The Second Choice

I hate being the second choice. It’s not a good feeling knowing that they picked you to be their partner because their original and final choice is either gone for the day or they just can’t pick them. It’s almost like being the third wheel.

Also, why o why would you invite your boyfriend/girlfriend and then invite your friend? I feel as if that is a complete and utter jerk-ish move. If you or your date can’t keep your hands off of each other, it’s not a good idea to bring along somebody else with you.

Oh, the Irony

I just love it when they make a gay romance story and the setting takes place in a Catholic/Christian school. The irony is hilarious!

So I’m watching a yuri anime in the name of Maria Watches Over Us. Pretty fun right now. The animation is (A LOT BETTER THAN STRAWBERRY PANIC!) good, though the characters look rather tall for girls. Oh, well. If they feel the need to be like xxxHolic, be my guest.

Also, EMERGERD IT’S A COMPLETE STRAWBERRY PANIC RIPOFF! Lol. The elements are somewhat the same, but I can see the diversity they’re coming off right now. I‘m liking the anime, just as long as the characters don’t become any more idiotic. There’s like… four seasons, so that’s good for me. The only problem is that no anime website (that I know) upload this anime. Ugh…

Only youtube is my source, and it’s in English sub (thank goodness!).

I’m currently on the second episode. I hope there is no competition involving horses. Or else I’d LOL’D.

There is a character who looks like Hiraki by the way. Kind of pisses me off, but she’s not stupid. So that’s good… very good…

The Tet Festival

            I passed by the entrance of the festival without a sound. I wasn’t ready to pay five dollars for the admission, so I used my short stature to blend in with the moving crowd. As supposed by the name of the festival, this was a day for the Vietnamese to come and celebrate. There were rides that are usually placed in festivals in Garden Grove.  And like always, there were those bracelets that let you have unlimited rides. Only twenty-five dollars. I bought that. Today was a day for me to spend all my money that I got in the morning. Lucky money for the win.

Before that, though, I ended up bumping into a girl that stood out from the rest of the black haired people. She was blond, blue eyes, long hair. She was about four feet taller than me, and I was about 5’2’’. She apologized, and mentioned that she was looking for her friends. The girl was lost. Being me, who was looking for entertainment, I decided to help her out.

“What do they look like?”

Her description of them made me chuckle a bit. She said, “About your height, black hair, brown eyes… um… they’re not wearing anything ridiculous. Sorry, I’m not very good at describing people.”

“I noticed,” I replied. “You’ve just described just about everybody here.”

She laughed, realizing that. That was when the firecrackers went off, signifying that it was 1:30 PM. I questioned, “Did you have a specific place that you were going to meet them?”

“Yeah, toward the booths.”

“Let’s go over there, then.”

At this point, I came to the understanding that she could’ve just called her friend. But technology would ruin my fun. When we reached the booths, there were more people who looked just like her friends. I chuckled by that thought. Heck, I could be one of her friends too. I had black hair and brown eyes. I never understood how people had fun on the same booth over and over in other festivals. I sighed, and pointed at the nearest gaming booth. “Since it looks like your friend isn’t here yet, you want to try that?”

“Sure.” She nodded.

The point of all these gaming booths were to steal your money (of course). If you were lucky or skilled enough (from playing), you could win a stuff animal. The prize they had was a giant polar bear. That caught me already. They were my favorite. Then the man behind the counter told me to cough up five dollars. My eyes twitched, and I began to wonder if this was worth it. I wasn’t going to get it in three darts. I knew that for sure. Then I intently stared at the bear, trying to fight back the temptation. Save your money on something else better, don’t waste your money now. I sighed.

“Do you want that?” she wondered, pointing at the polar bear.

I immediately nodded like a child, my eyes shinning (from what I assumed). She smiled, then placed down five dollars. The rules of this booth were that you had to hit three balloons in order to get the grand prize (which was the polar bear). In which she marked them perfectly. Within a minute, she handed me the grand prize. I was struck dumb by the fact that she was able to get this. It was as if she was God. Maybe she was! Or maybe I watched too much anime. I shouldn’t be overdramatizing this. It wasn’t anything special.

I hugged the teddy bear with all my might. I thanked her in a shivery, beggar’s voice. She giggled in response. We spent our time going through every other booth before we actually found her friends. They recently arrived, and looked at me, smirking. “Is she your new girlfriend?” they joked.

At this point, she and I were covered in face paint, more stuffed animals, and lollipops. We looked like children, currently on the effect of too-much-candy. So this didn’t cross my mind one bit, and I joked along with them. Somehow, this ended up with me holding the girl’s hand. We were never separated until it was time to go.

We attended the events like the Talent Search Competition and the Youth Night. The hours passed without me noticing. Most of the time I had to go into recovery after getting on a ride. The friends she was waiting for ended up going somewhere else since they said they didn’t want to bother us.

Toward the end of the festival, we finally settled down from all the excitement. It was nearly the firework show. Her smile was gone as we sat in the grass. I gawked at her, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want this day to end.”

“I’m with you on that,” I said. “Then again, I don’t really want to continue holding all these.” I had bought a picnic blanket from one of the vendors (didn’t know why he was selling it) in order to lay down my prize. Our hands hadn’t separated yet. A minute later, the firework started. I never once looked at them with such amazement. They had never been so bright and beautiful in my life. Or was it because she was here?

When the fireworks were done, we stood up, and she hugged me tightly. Finally, we introduced each other. “I’m Fiona,” she said.

“People call me ‘Em. Emmy for short. I go to Rancho.”

“Bolsa.”

“As expected,” I said, chuckling.

She released me, and did something I least expected… not exactly. She pressed her lips against mine, and this lasted for a minute. I counted. Time felt slow, and my body wouldn’t allow me to breathe. When we parted lips, she left without saying a single word. And I was standing there in a trance.

Mother Told me Otherwise…

He was the right man for me. Mother told me otherwise. That was why I put her in a box. She denied our love, it was a bond that could never be broken. Father was the same as mom. So I neatly put him in another box next to mom. This love had simply gotten me obsessed. I took pictures of his perfect face, his perfect figure. He was a talker, a charismatic man. We talked to each other many times, and even he had gotten the liking of me. Yet whenever I watched him go, it saddened me.

I wanted to be just like him.

My obsessive thoughts of him were written down into a plan, and this plan weaved into the fabric of reality. Here was the plan, I would find him at the bar where he usually went for a drink. I didn’t need to greet him like a stranger for we have talked many times. He smiled, and we began conversing. The topics ranged from the alcohol he was drinking to the girls that he liked. The last one had my fingers aching to hit something. When he finished… his seventieth shots of vodka, I offered him a ride home. He wouldn’t be able to get in his car anyway, it was supposed to be stolen by a gang of thugs.

He was laughing and telling me horrible jokes the entire way. I only laughed and kept him entertained for his own sake. Then, out of nowhere, he was regaining conscious. “Hey,” he slurred, “this isn’t where my house is.”

“We’re taking a shortcut,” I said.

“Oh,” and then he went back to telling me about the time he got fired from his last job.

When we were at my house, he turned to me and said, “This isn’t my house.”

He looked out the window like a little boy seeing snow for the first time. There was a claw hammer on the side of my seat, away from his view. I picked it up while he was distracted. I raised it as high as it could reach in the car and swung it down directly on the back of his head.

Thump!

            He was unconscious. I exited the car and opened his door, I quickly picked him put so his blood wouldn’t cause a stain on my car. His crow hair brushed again my shirt. Dragging him into my house, and then my bedroom, I placed him on my bed. Heading to the bathroom, I grabbed my skinner’s knife out of my cabinet. I touched the tip of the blade, accidentally cutting myself with it. I grunted, licking my thumb. This wasn’t much. I walked back to my bedroom, seeing that he was still out of it.

His hair was ruined by the blood seeping out from his wound. His fingers twitched from time to time. I breathed in deep, and smiled. This obsessive thought had turned into reality. Just like him. I ended the pain by jabbing into his skull. He wouldn’t struggle if he was dead. This was where my work began. I cut through the skin, but not to the bones itself. I cut it gently and carefully, not to tear any part of the skin. I left the whole face in blood and muscles. I got out my stitching box and stitched the ends of the skins together.

Then it was finished. I checked if I had a bald cap anywhere in my room, in which there was. I put that on, and then the newly made mask. Heading to the bathroom once again, I looked at the mirror. What I didn’t see was me, but rather, the man that I loved. I smiled, saying, “Now you’ll be with me forever, just like the others.”

For My Future Self #1

Something struck me today, I had an email saved in a hidden folder in my email. I noticed this after so many years. I smiled a bit, wondering what it was. Opening it, there was nothing else but a username and a password to Youtube™. I tilted my head a bit in question, but I logged in to this account. The first thing I went to was the video manager and saw a bunch of videos titled For My Future Self. I licked my dry lips, taking a sip of the cup of water next to my unoccupied hand. There were a few views, but no comments. Well, I wasn’t exactly surprised.

I scrolled down until I reached number one. Let me see what my past wanted to talk about. “Is this working?” was the first thing I said in the video.

Chuckling slightly, I continued on watching myself scrambling to the cube that I used as a chair. Looking to my left, I supposed I didn’t want to sit on the throne-looking chair and made me feel like a king… or queen to the gender concerned people. There were sloppy cuts for the awkward silence that I probably had while trying to think of what to talk about. In which case, what was this about?

“Hi, uh… my name is Ami. I’m sixteen years old, and I’m a sophomore,” was the next thing I said. “This is just a refresher for my future self because I know that I have terrible memories and I’ll watch this later on and wouldn’t know how old I was in this video.”

Huh, I knew myself so well. After the little introduction, I made comments about the sloppy ponytail I had on in the video. It was pretty sloppy, although I remembered at that age, I couldn’t tie a high ponytail. My mom tied that, I just knew it. My past self rambled on and said, “My future self” about a thousand times. After I delivered the first reason which was about keeping a journal of some sort, the second reason was what hit me.

“I wanted to talk about my first crush,” I uttered. “Just in case something bad happened and my brain decided to forget all about the incident that is to come.”

My first crush? This was interesting. I grabbed my cup and drank the remaining water. “This is pretty hard to say… it’s a girl.”

I spat it right back into the cup, looking at it disgustingly as it mixed with my saliva. I stared at the computer screen, watching myself making these weird faces. “This is going bad already, I just know it.”

Even though my past self said that, I ended up describing the girl. My first crush… I couldn’t exactly remember her name. I thought it was he, not a she. Wow, I do have terrible memories. Throughout the video, I never once mention my crush’s name. I had forgotten to do that in this video. Huh. Watching the cuts between dialogues, I noticed that I was looking down at what I guessed were topic notes. I was never good at talking on camera. My attention started to drift away as I gawked at the background.

“Jeez, that is one messy room,” I said, though not the me in the video.

“…As I try to talk to this girl.” Then the video abruptly ended.

Paging back, I looked at all the videos I made. A couple and they were uploaded about every week. I was about to click on the second one to see if I had revealed her name, but I had work. Euh, I wished I could jump inside the videos and relive my past. At least back then I didn’t have a job. Then again, it was nice living independently. There was nobody to rely on, just me.

Besides, it took me sweat and blood to be in this position. Oh, I hadn’t explained yet, huh? I worked as a scriptwriter and co-director for one of the hottest show in America. I wasn’t bragging, the statistic said it all. It was our second season, and I was being pressured on even more than usual. This was one of the reasons why I hadn’t thought of the place I lived during my high school years. I went to a university for filming. I cut off every connection I had, although I couldn’t remember why. Right now, at the age of twenty-five, I was living alone in a luxury apartment. I was paying my rent on time, and I was a respected member in the group. I wrote the script and worked it out with the actors, I helped the director, and when needed, I was a supporting actress.

My life was going well, though I knew it damn well. What comes up will come down. That was why I was saving enough money just for the downfall of this show. Then again, it would be partially my fault if it lost popularity. I shook my head, not trying to think about the negative.

Leaving my apartment which was on the second floor, I went to my car and drove to the studio. Had I mentioned that this was an animated series? My bad. The title was called, “Mordan.” The series was about a man in the name of Henry who was chosen to be the next champion in the world of gladiators. He was transported to Mordan and was immediately killed by one of the gladiators. He was sent right into a match not knowing what to do. Henry found himself in limbo and was now trapped. That was when a door appeared and he entered through it.

It was shown that his death was just a dream. Henry was taken to Mordan and that was a vision to what might happen to him later on. The people who took him in had yet to know that Henry was going to be the new champion for the tyrant king.

The villagers explained to Henry about the floating coliseum where the king host his entertainment. He abducted the sinners and put them up against each other. They were afraid, and Henry wanted to help.

Skipping a bit, toward the end of the season, he became the next champion. The second season revealed that he had turned corrupted. There was a new protagonist and Henry was now the antagonist. I thought this was an obvious turn when the director suggested it to me. The fans said otherwise. The first episode blew up as people were angry at Henry and found the new main character to be likable. I hadn’t had a name so she remained nameless.

My co-workers suggested names, in which I kindly denied.

“Ami, you got a name for her yet?” asked Matt, who greeted me the moment I entered the front door of the studio.

“I’ll think of one as long as you don’t make her gladiator outfit all skimpy. She needs armor that protects her abdomen and legs during combat.”

“She hasn’t even been in combat yet.”

“But I’ve seen your current designs.” I glared. “Are they doing any recordings today?”

“Just for the second episode’s music. We’re still stuck on the storyboard.”

“Is there anything for me to help?”

“Masaki says he’ll call you when he needs you, rather than that, you should go meet Monica. She’s eagerly waiting for your manuscript for this episode.”

“Alright, I’m off then.”

“I’ll see you in a bit.”

 

Who the Hell Invented Survey Downloads?

Seriously, who? This is the stupidest idea I’ve ever seen. You have to do a survey in order to download something. These surveys usually involve you giving out your personal information (in which I hope you don’t actually put your real info) for a free whatever. They weren’t exactly surveys at all really. It’s idiotic. One thing that I hate is the fact that it doesn’t know when you’re done. The worst one is when you try this downloading survey. You have to install it and that’s when it’ll open and let you download… but how does it know that I’ve installed it?

When I did install it, nothing happened because you know what? The program I was installing decided to shut down my browser so downloading and installing that piece of worthless crap meant nothing. The other surveys are when you have to fill out infos and get to the “second page” in order for the download to unlock. But what is this second page? Because clearly the download ain’t going to open until you finish the entire survey.

These thing pisses the hell out of me, especially when people decides to give you the link to these type of websites. Why in dear’s name do you put it on these website? Does it give you money or something? If so, screw off! Get those urls that gives you money every hundred clicks or so. That’d be better than annoying the hell out of me and other people who are trying to download something. Why can’t you just put it in a regular downloading website that doesn’t require you taking a survey? Huh? Ugh. I hate these goddamn websites. So stupid, and frustrating.