Princessa Lepakko

Wed, 13 Jan 2010 07:45:11 GMT

I come from nights serenaded by tornado sirens
Conducted by slamming shutters.
Paper-thin screens collapsed in the dark,
But I was only afraid of the thunder.

I come from quick tempers and fast talkers
The only daughter to an uninterested man.
He tells me my hair is his mother's.
I assume it was a Viking's sometime before then.

I come from strong gin, cypress swamps and cornbread
Where wisdom grew from pete moss and sensibility rolled like fog.

I come from train cars and scrub brush
In a town too small to feel alone.
Canons sat on unkempt front lawns
Neighbors to the garden gnomes.

I come from the chime of reindeer bells,
The creak of leather, and the smell of fish.
Under midnight sun and midday moon.

I come from a den of lawyers.

I come from a long line of bicycle riders and lion trainers.

I come from a green-roofed house somewhere
The bushes crowded higher than my head
The Christmas lights never got taken down.

Genetics

Wed, 12 Aug 2009 03:47:31 GMT

"And when the gun goes off, it sparks and you're ready for surgery, surgery..."

Is it wrong that I have Zydrate Anatomy stuck in my head the day my mother goes into the hospital for a complete hysterectomy (the surgical removal of a woman's reproductive organs)? I now regret having taken Anatomy & Physiology in school. I know everything that could potentially go wrong. Thank you. Mr. Joseph.
My genetics have it in for me. My mother, like I, are fucked by heredity. The odds, especially for myself due to my father's side, are stacked in favor of cancer. Not only is there the BRCA 1 gene, but my risk of developing melanoma is exponential, both of my parents having had skin cancer and having had prolonged sun exposure myself as a child. The fact that I'm as pale as a ghost now means nothing, my skin is damaged goods. As for breast cancer...my great aunt, two great grandmothers, and my grandmother have had it. It's practically a matter of time before my mother does because of BRCA 1. It's essentially a direct line.
To be perfectly obvious, I really don't want to die of cancer. I don't want to have my ovaries and breasts removed in my 20's or 30's and take synthetic estrogen the rest of my life. I don't want to have to continually examine every inch of skin on my body (including under the eyelids) for an abnormal freckle that could be a tiny tumor that could kill me in 6 months. What kind of life is that?

To quote Repo! The Genetic Opera again-
"Make your genetics your bitch".

I've been at the hospital for 10 hours. I can't get the image of my mom with so many needles and wires coming out of her. I can't sleep. I can't cry.

Junior Prom :3

Sun, 27 Apr 2008 16:28:57 GMT

Right. SO. I haven't yet been able to successfully make an LJ cut... I apologize for the image-heavy.

It was fun. More fun than I thought it would be. The music was still on average horrible, but I had expected it to be so 99% of the time, rather that 80%...AND, they actually played "Never Gonna Give You Up". I kid you not. I was like "Did prom just get rickrolled?". I also received a free coffee mug.
But obviously, the best part was getting dressed up. I had my hair and nails done by a crazy Russian woman. I did my makeup myself (it was pretty much just purposefully smudged red eyeliner, mascara, and lipstain).

I wore "An Evening's Affair" dress by Lip Service, with my corset and lace undershirt.

+ = win.

And the most spiffy necklace ever (well, that I've ever owned). With a little faux fur stole, and the pretty corsage my boyfriend gave me.

He and I matched quite well, unfortunately, I don't really have any good photos of his outfit (black velvet jacket and pants, burgundy shirt, black lace cuffs and cravat). Hurrah for victorian-ness.

Actually at the prom, there was a fabulous green-haired man with 1337 dancing skills.

Afterwards, we ate french fries. THE END.

Sun, 13 Apr 2008 07:07:24 GMT

Who was I to think, that I could rock your fucking world?

I drew you into me, behind my walls, I built a nest with the feelings between us. And now I feel like the floor's been ripped out beneath my feet.
HOW CAN YOU ASK ME WHY I FEEL FRAGILE?
How can you offer comfort when you refuse to acknowledge you're the one who is making me feel like the world might fall apart if I breathe to hard?

I can't love you more to make up for you loving me less.
I want to be hard-edged. I want to call you out on the way you treat me.
But in my heart of hearts, I know that if loving you more would help, I would do it.

'Twas a Cinematic Weekend

Mon, 10 Dec 2007 02:00:15 GMT

Yes, lots of le filming has gone on in the past 48 hours.
Yesterday was film session deux for Molly's movie. I didn't have to do much this time, seeing as most of the shots of me were accomplished last weekend. But anyway, Josh (from Carver) and Garret (from Calvert Hall) were there as well. Garret was my "husband", and since he is cute I didn't particuarly mind. He had to do most of the acting, I pretty much just had to sit there, or be a corpse. Poor boy though, we all kept gigling at him.
I can't wait to see how the whole thing turns out.
Today, my mother neglected to wake me up when I slept past 12:30, but I managed to drag myself out of bed and pick Cheyenne up from her work without being too late. Filming my movie went considerably faster since there were not more people to be distractions. This is the first movie I have filmed completely on my own, so it felt good that it all went so smoothly. And besides, how can running around in a graveyard not be enjoyable?

Oh, and Friday I magic'd Jacks hair. Oh yess.

Quel Week-end!

Wed, 18 Oct 2006 01:31:46 GMT

C'était un week-end epoutablé! Vertitable cauchemar!
Vendredi soir, et Samedi, je me suis disputé avec mon frére et mon petit ami. Mon frére...il est horrible. Mais, Peter et moi, nous sommes dans l'amour, donc nous donné pardon façile. Je l'aime beaucoup <3

Now I write "en anglais".
My weekend was inordinately dreadful, but I shan't dwell on it for too long.
To make a rather long story short, I had a fight with my father because he took my brother to see him this weekend, yet has not so much as called me in weeks. In addition to that, my boyfriend was having a sexual identity crisis and my mother was a-wall for days. I also did some very stupid things in consequence.
My father and I have not made up (I doubt we ever will properly, we'll just pretend like nothing happened after a while), but Peter and I have worked our little issue out and are now as sickeningly romantic as always.

Right now there are several essays that I'm not doing, and have no intention of doing any time soon. I also need to work on my sketch-book, for which I have a tarot-card theme.
Thus far my "cards" are these-
Peter- The Sun
Moi- The Moon
Raphael- The King Of Swords
Elizabeth- The Queen Of Swords
Sean and Catie- The Lovers
Carrianne- The Star
Christina- The Fool