Novels in 4 Lines or Less
Some I found, some I made myself (*)
Taming of the Shrew:
- Shrew: No man can tame me.
- Man: Shut up, bitch.
- Shrew: Yes, sir.
*Twilight:
- Edward: Hi, I’m a vampire.
- Bella: *drools*
- Edward: You’re mine forever.
Pride and Prejudice:
- Darcy: I can’t help but to notice the circumstances of your birth, subsequent upbringing by your vile mother, eccentric father, and whorish younger sister make you inferior to me.
- Elizabeth: Whatever. I like Mr. Wickham, the man you loathe and despise above all others better anyway.
- Darcy: What the deuce? I must have you!
*Lord of the Rings Trilogy:
- Frodo: (Fellowship) We leave with the ring.
- Frodo: (Two Towers) We carry the ring.
- Frodo: (Return) We destroy the ring.
*Wuthering Heights:
- Heathcliff: I can’t live without Catherine!
- Catherine: I can’t live without Heathcliff!
- Catherine: *dies*
- Heathcliff: *dies*
The Bible:
- Let there be light!
- Let there be Jews!
- Kill the Jew!
*Harry Potter:
- Harry: I have a scar on my forehead. Ah, it burns!
- 20 years later
- Harry: Oh, it doesn’t hurt anymore.
Sassy Gay Friend
Every woman needs this kind of gay in a time of depression. HOLLA!
Anyone Else Like This?
I think I’m absolutely foul.
And decrepit – though I am misusing this word completely. Iggy and I have made it an extra definition, just for us to use.
Do you ever find yourself in a classy establishment, but you’re wearing sheisty ass yoga pants, a pair of slip-on Ugg-looking things, a nice sweater, and a Hanes shirt underneath? Oh, did I mention that you wouldn’t be wearing a bra?
I did this today. But, I do have a reason for it. My mom ushered me to some Zagat rated restaurant after hot yoga, and I swear, I was having heart palpitations after it. I had to peel off the wet, sticky attire and throw on something fresh and dry. I hopped out of the house looking like a hobo searching for the infamous cardboard box.
Do you guys do this? Ever dressed like an embarrassing bag lady when you’re lazy and just ride or die it out in public, while giving dirty ass looks to the bitches who think you’re being inappropriate?
Now that I think about it – I do this all the time.
I only dress up for my favorite people 
Hello, Inspiration
Things are going well for me right now.
University has been passing by, sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly, but I’ve been quite the studious little bee when it comes to reading, writing responses, and keep up with the current news. I’m trying to higher the GPA, so let’s hope all this hard work pays off in the end.
Aside from the world of college, things here at home have been good as well. Though there have been the trivial little nonsenses that include, but are not limited to, my brother being a bit foul when it comes to cleanliness, my sister’s constant whining and laughing at inappropriate things, my mother being quite the hot mess with her Benetton midriff shirt and purple leggings. But, then again, this is my family, and without the chaotic incidents and ridiculous arguments, they would not be nearly as entertaining as they are now.
But, as far as the title of this post goes, there have been bouts of inspiration – bouts that have popped up inconspicuously in the caverns of my mind, that, I must say, I find rather exciting. To be given a seedling of creativity is to be given the chance to grow a large tree of innovation.
The inspiration has contributed to my novel (which is going swimmingly, though too many distractions have hindered me from writing as much as I want to). There have been notions of terrifying elements, mythical lands, and powerful creatures. I never thought I’d have so much imagination fueled into one book series, but alas, it’s hard to exclude one preposterous thing when I’ve already got three.
I recently joined a gorgeous friend of mine in a hot yoga excursion and found the class to be the most liberating and relaxing experience I’ve ever had. If you’ve never tried it, please research hot vinyasa yoga. You won’t regret it. Mind you, it’s a bit difficult, but if you keep through, the result is benefiting. I’ve been sore for the past few days, and since I’ve started cardio kickboxing, I’ve only become sorer.
And in this, inspiration has come into as well. I’ve never felt so happy to be surrounded by supportive people who urge me to be healthy and demonstrate healthy habits. I have never been more grateful to my friends who have encouraged me to be, not necessarily better than I am, but to improve upon myself. It’s refreshing.
I never thought it’d come to this. After such a strange beginning of the year – cutting all communication with my father, my self-worth lowering inch by inch, arguments with the brother, and losing a friend who I assumed was a vital part of my life – I thought I would never be able to feel so good about myself.
How odd it seems that this “toxic” person has realized how happy she can become. Maybe it was I who was to lose all unhealthy connections and regain a strength to persevere without hesitation.
Though I am not bitter, I have learned. And I can’t regret what happened in the past, however sad or depressing. I am thankful for its results and I will bask in this glory as long as I can.
Oh, did I also mention that inspiration to travel abroad has be reignited again? Yes. I’m still contemplating where to visit, but I think Europe is the end result. There’s no beating a hand-rolled joint in a sketchy cafe in Amsterdam, right?
Love.
Polyvore Fiction: Crime Edition
She waited for him; and although she hated waiting, especially for a man she hardly knew, there was a voice somewhere deep in her mind that told her to stand there, underneath the hot sun, and wait.
He was somewhat of a philanthropist and that was what pulled her in at first. He preached aid to countries who couldn’t better themselves and donated countless millions to charities all over the world. He held seminars in Washington and performed volunteer activities in India. Vicky was already sucked in – as much as she detested to admit it.
Maybe it was the depth of his pocket or the look of pure wealth in his appearance, but the prospect of money didn’t go unnoticed. She adjusted the gold watch – a token of love from a businessman from California named Brandon Wicker – and continued to check the time. Who knew the rich were always so fashionably late? If he didn’t appear as expected, she would have to abandon her plans and go straight to her meeting with her lawyer. Vicky needed to sort a few things out with a previous ex-boyfriend who claimed that she had stolen thousands in jewelry, when, in fact, it was he who willingly gave her the gifts after each sex act she performed.
Oh, how she itched to be in her heels. She opted for flats in order to get from class to class on the huge campus of her college. Why she began to take college classes at such a crucial time in her career? She had no idea. It was probably due to the excess cash she stored in her off-shore account that needed to disappear.
Irritated, she groaned loudly and decided to give up, that was, until, her target came strolling out of University Hall with his assistant in tow.
Vicky took a deep breath and practiced her sweet, sultry smile. She would be Miranda Jasper – an innocent Southern girl that decided to move to Seattle for the sole purpose of learning.
Oh, yes, Vicky thought, this would be quite the conquest.
Her name was Amy Donovan. She had wild, red hair and soft pink lips. Her laugh was just as light as her looks. She had one of those cute, button noses that would make men keel over in excitement. She had the ability to be child-like and lady-like – all in one damn sitting. She wore devastatingly ugly shoes and had no sense of hygiene, which was definitely apparent in the disgusting state of her nails.
I loathed her – and everything she symbolized.
How ironic and quaint; that my husband would find an attraction within a girl that was barely eighteen. It was her youth, I realized, that had him so weak in the knees he could barely stand on.
When it comes to evidence, I had it all.
Photos, files, videos, fluids, DNA … you name it.
My husband told me I had a knack for being meticulous – who knew it would be his demise?
I followed them for months, trailing like an unknown demon behind a camera that I had specifically learned to use. The clicks became my companion and the silence of the dark streets my new home. How could I have resorted to being a secretive mouse – hidden beneath the shadows of resentment – while he strutted proudly through the streets as if he had won some sort of award?
And what was his prize, really? A young tart without a sense of direction or motivation? Some sullied hussy with a quick mouth and subservient manner?
As the days grew, my appetite for his downfall increased. I had prepared – in a surreptitious way that proved sufficient – and transferred countless funds into a separate account. I transferred the house into my name, convinced my children that a move to Europe was crucial, and began to slowly convince myself that divorce and money and custody would not be enough.
I disguised myself as the abhorrent Amy Donovan, set a date and time, and stood in the bathroom of the hotel room and stared at my reflection. I had grown old with age; it was evident. I was no longer the young and spirited girl that my husband had fallen in love with – but I certainly hadn’t turned into a cold and arrogant hag either. I was just as in love with him as the first day we met. And I showed it – oh, how I showed it – only to be treated with stoic responses and flippant retorts.
I will not be made a fool of. I will not become the pathetic ex-wife – jealous of his gorgeous girlfriends and demanding child support.
I will not let him turn me. I refuse to become bitter. I refuse to reminisce.
I heard the door open and I looked at myself one last time – such a sullen, heartbroken face painted with the colors of determination and indignation.
As he approached the bathroom door, calling his precious Amy, and laughing a self-righteous laugh, I gripped the very handle of the knife and took a deep breath.
She hustled college boys on 53rd and 6th. It was the prime spot – the area that most dealers would slice for. In and out came the students of NYU – doing some boring report on some old painting by some guy without an ear. She loved it. Shit, she reveled in it.
There she would stand- in the heat, in the cold – selling to cute, clueless boys in the Louboutins she earned. She was one of the infamous sellers – holding an entire candy shop in the pockets of her blazer. The one thing she was known for? Weed. And tons of it.
There was something peculiar about the way college kids felt about weed. Smoke a little dope and suddenly – everything and everyone was a party.
She didn’t use herself, per say, but man, did she love to sell. The feeling of crisp twenty dollars bills between her fingertips sent her racing into a fit of absolute content.
“Cherry!”
She turned and licked her lips. “Benson.”
“I need a nick.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Baby, I don’t sell less than an ounce.”
His eyes went wide. “A fucking ounce? Are you shitting me? Girl, I only need a nick.”
She smirked. “Then you’ll need to go somewhere else.”
He scoffed, in disbelief, and spun around, most likely down a block to Jimmy – some wannabe crack dealer who mixes his J with homemade herbs.
“Well, fuck you, too,” she muttered.
xoxo.
Get the Look: Casual Chic
Top | Leggings | Kicks | Scarf
Twenty years of adventures & a future welcoming more to come. I like to wear garish masks and terrorize people. Books are my passion and high heels are my indulgence. I'm pretty much the anti-chick. A string of curse words can easily flow through my mouth and I'm never that girl. But, I love loving people. And I never let my insanity get in the way of how I feel about someone. Would you like to know 
