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FriendEndr
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Name: Murty
Country: United States
State: Washington
Metro: Federal Way
Birthday: 1/1/1984
Gender: Male
Interests: Music, Poking, Magic tricks, Video Games, My friends, School, All that is humorous, Poetry, Photography, Songs, Card Games, procrastination, movies, etc...
Expertise: Memorization, Gaming, Poking, Stories, Learning stuff, Songs, Photography, Grammar (unfortunately), being an idiot and getting away with it...
Occupation: Workin for a living.
Industry: Fast Food, biotches!
Message: message me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  FriendEndr
Member Since:
6/28/2004
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| Faces...Soooo many of these new xanga profile face things everywhere.
Why?
What happened to individuality, neh?
Is this a way of "fighting teh uverwelming power of Myspizzle"?
Don't see how it's supposed to make things any better around here >_>
Blahhhhhhh, work is... entertaining.
I should rant about it.... but later, after my shower... and subsequent sensory-based coma.
Taaa~
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| Okay, the gig's up:Someone from Germany is going through all my old posts.
A lot.
*twitch*
o.O
I command that ye show yourself, knave!
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| But First, A Word From Our Sponsors!I really, really like chocolate milk.
A loooooot.
It's just an amazing drink.
The concept of it is relatively disgusting, but, then again, it's just a fact of life, right?
And then you add the chocolate feelings and all the predisposition against it fades completely.
And it's readily available all the time.
Just call to have it delivered, or go out in the car, and you can pick it up; easy process.
[I couldn't sleep last night because I kept hearing the horrid beeping from the fry cookers amidst the soothing music.]
Get home, open cap with one hand, toss into bin immediately and pour with the same hand, keeping the glass (almost always a large one for me) firmly positioned beneath the flow of the refreshing liquid.
Thump!
I just put the jug down and screwed the cap on in a nonshelant fashion. It's pretty simple.
Chuck the bin back in the 'fridge and get yourself headed towards the cabinet for the chocolate powder.
The Nesquik! variety.
Grab a spoon from the drawer on the right with one hand while pulling out the Quik tube of yummy. Close the drawer with a knee and kick the cabinet closed while walking towards the glass of milk, now frosted lightly with the persperation that clearly indicates freshness.
[The single-serve milk jugs at work look like deformed, mutated, sad little things.]
Clunk the chocolate canister down and pull off the tab.
Pull away the foil seal, hopefully with one swift motion, but for me it usually takes a little correcting to get all the foil away.
Savor the wonderful scent of a newly opened canister, and then quickly shovel 2 or 2-and-a-half spoonfuls of the fluffy brown stuff into your milk and stir loudly, then enjoy!
[I stopped getting grease burns, but then they made me get my hands all soft and pruny in rubber gloves preparing the burgers and getting sweaty, and then made me go back to the stoves, vulnerable and sensitive to the heat.]
Put away the canister, and then continue to guzzle at the wonderful refreshment. If your concoction is too chocolatey and sweet, merely take a few gulps and refill the glass part-way with milk. The pouring action itself should be sufficient mixing.
The problem for me is always remembering how much powder made me feel sick last time around.
Even though I usually take several glasses of chocolate milk a day.
Lately, though, we've been stocking up.
We just got the milk delivery today and I have left the kitchen without finishing off another gallon we picked up on the weekend.
It's bountiful, and I want it, yet something keeps me from enjoying my favorite drink.
It's cold, it's frothing, it's wonderful, it's sweet.
It's even mine for the taking.
Why am I so far behind?
[Maybe it's all those damn soft-drinks I consume at work... they are free, after all.]
Jesus, I keep looking over my shoulder these days...
[I keep getting mixed signals. Do that. No, don't do that! Give me 3 of these. No, I said 4 of those. Keep it up, would you? Oi, Speedy Gonzales!]
I haven't asked myself how I am in a good long while.
I'm afraid of the answer.
There's too many variables at this point.
That's how it is when you're easily amused,
but its hard to hold your attention.
[I changed my vlog name to Mr. Feather. That kid knows a lot more than just how to speak english.]
I feel so old.
When everyone looks at me and sees a little kid.
Maybe they'd see it if I drank more milk.
But I'm afraid of exploding from all that liquid.
And I keep tricking myself into believing what I say/think/accomplish/play is deep/fascinating/noteworthy/beautiful.
When really my opinion is nothing.
My thoughts are unoriginal.
Everyone has done better than I have.
Unexperienced children make more beauty.
[No, Janet, still not fishing for compliments xD]
I want to drink from the golden cup.
But I don't want to work until my hands are good enough to polish it.
Sometimes I wish that I were born when there weren't so many distractions.
And then I think about how much more depressed I'd be if I ever became focused.
[Why is this so goddamn whiny?]
I don't even remember where the second biggest scar on my body came from.
Maybe it's blocked out.
Maybe it's just because I can't remember anything anymore.
And why is that?
Have I lost interest? No...
We sang that night... and I remembered the words just as they came...
And it was one beautiful thing we made.
With more to come, I hope.
Till then, I got milk in the fridge. | | |
| Double-entendreHeh... so for some inexplicable reason, every facet of my life can be summed up by different metaphorical interpretations of this song... it's kind of scary actually:
Rise Against: Swing Life Away
Am I loud and clear or am I breaking up?
Am I still your charm or am I just bad luck?
Are we getting closer, are we just getting more lost?
I'll show you mine if you show me yours first
Let's compare scars I'll tell you whose is worse
Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words
We live on front porches and swing life away
We get by just fine here on minimum wage
If love is a labor I'll slave 'til the end
I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand
I've been here so long; think that its time to move
The winter's so cold summer's over too soon
so let's pack our bags and settle down where palm trees grow
I've got some friends, some that I hardly know
But we've had some times I wouldn't trade for the world
We chase these days down with talks of the places that we will go
We live on front porches and swing life away
We get by just fine here on minimum wage
If love is a labor I'll slave 'til the end
I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand, until you hold my hand
I'll show you mine if you show me yours first
Let's compare scars I'll tell you whose is worse
Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words
We live on front porches and swing life away
We get by just fine here on minimum wage
If love is a labor I'll slave 'til the end
I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand
Am I loud and clear or am I breaking up?
Am I still your charm or am I just bad luck?
Are we getting closer, are we just getting more lost?
I'll show you mine if you show me yours first
Let's compare scars I'll tell you whose is worse
Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words
We live on front porches and swing life away
We get by just fine here on minimum wage
If love is a labor I'll slave 'til the end
I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand
Swing life away.
Swing life away,
swing life away...
swing life away.......
In other news...
aside from above...
Today was FANTASTIC.
Seriously... days like this never happen.
Got my license at the DOL today, wooo! Didn't fail anything but came close on a couple sections, ehhhh w/e the instructor was nice and jovial about it, and even though the fucktards couldn't spell my middle name right on my license even though it was written on my permit perfectly fine, and demanded that I get a birth certificate to prove the original spelling, everything went relatively smoothly... and I was running late for Wendo's thingy but got there in time (AHAHAHA after nearly killing some poor pedestrian on the sidewalk while trying to turn into traffic that was too close and swerving like a mofo and barely making it out alive, annnd then also almost hitting something else flipping a bitch on 320th while talking on the phone for directions and blasting 90's rock at people, WHOO i can see the bad habits forming already xD) for a few hours of pleasant fun, met some REALLY cute friends of hers that I'd never been acquainted with, they left with smiles and hugs (and one hand-shake, ahahaha) after we all humiliated eachother (writing my name with my butt, xDDD those damn asians) and other craziness. Afterwards, met up w/ a buddy and hung out briefly, gulped down spaghetti, and went to an interview at the Wendy's restraunt which went great. *phew*
Thennnn got to joy-ride the old car down a really long, straight road blasting My Name Is Jonas and rocking out, (actually i was taking it to Jerry's Little Car Shop to get it's left CV Joint repaired and probably the rear-drive fixed... but hey, it was fun).
Overall, great day. *sigh*
And Ji euuuun, I'm loving the stuff!!!!
Gahhhh, ftw, ~~~<3333333333
(m-flo is soooo ftw XDDD) | | |
| Fourth Law, Ch1 Part 1[Just to see if this will go anywhere... questions/comments?]
Welcome to Cingulate High-speed Telepacomm Networking Service
How may we be of service today?
Please choose a voice-pattern that is most pleasing with the touch-pad....
'Silvia' voice pattern chosen... hehe!
If you wish to enter the network, first log into your account.
...
Username: Apotheosis
Password: deicide
Attempting Login...
...
...
Login Failed!
Cannot administer connection via telepecomm.
Please check your mental interface and try again.
Attempting Re-login...
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...
Login Failed!
Cannot ad...
Owen Amilius Zephyr walked away, frustrated once again, filled with abject resentment for all things Telepacomm. It was a blue-sky day in the dome, and the streets were full of young men and their Companions, strolling carelessly through the park. A few had alighted upon the open-service terminals merely to Stream together. There they would stand, transfixed, their eyes no longer seeing what's real, only what their mental ether would take them towards. Some shuddered silently with ecstacy as they perused the telepecomm Mature network, others fidgeted slightly at the agitation of losing a game on the Network. The look of these people was something akin to what the text-books said about "stoners" in the early 80's, though it remained so-far-unproven that it was unhealthy to Stream for prolongued amounts of time.... It was just annoying to those who needed to use the TN for business or actual communication.
Owen trudged silently through what seemed a gravel embankment. It was hard to tell what wasn't synthesized these days. All the major manufacturers were working towards making the distinction nigh-unreadable. "Ah," he thought, "There's a little data-stream under the rocks... guess they are fake." He stopped kicking the dirt, and glanced domewards. Little holographic birds flitted from building to building, chirping happily at passers-by and hovering about the vendors who paid extra TN services.
Owen found the edge of the sphere and pressed his darkened cheeks up against the buckeysheet; he was hoping to see the real sun today. It seemed to be setting, now. Long, vibrant arms of maroon stretched across the clouds, curling, twisting about the stratosphere. It stilled Owen's breath; he paused to wipe a foggy imprint of his face from the glass-like substance with a forearm, then pressed himself against it once more. He could see the fiery ball itself, now, it had a slightly indigo hue in this atmosphere, boiling away into the destitute, ashen cold of space. The rains were just beginning, as well. Long sheets of indiscriminate color fell to the earth's crust in patches, and the sullen boy counted the solitary clouds for a while. Amidst the border of the Dome were little settlements of the lower caste, playing in the rain or hiding inside and reading. How he longed to return to his house outside.
He remembered the real grassy knolls, the real birds that dropped feathers on your roof as a sign of good luck. He remembered walking home from school every day, treading as near the roadway as he could, feeling the slipstream of passing vehicles, passing lives. He remembered watching the leaves on the trees change color and stepping over the dying bees and listening to reports of freak weather conditions as he walked through patches of ice, then sun, then sleet, then gusting flurries of carbon-laced air. He remembered the sickly-sweet scent of the Ether mines he passed just south of Hood, the town he and other social rejects quite happily occupied.
And yet, his family had somehow scraped together enough money to move into the Dome, the big city. His father had a prestigious job and expected similar of his son in the coming years. At first, Owen was glad to be rid of the stench of exhaust, tired of the necessary but cumbersome need to wear Camoshift to keep himself dry, yet cool, yet warm, yet protected from the elements. There were many a day he wore a simple jacket instead and been yelled at later for it. He looked down at his waist and tugged at the cream-colored Camoshift he wore now, it had a rough texture and weighed on him heavily. He wore it now only in remembrance of what he called "The Age of Light" secretly. Today was "The Age of Grey" to him. | | |
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