Back Seat of the Short Bus

The Lost Generation

Sun, 22 Mar 2009 13:50:58 GMT

Short, simple, and goddamn brilliant:

Purging

Thu, 26 Feb 2009 17:24:37 GMT

It has come to my attention that I don't post or even read up here very often anymore. Despite this, I've still found a decent rapport with some of you. Other folks, whether you're too busy to let me know you're reading, etc, whether I'm just not that interesting, or whether you feel a lack of connection with me, I don't know. But I'm feeling it & I'm cutting down my list of posts to read when I do come around here, as well. It's nothing personal. If you don't see me again then best wishes & good travels to you on life's highway.

Awww!

Thu, 12 Feb 2009 22:19:33 GMT

Kittens on a Roomba. Just made me smile on a gray day so I thought I'd share =D (Those kitties are seriously relaxed, too...)

Bouncing Here & There & Everywhere...

Thu, 29 Jan 2009 15:13:03 GMT

I don't post the LOLcats (and associated pages, lol) stuff very often...I try not to as others on my FL have that job *grin* but this one just made me snerk coffee this morning.

...and now it IS in my head. Bleh.

(Also, like the new avatar? I made it all by myself! *is a big girl now*)

You Know What's a Crime?

Fri, 06 Jun 2008 14:49:48 GMT

That this movie isn't in a theater anywhere NEAR me (closest is in flippin' Tucson, which is ~5 hours away =P)

Watch me, you won't be sorry! (It's from IMDB, I couldn't find it to embed it, sorry and most films don't work on my work computer, so it's hard to search out that way. Anyway, it's not so hard to clicky *grin*)

Type-o-rama!

Thu, 17 Jan 2008 19:41:46 GMT

90 words

free Touch typing

Not bad. Considering that when I tested for the county about 2 years ago I was at 72wpm. NaNo back in November may have helped, lol. Also all the typing I do in-game & posting *hide* I wonder if the words made sentences & made sense, if I'd do any better =P I know it's not stellar but I'm rather pround of it, hehe.

Kally the superhero~

Mon, 31 Dec 2007 17:16:33 GMT

Superhero Team Quiz

LiveJournal Username

Your Primary Super Power

Cape?

Identitiy

Origin

Location of Head Quarters

Primary Costume/Uniform Colors

Why are you a Superhero?

Your Superheroic Codename

The veteran grim member of the team

dknight818

The sexist and crass but annoyingly effective one

newander5

The bright-eyed novice or sidekick

jaeydee

The teammate that will eventually go evil or insan

loreat

The inept yet determined/reoccurring supervillain

saymorre

The sinister Arch-Villain and team's greatest foe

popelaksmi

The perky civilian that keeps getting kidnapped

bluehairedbitch

How often does your team actually 'save the day'?

88%

This Fun Quiz created by Shannon at BlogQuiz.Net

Get the answer to your weight loss questions
at WeightLossTips.TV

Damn, do so many of these fit! Loreat's in particular made me giggle & nod in agreement =P

Verdict: Awesome!

Wed, 12 Dec 2007 22:20:47 GMT

The other day lyllian posted a recipe another bartender gave to her.

The "Poinsettia". Equal parts:

Malibu Rum
Peach Schnapps
Cranberry Juice

I made it once over ice & once in my shaker thingy. Omg, yummers. Very fruity, you don't taste the alcohol at all (and there's a lot, lol)

Another article

Tue, 11 Dec 2007 22:13:27 GMT

This one's for all you Firefly/Serenity fans (like me =P). In case you haven't seen it yet:

I, Malcom.

Okies!

Fri, 30 Nov 2007 21:39:38 GMT

Your Score: Fennel

You scored 25% intoxication, 50% hotness, 75% complexity, and 25% craziness!

You are Fennel! You're a cool cat. Crisp, clean, fresh, and extremely complicated. You're like quantum physics or modern jazz. Think Niels Bohr meets Ornette Coleman. You may look normal now, but once you sprout, you look kind of, uh, funny.

Link: The Which Spice Are You Test written by jodiesattva on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

Works for me!

Story

Fri, 29 Jun 2007 16:04:46 GMT

Police Chase Ends Behind My House... (ours is just to the right of the one in the picture, those are our neighbors).

That was an interesting day to come home. Roads closed off... I yelled for John when I got in, to make sure it wasn't him in it, heh. He said "What?" I said "There's police & stuff behind our house." So we both went to look and what's in the picture there is what we saw (but a little closer & from the opposite side =P). Ugly as it was, I'm surprised no one was killed.

Yikes.

Where I Live

Sat, 02 Jun 2007 22:49:05 GMT

A little while back, lyllian made the suggestion (or a friend of hers but I'm laying the credit at your feet, Miss) to show people where each of us lives. So many on LJ know each other only through teh intraweb! Some of us have known each other for years without knowing what their "home" looks like.

From my desk...

In my house... (yes, that's my Honda =P)

Welcome to the Historic Heart of Route 66 (called that because apparently we have more unaltered miles of it than anywhere else)

Just outside of town (yes, I took that through the windshield of my car... what am I? A professional?)

Where I work, right along Route 66... Ooooh:

The building itself. I'm on the 2nd floor... actually a little left of where it cuts off but it's not like you can see inside (and it's Saturday anyway!)

And finally, right across the street is a little tourist trap 50s diner (the food there is actually not bad at all):

So, there you have it. Kingman, AZ. Historic Heart of Route 66 (I had to say it again. It's plastered all over the place here and we're brainwashed with it...)

A Tour of Chernobyl

Fri, 18 May 2007 16:35:55 GMT

It's eerie as hell, the "ghost town" is very aptly named. What are you waiting for? Grab your radiation detection devices and head on over...

Creepy Story

Wed, 09 May 2007 19:13:33 GMT

I don't know if this is a true story or not. It's from the Penny Arcade boards, a friend (Wych) sent it to me. Now, I have to go & see if the guy claims it's true, lol. Either way, it makes my hair stand on end. There's another to follow later (I haven't read it yet *grin*).

~Warning (mostly to Mom), there's strong language within.~
********************

I remember this thread's predecessor. I told the story about the house where the woman used to lure people in saying she was part of the Underground Railroad, and then murder/torture/sell the slaves back into slavery.

It had the dog and the ghost getting into a bit of a ruckus.

Anyway, on that note, anyone remember the Blair Witch Project? Anyone who grew up around that area knows that the woods are just like that shit, with a house coming out of nowhere.

I used to go for hikes through the woods with an old Army map, a knife, and my dog. He used to go for rabbits, catch them, and bring them back to me alive and kicking, like he didn't know what to do with this fuzzy twitching thing in my mouth. Occasionaly I'd come across him eating one though, but that's neither here nor there. Foxes had a thing for him as well, and we'd always see one up on a ridge or on some rocks, watching us walk past.

It was following a "trail, unimproved" that I came across this house. It wasn't very surprising at this point to see a house abandoned in the middle of nowhere. The explanation given was that farms would go bust, no one would tend the fields, and the trees would reclaim the plowed fields. Fair enough.

It was the middle of Autumn, so the trees were in a good lather, falling leaves and everything looking decidedly poetic. I didn't really notice anything until my dog jerked my arm, not because of him running off but because he had froze. He had looked like this a few times before, when someone was trying to break into the house and whenever he saw another male dog who tried to bump chests with him. On point, looking huge and ruffled, which is saying something when he's a rotty/chow mix. I thought maybe he got a hint of coyotes, and then I saw the house.

What paint it had once faded off ages ago, leaving warped grey side boards. It was a two story farm house, and someone had obviously wanted to keep something inside. With some resistance at first, I moved closer. How do I know the above? Mainly because the wood 2X4s were nailed on the outside of the windows and doors. Okay, I thought, they couldn't do it on the inside, because then they would lock themselves in, right?

But why would they do it period?

Something else got my attention. There was a walk around porch roof, and going around back I could see where in one second story window all the boards had been blown out, shattered, along with some of the house itself. While the 2X4s were good and rotted, I could still see where someone had carved something into them, or perhaps clawed at them? I don't know. I do know, like the protagonist in an HP Lovecraft story, I should have probably at this point ran for the woodline, or at least until I had a can of gasoline. Especially after the events in Seaford.

But I was young, and impetous, and taking matters into my own hands, I went around to the front door again. With a running start, I threw myself through the front door, and into a fucking nightmare.

The wooden walls were covered with streaks of brown in impressions in the whitewashed wood, which I know realise was blood from fingers being scratched down to the quick. And perhaps white washed is too strong a term. There was white, but someone had taken time to write hex marks in line after line around the house. I could see what I thought was huge spider laying almost out of my line of sight in a doorway. I realised that it was a hand as my brain put things together. Baxter, the dog, had entered with me, growling low in this throat, coming up to my side and never taking more steps than I did. He did not like the hand, and bared his teeth at it in a way more akin to wolves, with that sudden sharp two tone snarl they do.

The hex lines, basically pentacles about every foot interspersed with crosses, ran into what I want to call the kitchen, with empty cabinets and an old iron stove. Needless to say, a thick curtain of dust covered everything, but there were places were there were less dust. Squatting, I made out footprints, bare human footprints, and ran a finger along the middle of one. Somewhere in the house, something thumped, and there was a giggle. More like in the back of my mind, but Baxter lurched as if he heard it too. I didn't like where this was going, but I continued on, my heart beating in my chest.

Perhaps I imagined the next rattle, coming from behind me, but I don't think I did. Investigating, I saw that the hand had slid several feet down the wall, further into the room. I could see the dust trails where it had moved, and shook my head. Something was fucking with me, but again, I was too headstrong, too reckless. I also thought my being a paratrooper, and under the auspice of St. Michael had something to do with it - if he could face the down devil, I could explore the domain of some half ass ghost, couldn't I?

Perhaps! But when a finger fucking twitched, it did not sit well in my stomach. And when I heard, much like I had before, the sound of something beating around upstairs, Baxter getting more and more anxious by the second, I decided to leave. I grabbed my fear by the throat, and walked from the house, through the threshold.

I don't know if my walking pissed it off or my running only inflamed it further, but when I heard the sound of footsteps coming, I took off for the woodline and the open fields, thinking for some reason it represented safety. Baxter ran beside me, ears back and in a flat out sprint. The wind kicked up behind me and I could smell the rot in the air. The smell of open sewage on a hot day, of a corpse putrefying and wet. The bile rose at the back of my throat and I spit, dodging through trees and leaping over more than one rock. It was riding the wind though, it's footsteps only taunting to heighten the thrill of the chase. How can you outrun the wind?

You can't. So I turned, ripped the medal from my neck, and shoved it into the wind. I don't remember what I yelled, to be honest. I suspect it was a cry to St. Michael with all of my faith, because there was a white explosion in my head, and my vision was filled with light. The only equivalent I have is when I got caught too close to a flashbang, with the noise slowly filtering back in with my vision.

Again, the smell of roses and gunpowder on the wind, and something else. You could smell fire on the wind, like your clothes might smell after standing too close to a bonfire. I heard steps again in the leaves, but it was only my dog, looking around curiously, licking the air. After a moment he looked off into the distance, wagged his tail, and then began to turn back. I followed him, looking where he had stared so intently. I saw nothing, but there was a cool breeze suddenly from that direction, and the smells, so apart but seeming so right, were stronger for a second, and then faded out. I walked with my dog out of whatever horror I had wandered into for a second.

When I got back home, my mother asked me what girl I had been with. She said she could smell me from there, and while I smelled good, I smelled STRONG. She didn't believe I wasn't with a girl, and only said "You don't have to lie, but we can pretend if you're embarassed to tell your mother. Just ask your "friend" what perfume she uses, because I'd like a bottle."

A deployment later, I returned to the house with the can of gasoline, the dog, and some handwritten prayers. What I found when the house burned to the ground is another story altogether.

A little over a year later had me driving down the "trail, unimproved" in a jeep, three five gallon jugs of gas in the backseat, a sheet of handwritten prayers tucked into my pocket, and the dog curled up in the backseat. I had left with this, I told my mother the area where I was going to hike, and took off. These were what I hoped, enough to finish what I had started.

I kept the events of that place to myself, knowing that I had experienced what some might call "a minor miracle" in my faith. I had told the story when I was younger about the first ghost to some people when it came to telling "Oh man this one time..." stories, much like this thread. Things would always get quiet shortly afterwards, and someone would eventually go "That's fucked up" softly, and that was that. Still, I knew the house was there, and unlike in the first case, I didn't know that I had broken whatever presence haunted that house for good.

I arrived at noon, with the first whispers of an early summer thunderstorm starting to show on the horizon. If this fire got out of hand, I hoped to let nature deal with it, and hauled the three cans out of the jeep, along with a coil of rope, and a shovel. I had my knife in the small of my back, and hefting three cans awkwardly, I walked towards the house, ignoring the sudden sinking feeling in my stomach.

Where there had once been a good wind moving through the woodline had died when I began walking towards the house with my goods. Baxter's tail was stiff, and his hair was on end again. Everything was literally silent. No birds flew, no trees moved. It felt like high noon at Dodge City, and to ease the tension I blew the first few notes of that song you hear in every spaghetti western.

Apparently, I hadn't broken shit. Just driven it away from me in a desperate moment, and I couldn't be sure when it might come back. Indeed, as I set the cans down, one of the 2X4s in the second story windows chose that time to pop out, making an empty thunk as it hit the top of the awning. Baxter barked once, and I loosened the St. Mike's medal from inside my shirt, wearing it openly and spreading the contents of the first can around the outside of the house.

The complete lack of anything serious happening was more frightening, I think, than if it had appeared gibbering and screaming around the corner of the house. I took a note from Ghostbusters, of all things, and tried my damndest not to think about what the hell it could do. When my foot got caught on a root, I let out a scream, thinking that it was coming out of the ground for me. My heart was beating as loudly in my chest as the first time I jumped out of a plane, and I was glad when the first can was completely empty.

The second can and third can were meant for the inside of the house, and while it was high noon, the light inside seemed less substantial, and the door yawned like a mouth, inviting me inside. Calling the dog to my heels, I marched in, and immediately spread the gas as fast as I could. With my first step a hard stiff wind blew from the direction of the storm front, and the entire house groaned in protest. The hand I had seen the first time had not moved at all, from where I remembered it, but all the same I avoided it. As I went into the kitchen, I took a moment to look around, and noticed on the counter there were fresh footprints on the dust, about infant sized. They dissapeared thanfully under the onslaught of gas, and I had used up over half of the first can when I saw the entryway into the parlor.

Draped over the windows were large white sheets, each painted with a single pentacle. A hex mark, in other words, designed to keep something in. The darkness was more complete in there, and my bravado failed me when I tried to take the first step in, pouring the gas from the safety of the threshold and letting it leak into the room. Something thumped upstairs, and I felt I didn't have much more time before events went quickly out of hand again. I went back to the center of the kitchen, grabbed the last can, and started spreading that on the hallway walls that led to the upstairs. I was not going up there, I decided, but I didn't count on the small trapdoor in the pantry, leading to what might have been a root cellar.

Flicking my lighter, I could see that it was covered with steel banded wood, holding down the rusting door. There was no need for a lock, as the boards over the door were bolted into cement around the trapdoor. Nothing was getting out of that. All the same, when I flicked my lighter shut and continued on my crusade something wailed in the dark place under this house, that made my dog howl in response and me drop the gas, spilling it over my boots and jeans. Something down there made the house shake, sending loose chunks of ceiling down on me. It was time to leave.

I drove my knife though the jug, and tossed it down the hallway, ignoring the persistant thump thump upstairs, like a heart, and ran until I was clear of the pooling gas. Running my lighter along the wall, the gas began to spread, running in blue flames both directions. I was careful to keep the flame away from me, and ran for the door.

The inside of the house had shielded us from the wind that waited for us outside. The storm had snuck up on us and I was almost thrown back by the wind. Reaching down I picked up the dog, threw him over my shoulder, and walked towards the car, taking shelter behind what trees I could. I turned back towards the house, and the fire was starting to take, licking against the dried and rotted wood. I stood there in the wind that bent the trees almost sideways, and watched as one tongue of flame sent a blue ring around the house.

Then the smell, the rot and the decay of last time, with something slamming around in the doorway, highlighted by the flames. I felt my fear drain away at that moment, all the anxiety that had been building was gone replaced by a sudden anger. At what, I don't know. Maybe at whatever had caused this to happen, but regardless, Baxter was put on the ground and I drew my knife and took a step forward. I was literally seeing red, going into the berzerker drive that had won me so many fights before.

"I'm right here motherfucker! I'm not going anywhere!" I screamed over the wind, as if this was just another shit talking dude. The ridiculousness of it all still strikes me today, a guy yelling at the air, brandishing a knife like a retard at something only he can see. Baxter came up next to me, growling low in his throat, eyes deep set in his massive head.

I wonder why it didn't charge me. Was I just taking out my rage and frustration on the unknown that surrounded this place on a figment of my own mind? Or was it there, and it was just unused to simple human courage, drawing a line in the dirt and saying "Here, and no further". Whatever the reason, it stopped thrashing, and the outline of flames surrounding it dissapeared.

The red faded from my vision shortly after the first story ceiling caved in, and I walked backwards the entire time, never taking my eyes from the house. I went to the jeep, got in the with the dog, and we had dinner at subway.

Roast beef with bacon, for both of us, on that cheese bread. It started to rain when we arrived at the Subway, and kept on after we had returned to the smoking embers of the house. I had made a stop on the way back to pick up a flashlight and a crow bar, and with that and the shovel, I shifted the ashes, not finding anything of interest until I got near the trapdoor. Baxter dug it out, a caved in skull that was partially destroyed by the fire, but huge and mishapen. The skull was too large, the eye sockets uneven. I ran a finger around the nose hole and wondered again what had happened here?. After several minutes of work with the pick and crowbar, I had a sort of answer. The faintest smell of corpses rose up to meet me, like a soda can in winter that a mouse died in during the spring.

There was a skeleton down there, and from the wider set of the hips I assumed it was a woman, with both of her femurs smashed. Several skeletons surrounded her, small infant skeletons. Making several knots in the rope, I tied off the rope to a sturdy looking tree nearby. If worst came to worst I could always chimney my way up, as it was only a ten foot drop. Either way, I had made sure that someone knew where I was if the shit met the fan.

I crawled down, looking at the skeleton surrounded by three infants with odd skulls and other deformities. I was surrounded by great despair, and shook my head at the waste of it all before carefully shouldering the skeleton and making the climb up with it. My internal revulsion was offset by a need to do the right thing here. So it took me several trips to collect all the bones, longer than it took me to dig the actual graves in the rain soft dirt. I piled stones over each, five graves. One for the mother and her four children, I think, and pulled out my sheet of prayers. I prayed to God, to Saint Michael, and I folded it up and offered my own blessings. Baxter sat quietly and watched throughout it all, and when I was done, he howled low and long.

I walked from that place filthy and covered in soot and dirt, and my nose was filled with the smell of fire. There was no scent of roses, no smell of gunpowder freshly burnt, but there was a smell of things growing underneath it all that hadn't been present before. That, I think, was all the sign I needed to know we had done the right thing.

I got in the jeep, and we drove away. I have never taken the supernatural for granted since.

Stolen from popelaksmi

Fri, 27 Apr 2007 17:59:15 GMT

How can I be both assertive & passive? Oh, well. Looking forward to the movie, anyway =D

(edit: for those not familiar with the books. A person's Daemon is like their soul worn on the outside. It takes the form of whatever animal is most fitting to your characteristics. Though, until a person hits puberty they do not settle into just one form. Regardless of age, they cannot get more than a couple feet from their person.

Really cool & original books. I only kinda faltered in the 3rd one as it did get a bit... dragging. The first two are rockin' though. The third is only 'good' IMO *grin* Though I did like the ending)

Just FYI

Mon, 12 Mar 2007 22:31:56 GMT

After the Spring-forward time change (You guys did that this weekend, right? it came early?) John & I are on PST.

That's all!

Heroic archtype

Thu, 08 Mar 2007 14:07:32 GMT

Ganked from mnoffki

What Fantasy Archetype Are you?
The Unlikely Hero You are the Unlikely Hero! Others like you are Frodo (Lord of The Rings), Young Aurthur (arthurian Legend), Luke Skywalker (Star Wars), Peter/Susan/Edmund/Lucy (Narnia), Richard Mayhew (Neverwhere), Harry Potter (Harry Potter) and Richard Cypher (Wizard's first Rule). You were happy to just live out your life as a peaceful schoolboy/farmer/wood's guide. But alas, greatness was thrust upon you. Don't let the hordes of The Totally Wicked Villain get you down, you have your Seasoned Veteran Friend to protect you and you almost always end up with the Pillar-of-Strength Love interest. Heed you Mentor well and keep your chin up, hero! You are simple, humble and kind but possess great potential for truly inspirational heroism, bravery and strength in dark times.
Take The Quiz Now!	Quizzes by myYearbook.com

And hey Mom! I got the book yesterday! Thanks.

Jessica's voice

Sat, 17 Feb 2007 22:07:03 GMT

Just thought I'd put in the link to a girl I know from Twinked (Joga, to those of you who hang out there). She's an incredible singer, I love her voice... hasn't made it big yet but I think she just might some day. Here's her myspace music site. Songs should start playing on their own (yes, that's her singing) when you click over. I'll add her as a link on here... much good it'll do for all the bazillions of people who come here but... ;-)

Because I'm too lazy to write anything...

Wed, 14 Feb 2007 15:26:22 GMT

Happy Valentine's, folks!

And I said it twice!

Sat, 10 Feb 2007 14:40:36 GMT

Things I never thought I'd say in my house, #8 - "Don't bayonet the cat."

(he wasn't really going to, lol, I hope you know that. He does have an old WW2 Russian rifle with a bayonet, though. Like the one at the beginning of Enemy At the Gates)

Just a random comic

Wed, 07 Feb 2007 06:21:40 GMT

Just using the new link I put on the left there for the Calvin & Hobbes seach engine. I'll do new ones every now and then. At least, until it ceases to amuse me =P

Okies. Nighty-night peeps. Busy freakin day today, probably another tomorrow. Updating or creatively writing bull-crap about my boring-ass life is usually the furthest thing from my mind when I get home from work (and while I'm at work there's too many interuptions, etc). Random, quick amusement is about the most I can do. Don't know why I can write such fantasy junk & not do so well with my own life. Maybe it's the aforementioned boringness. Or that I live more in that other world than this one, lol.

Anyway, nighters!

Teh Car

Thu, 25 Jan 2007 17:18:55 GMT

So, I bought a new car. Well, it's new to me, dammit! Nothing special, just a 2001 Honda Civic. Silver. Damn, I hate dealing with the dealers. At least we'd taken John's dad with us. He used to be a used car salesman, so he knows his stuff and he doesn't mind doing a lot of the talking. I mean, all the money issues were my deal, of course, what I could afford, etc. But he looked over the car (he & John both, they're both gear-head guys, lol) and did determine it was an honest deal.

Anyway, that's that. Maybe I'll post a picture later... though like I said, it's nothing special. You see 'em every day ;-)

Busy

Wed, 24 Jan 2007 16:36:24 GMT

Bought me a new (used) car yesterday. More on that later, once all the financing & junk works out (I'm shopping around for a better loan than what the car dealers will give me).

Almost done with book 11 of the Wheel of Time. And let me tell ya, if you were disappointed in the lack of time passing, etc, with book 10, you'll be relieved that this one (the 2nd to last) more than makes up for it. It's been fabulous so far. Much is being resolved and being 'set up' for Tarmon Gai'don (the 'last battle') for the next & final one. I've found myself very much sucked in and laughing and crying every other chapter (at least). I'm going to go nuts waiting for the next one. I do have other things to read in between... I hope it's enough!

Also, finished watching the Band of Brothers series with John. It was fabulous. Much better, in a way, than Private Ryan, because it takes place over so much more time. It covers more of the war, you get to know the guys better and cry when they die or otherwise get sent home. At the start of each segment, they did these 'interviews' with the old men who were played by the actors. That was really cool to see. It was very 'real'... there was good and bad, brave and ugly. I loved it, though a few of the episodes were extremely draining to see. Like the 2nd to last one where they find the concentration camp. My mind just cannot comprehend that level of hatred.

Next we'll be watching all of season one of Monk. I've fallen in love with that show...

Ok. Must get back to work. Bye, now!

I think I'm gonna get me one of these =P

Fri, 19 Jan 2007 21:53:26 GMT

http://www.despair.com/pessimistsmug.html

Tue, 16 Jan 2007 04:36:59 GMT

We just got back from seeing Night At the Museum. I highly recommend it. It was so much fun!

Ok, that's all.