I don’t know what the standard operating procedure is for people who tell you you’ve offended them with passive aggressive typography, so I thought I’d do a passive non-aggressive typography back. Except in the middle of it I realized I was using Comic Sans and MS Paint to create my ~*artwork*~. That must’ve been the apologizing-with-typography equivalent of apologizing to a music connoisseur by drunkenly MagicSing-ing a Justin Bieber song to him/her. So I thought I’d just write some stuff and call it a day.
I found this while searching for my Fil essay in my cluttered Documents folder. Earlier this sem, Ma’am Kit (my Lit prof) asked us to rewrite a legend/fairytale/myth to suit modern sensibilities. I decided to rewrite the STC classic (harhar) The Rape of Persephone, going for a “we’re all equal”/sexual freedom angle. And I made Hades a pitiful outcast. Because that’s apparently my thing.
I really, really hated it but when I read it again just now, it actually isn’t that bad. Like, I could publish this on FF.net or some shit and not be too ashamed of it.
Her new friend just wasn’t the laughing sort. She didn’t know if it was an image thing for being the Lord of the Dead and all that, or if it innately came with the rest of his quirks, but he just didn’t laugh. And—Titans, she wanted to kill Aphrodite for this!—he was rather attractive when he laughed. He had crow’s feet and his front teeth were a little crooked. It must’ve been the afternoon sun, but that ridiculous Bruno Mars song started playing in her head.
For the second time in her immortal life, before she knew it, she had leaned down and kissed him. She and leaned down and kissed him. She was the initiator! And he kissed her back, because she was beautiful and witty and understanding and there.
They broke away for a while, each eyeing the sky, waiting for lightning to strike. It didn’t come. So they want back to kissing, and kissing led to what kids these days call ‘making out,’ and that led to… well, you know that too.
See, if this whole ~*journalist dream*~ doesn’t work out, a very promising career ghostwriting for the likes of Lauren Conrad and Hilary Duff awaits me.
I don’t take throwing an 18th birthday against anyone who wishes to do so, but just personally the whole concept of it just baffles me.
Being the object of scrutiny for 3 or more hours and having people exalt on my virtues and assure me how much they love me time and time again would make me feel awkward. I mean, it’s practically a drinking game. Drink a shot whenever someone says “we love you” and “you’re perfect the way you are,” and all the other stuff they usually say at debuts. Half the room will be under the table before the first round of Eighteen Whatevers are even through.
But then again everything in the world makes me feel awkward. Submitting a paper makes me feel awkward. Being in the general vicinity of other people makes me feel awkward.
Also, I probably don’t know enough members of the opposite sex to fill my Eighteen Roses even if I replenish my fairly long list of male cousins and basically every male person I’ve grown close to during my first year in college.