Tsunaki36
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Name: Samantha, Sammi, Sam...
Country: United States
State: California
Metro: Bay Area
Birthday: 6/26/1988
Gender: Female


Interests: Amature photography and photoshop, good music (though I'm really open to almost everything), good movies, badmintion (cause I'm azian like that yo.), frisbee (cause I'm weird like that) and lastly, Life in General :D
Expertise: - Duct Tape Design - Picture Perfect Inc. (in conjunction with Photo Fabulous productions) - Eclectic Fashion Style - Pet Rock Adoptions - Internation Bird Services VIP - VCPOA President/ Spokesperson - Commie Comrade - Emoticon Innovator - Experienced Thrift Store Shopper - Cinnematographer in Training
Occupation: Artist
Industry: Other


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AIM: Tsunaki36
MSN: tsunaki36@hotmail.com


Member Since: 4/27/2003

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Thursday, December 14, 2006

And sarcasm is just a petty way of holding on to bitterness...

The pillows didn't feel right anymore. Though warm, soft and still smelling of dryer sheets, they just couldn't take away the bite of the cold morning air as it slipped in from the cracks in the weather stripping of a house much older than it's paint job or mortgage let on to. It's old and tired, tired of the life of a suburban house, a life of wars about shrubbery lines and christmas lights, drainage issues and broken fences. Before the old was cozy, was stayed, was something to fall back on; now all she could feel is the tired as each sleep filled night left her restless and drained the morning after.

Her hair was lighter than the fuzz from her sleeping sweatshirt that stuck to her arms where the folds of extra material had found a home the night before. Running fingers through the deep set shower part, it was as if she were trying to comb out the tangles of her old self, to get rid of the residue of old promises she never made but felt the sting of. Everyone slept in, but she could only lay. The pockmarked ceiling was her cloudy sky, and she searched for pictures or words in the bumps that might give her that final push to get out of bed. There's nothing more aggravating, however, than the low whirring hum of an old processor struggling to make it to the thirteen hour mark. This sound, worse than the hum of the television frequency, worse than the roar of radio static, even worse than the deafening scream of an awkward phone conversation silence, was what drove her from the closest thing to a sanctuary she had; a reminder that life demanded her presence.

Raindrops fell, had fallen, still fell, down upon her light hair, pulling on every follicle like thousands of needy children yearning for attention. She couldn't help but take great care in her showers, the heat enveloping her if for only a moment in a comforting cocoon of clean. Scrubbing away as the water rinsed clean: scrubbing away the mask of yesterday in preparation for today's new self, scrubbing away the words and faces of yesterday in preparation of the ones to come, rinsing them all away to be forgotten. Lather, rinse, repeat, day in, day out, sunrise, sunset. In the shower she was clean; in the shower she was herself, pure, untouched by the hands or thoughts of others. She was all she wanted to be.



But it had to end. That cold tile step back into reality, and it was time to return to the world outside the warm.



Saturday, December 09, 2006

Comming home again...

Time has come again for the Sam to return from the land of eternal sunshine, gentle sea breezes and bunnies romping freely on the streets. It's strange how after, only about two months, I've already:
  • forgotten how the concept of TV works
  • lost my ability to distinguish between barely acceptable to tasty food
  • cannot function under lights higher than candlelight level
  • grown a compulsive need to work out
  • feel like Irvine is home, and Hercules is a vacation
How many of you feel the same way? Maybe its just because I adapt to new environments differently than most (a fact repeatedly coming up). It's odd to admit.

So what I already miss about my second home?




A sun so warm, you can go around in sleeveless shirts and short skirts comfortably...




Christmas robots of doom... in November 0_o...




Random fun with random things at random times...




My desktop buddy (now I have my skunk that collects far too much dust)...




And...erm... ahem *cough*... yeah.



But then, do not take me wrong, it is not like I completely regret and loathe having been kicked out of my dorm for the holiday break. Both flights back to the Bay, my heart has gone a twitter at the lights of the Oakland landing strip and the realization that I've returned to:

  • late night Nation's adventures
  • numb toes from barefoot frisbee
  • Vivaldi and Dostoyevsky at 3am
  • pushing my Vibe to the limit
  • poetry and potheads bohemians on Wednesday nights
Yeah, its nice to know I did make roots here in only four short years.

Now its all about looking forward to:




Healthy food not bought in bulk...




The whole "equal opportunity" sentiment...




The timeless aspects of home...




The rich musical culture...




And YES, the land of cows (and by proxy, cow tipping).



Good times had, good times to come <3


Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Cyanide and
Happiness, a daily webcomic


Yeah, a throwback to the old days of yore <3


Thursday, November 23, 2006

It's good to be home.


Friday, November 17, 2006

How long has it been, since I really went back?


Not physically, for money and time don't permit, but mentally and spiritually?

I see the facebooks and myspaces of friends (maybe friends past now,) and see how they stay in touch, they stay together. Is that just because they were closer to begin with? Is it because they grew up together, so they really have each other forever? Am I that outsider that went back to SoCal by definition, or by choice?



It was always easier just to start over fresh, but I'm realizing more and more that easier is definitely not always the right choice.


I eat, sleep, work, school, study, and play, here in Irvine. My conversations revolve around developments in Irvine. But, does that mean that those outside of this area wouldn't like to know? If I talked again, would anyone listen?

Probably not anymore, but maybe once they would have.


Will anyone forgive me? Is it forgive, or is it understand?

Forgive for being a forgetful, stamp-less, un-post-office-able bitch.
Understand for not knowing how to communicate with the friends of just two months ago.


*sigh*



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