Death was around every corner. If we were spotted, we would be captured and killed. We had to rely on the stealth tactics we learned during our training. This was Nazi territory and if we wanted to complete our mission, then we needed to make it through undetected. Infiltrating Nazi headquarters disguised as an ordinary suburban house would not be easy. We passed through the living room unnoticed. The tan leather sofas and multicolored brick fireplace seemed cozy in a familiar way. I noticed the air smelled delicious. Like simmering onions and grilled meat. My stomach growled. “Quick, get down!” my sister Taylor yelled at a whisper. “Nazi. Dead ahead.” We ducked behind a cream tiled counter. This wasn’t our first encounter with a Nazi. I peeked over the counter. She was a fair skinned, fair haired lady. She stood at about 5’9”. Her back was turned to us and she was cooking something on a black stove. “Get down! Don’t let her see you!” Taylor murmured. “Dining room.” I muttered with a directional hand motion. We crawled the distance of the counter into the yellow wallpapered dining room. We stood up and hugged the wall. The Nazi woman was in the next room. We needed a plan and we needed one fast.
“We could shoot her.” Taylor suggested.
“No. The gunshots would alert the others. We have to be invisible remember?” I replied. “You’re right. Well…what are we gonna do?”
The back door of the house creaked open. Heavy boots echoed onto the hard wood floor of the living room. Taylor and I looked at each other and watched as fear entered into our eyes.
“Under there! Go, go, go!” I urgently whispered.
We dove under the oak dining room table and moved the matching chairs in front of us like a shield. The boot steps got closer. It was him. The Nazi leader. His stature was impressive, a towering 6’3”. He was athletically built, clean shaven, and bald on top. The remaining hair was light brown and semi circled around his head like the Caesar wreaths. He had steely blue eyes complete with crow’s feet in the corners. As he entered the room we held our breaths. My heart beat seemed like a drum in my head. I thought it was so loud that everyone could surely hear it. He walked up to the table and paused. Our eyes could only see up to his knees, so we had no idea where he was looking. Seconds seemed like minutes. Minutes like hours. He turned and went into the kitchen. We breathed a sigh of relief. I gave my sister the ‘that was close’ look and she nodded in agreement. We still needed a plan.
“What about our whips? We could tie them up and gag them; no noise, no mess.” Taylor said.
“Perfect. Let’s go.”
We crept out from under the table. Preparing ourselves for the struggle which was about to take place.”
“Girls! Dinner’s ready!” the Nazi leader bellowed.
“Aw, man!” I groaned.
“Till next time, Indiana?” Taylor asked.
“Yeah, till next time, Indiana.” I replied.