Just so I get a post because Christmas time.

It's about two hours until I have to get my wisdom teeth removed, so I was feeling a post. Also Krysia said that my story was amazing, because apparently her barometer of decent-ness (decency?) is broken and she thinks it is okay. I mean, I know it's not terrible, but my fanfiction is way better; I think it's just because I have more practice with fooling around with other people's characters and it's easier to write when you don't have to think too much about whether this character is realistic or plausible. Well, thinking about it now I guess there's more possibilities that you may be making them OOC (out of character) and you can write your own character how you like, because they're yours. I dunno, I think I was out of my comfort zone and that scared to where I was nervous.

I watched Burlesque yesterday and I'd give it three stars. It had some good lines and the chemistry between Ali (Christina Aguilera) and Jack (Cam Gigandet - James from Twilight) was alright; Gigandet is definitely the better actor and his feelings for her were more believable - it seemed like Aguilera just kind of went out with him on a whim, but that's me - but it was meant to be like a feel-good film so I can't really judge it too much. Its morals were wholesome at least: work hard, don't give up, don't take your talents for granted, the world is full of people who you can and cannot trust so be careful because not everyone is as they seem. I guess people who own their own businesses could relate to the whole owing money situation that was put in place in this economic climate; but it was obvious that Aguilera would open her mouth and everyone would be in awe and that she would save the day but there would be a montage in which she turns into a condescending and self-involved douche, like all the film's predecessors. I mean, don't get me wrong: Aguilera's voice is phenomenal; it's a mystery how a white person can sing like that. It's not being racist, because she has this cute little voice and like this explosion of a voice and it's just weird; it's why I can only stare in disbelief when people insist that Lady Gaga is better -- all I can think of is, 'Are you serious? Christina Aguilera's voice DEFIES THE LAW OF HUMAN NATURE. SHE IS A MUTANT,'

Me and Ciara discussed this throughout the whole film, every time she sang just muttered amongst ourselves: 'It's not normal. It's just not normal'. I pointed out the Lady Gaga thing and she said that she preferred Lady Gaga's songs, but Aguilera was clearly, she gestured towards the screen as she belted out a song, more talented. It made me think of the Britney/Aguilera argument: they were both around at the same time, came from the same Mickey Mouse Club and both were blonde and pretty. Their songs were pretty much the same kind of irrelevantly pop, with lyrics about boys and breakups and occasionally about how women kick ass; but Aguilera, who could actually sing, brought out every so often the meaningful and soulful ballad (see: Beautiful); however, Aguilera's talent may have been the reason for why Britney was always more popular, or at least, one of the reasons, because think about it: how much easier is it to sing along to a Britney song? Whereas Aguilera's can also be so simple, mostly she does not waste an opportunity to show off her talent in a song. Plus she is responsible and stay out of the public eye; we've never seen Aguilera have a breakdown or anything of the sort and we can relate to Britney because she's human and makes mistakes.

That last paragraph is mostly derived from the Nostalgia Chick's analysis of the pop industry and how it consists mostly of blondes and always has. There are exceptions (see: Katy Perry) but even so. People seem to like blondes.

Serendipity time:

Back at the house, after nearly three hours (she must have spent more time talking to James than she realised), just around two o’clock, Uncle Stephen was still in the garden. When she went to talk to him, it looked like he hadn’t even been inside once to cool off; he looked at her and she knew what to do. She went back into the kitchen and handed him a glass of water; the sheer gratefulness in his eyes surpassed that of the parents of a small cancer patient towards a doctor who had at long last, after all these years, cut out the last tumour.

She rolled her eyes and told him to take a break. He shook his head and assured her that he was okay he had put on sun cream, or sun screen as he called it, so “no worries”. She left him and scavenged the fridge for something she could prepare for lunch. She settled for an omelette and took out three gas, one and a half each, since the note on the fridge door which indicated that Beth and Molly had gone to lunch together; it said “please could you quickly threw some leftovers for the three of you as Ethan is coming for lunch”. Erin stopped dead in her tracks and read it again: “Ethan is coming for lunch”.

Ever since last night when she almost kissed him willingly, the words ‘Ethan’ and ‘want’ and ‘need’ and ‘lust’ had all tangled together like used plasticine and she didn’t feel like separating the mess of colours. Not now anyway; she wanted to give it a few days so she could sort it all out after much thought she could decide that no, she didn’t fancy the pants off of her childhood rival/friend and she could focus on finding a guy worthy of a summer fling.

As if right on cue, Erin heard the toilet flush upstairs and Ethan soon appeared at the top of the staircase. He was wearing a white shirt with a v-neck and a small pocket on his left side, right above his heart. He had on beige long shorts that went to his knees, the kind typically seen on a surfer. He was the surfer stereotype personified and that attracted Erin to him to the point where it was mildly frightening, just because it brought all the times where the Ethan with the gap between in his teeth tripped her while she played on the street.

Ethan should not have looked shocked because she was currently living here, but it did anyway. Though, his face displayed not so much shock, but more horror, as in 'ah-shit-I'd-forgotten-about-what-happened-with-us-and-now-I-have-to-act-like-I-didn't-nearly-kiss-you' horror. Erin guessed her face probably mirrored the same expression.

"Hi," she said, or more accurately, croaked. It was super attractive, don't you worry dear reader.

"'Sup," he said sharply, looking down at the cooking utensils and eggs, cheese and milk set out across the centre counter. "What are we," he coughed, "What are we having?"

"Cheese omelette," she replied, her voice about an octave higher than usual. "That is, if you like cheese omelettes? Otherwise I can probably fix up something else? There's like pizza in the freezer; I think there's marguerite and fungi and --"

"Cheese omelette is fine," he said, raising his hands up to stop her rambles. And it pleased her to see that there was a small smirk playing at his lips. If she kept this up and didn't mention their near kiss then she could potentially form a sustainable friendship with this new-and-improved Ethan.

"Kay, that's good," she smiled nervously and reached for another egg.

"You want any help?" he offered, from under his long, lush, brown lashes. Did he mean to be doing this? Was he aware of this power he could have this over women? Was he even single? If so, why was he single when he could simply look at a girl from a certain angle and their hearts would twist itself into a not that left you breathless? These were all very good questions.

"I, er, well, ah," she started. "You could, um, ah, spread the vegetable oil on the frying pan; that'd help so I can focus on mixing up all the, er, stuff."

"Sure."

She just looked at him from the side and watched him work. He must have noticed because, was it just her imagination, but he seemed like he wore a smug grin when he met her gaze. So it looked like he was vaguely conscious of his looks.

She blushed but in an effort to appear a more in control she waited before looking away.

“Anything else?” he asked, but she did not dare look him in the eyes for she feared of what it might do to her.

“Turn up the heat,” she answered and went to fetch the oregano.

In her mind, when she turned around, Ethan would be leaning against the stove, looking at her as intensely as he had last night on the beach. She would stare back at him challengingly, clutching the edge of the counter for dear life and he would swoop over, take her face in his hands and kiss her fervently. It wouldn’t even particularly lead anywhere; it didn’t have to, all that would matter in that moment was that unstoppable, unforgivably and criminally sweet kiss that made her forget her middle name.

But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. She didn’t even know why she thought it could have been plausible for one second; instead, when she turned around, Ethan was standing a few feet away from her, not even looking like he was interested in kissing Erin in the slightest while he stared down at his feet and hummed.

“So, what have you done so far today? More surfing?” she asked politely, pouring the contents of the bowl into the pan. The soft sizzle relaxed her slightly, as if it was whispering to her to calm down and remember to breathe. It’s just Ethan, he’s just a person; you still have scars on your knees because of him and he shouldn’t get away with it that easily just because he has soft green eyes.

“Nah, I went to swim and do some jogging,” he had pulled out some potato chips from the cupboard and chewed on one absentmindedly. He offered the bag to Erin, and she carefully took a few and placed them next to the counter so she could cook and eat. “There are just too many kids and swimmers around to surf comfortably. That’s why I prefer to do it at night, but I usually have work the next day, so.”

“That makes sense,” she told him, eating another chip. She pushed some of the omelette forwards and tilted the pan so that some of the parts that were still liquid could go onto the hot part of the pan and fry properly. She’d had lots of practice over the years for making omelettes as she grew up with two writer parents; when a deadline is due, it’s not like they wouldn’t look after them, but more like it was more advisable to just leave them alone to wrap up whatever they were writing, which in her mother’s case would be whatever chapter of whatever book, while her father, being a journalist, was much more pressed for time than she, and usually had a mini-breakdown before turning in a column. When sometimes they overlapped, her and Georgia just left them to it and made beans on toast, which slowly, after purchasing cookbooks, evolved to more intricate and sophisticated meals. Omelettes were her specialty, mostly because it was one of the first ‘complicated’ ones she had managed to successfully fabricate.

She bit her lip as she folded it in half; here came the part she always, no matter how many times she cooked an omelette, got nervous about. She held the pan above the flame and shook the omelette free, preparing both it and herself; she knew from her peripheral vision that Ethan was looking at her curiously, but she carried on regardless. Taking a sharp intake of breath, she quickly did the necessary snapping motion with her wrist and kept her eyes on the omelette and stealthily caught it.

She let out a triumphant high-pitched squeal without meaning to and jumped up and down, clapping her hands together. She stopped when she realised Ethan was right there, next to here, wearing an amused, bemused expression; she cleared her throat and laughed.

“Sorry, I always get too excited when I manage to do it,” she explained sheepishly still holding the pan nervously.

“No it’s fine, don’t mind me. It’s not like I could do it,” he said and took another potato chip and ate it.

“It’s easy!” she insisted and took his hands and placed them around the handle of the pan. Her hands were over his and she was quite aware of how if someone walked in, namely Uncle Stephen, it could be misinterpreted as her flirting with him, but that was not the case (in fact, he, as a psychologist could possibly to look into it more than anyone else could). No really. Well, not really. She was only throwing it back at him; he was going to be all suggestive and then act like it was nothing, then so could she; it was all in good fun. Also, she wanted to spread the gift of being able to flip any substance on a pan: you could use it for tortillas and pancakes as well as omelettes! It was an investment skill, it was. "I'll show you."

She leaned back into him and felt his body stiffen (not in that way, you perverted reader) and felt the same kind of pride that Ethan must have.

She looked up to him and showed him what to do, "All you do," she said, "is shake it like this," she paused to show him the motion, "and get ready to catch it."

She stepped away partly to let him do it himself, and partly to gauge his reaction; she was oddly pleased to see that he seemed relatively flustered. That right, she thought, two can play at that game.

"You ready?" she asked, her hands on her hips as she did her best to sound nonchalant. In her opinion, she had done so successfully, but she was biased.

She watched as he, still frowning, just did as he was told and looked questionably at the pan down he was holding, as if he was only just noticing it was even there. He looked over at her, as if to say, 'I-don't-really-think-this-is-a-good-idea-because-could-potentially-ruin-the-lunch-you-have-just-prepared'. She just nodded in encouragement and waited.

He swiftly copied her movements exactly and actually managed to catch it. He laughed in relief; the kind of high pitched, kind of embarrassing, laugh that was too contagious for Erin to not laugh as well. Plus it was kind of hilarious in itself, and she folded herself as she laughed, holding onto the counter for dear life as her stomach ached with the pain.

"Well done," she said shakily, still laughing, mostly due to relief herself; it might be strange to some how the atmosphere could change so quickly between them; she preferred this lighter, friendlier mood, personally and hoped to maintain it whenever she saw him, and let's face it, it was going to be a lot; she was glad that within those moments it wouldn't be so hard to distract herself from how attracted she found herself to him. Everyone is attracted a little to their guy friends, right? She, after all, looking at her history, was an example of that: she'd only crushed on guys who were her friends before; then again, that might simply be called having morals, but she liked to believe otherwise. "You proud of yourself?"

"Very actually," he admitted. "I can see why you squealed. It is quite the feeling of accomplishment."

"I know, right," she agreed, using the spatula to cut the omelette into three mildly equal pieces. She left it there in the pan so it could stay warm while she heated up some rice and took out some of the salad that Auntie Molly had put out from a previous dinner or lunch, or knowing Auntie Molly, a possible spontaneous, random craving for salad. Auntie Molly may have never had kids, but that meant that instead of having the cravings only throughout those nine months, she would have them completely out of the blue have a passionate desire for random food.

Happy holidays and thanks for reading this past year!
Mel.

Is that dust?

Oh sheesh y'all. I'm sorry blog. I missed you too; c'mon, c'mon, don't turn away from me. Come here. No, blog... come here... c'mon... I have a post for you! Aha! There you go. Of course mummy still loves you, don't be silly. But I just needed some time to write a book. You know, that Nanowrimo thing I told you about? Yes.

No but seriously, I started like, three days behind and I still finished on time. I am a God. Not really, no. I mean, the book ending was a bit thrown together into a huge, tangled mess because I was in such a hurry, but the middle bit isn't too bad. I mean I know ultimately I don't have enough life experience to write a decent Young Adult Novel; even Maureen Johnson says that you need to live through it to write it. I haven't even fallen in love yet, so it's a wonder I can actually write about that, tbh.

Oops, sorry, just abandoned you again to read the new chapter of Hana to Akuma. I keep making, 'Gah' noises and pulling a silly face; I sound vaguely like a duck. Sorry, a habit had developed and seeped through into my writing of adding unnecessary details since Wrimo (like how it's already abbreviated but I abbreviate it more? That's life on the streets that is).

It's currently snowing fucking bucketloads here and I have NO SCHOOL. No, really; it never really snows here, or, up to last year it didn't, but climate change is... changing that (I want to be a writer). The snow is at least like, a palm deep if that makes sense. And I have to go out, eurgh. It looks pretty, but honestly? It's cold, will get me wet and with the amount of layers I'll have to put on, it's barely worth it. I know I have the mentality of a sour, middle aged person.

Right now, with Wrimo gone, I plan on going ever so more on Tumblr and writing AS MANY FANFICS AS POSSIBLE. I missed fanfiction a lot; I read some Scabior/Hermione because their relationship is just really kinky and addictive and intoxicating. I will also probably play more Smash Brothers Brawl, because I love that game. Who do I play with might you ask? Why, Pit of course! And Link so far, but as much as I have a crush on Link, I'm finding myself not defeating enemies too successfully with him. And Pit is cute too. Ooh I still have a Frankenstein essay too; shite. And some Mock Exams coming up. And a German exam on Friday, should the town be functioning properly by tomorrow. I have therapy tomorrow as well, but I doubt neither I or my therapist shall be able to commute to The Dolphin House Clinic in time, because of all the snow. It's like, six or seven centimetres out there, it's reddic.

*

That was written a couple of days ago. It is now the seventh of December and I'm blogging after dinner even though I'm not supposed to be on the PC.

I just finished some J/A fanfiction and I should really be revising for Science and Maths mock exams, but I can't be arsed. I definitely will before bed, I mean, but still. Lazy, I am. Yet I write like, a three thousand word story instead. Go figure; priorities, hey.

Went to the doctor's today regarding the removal of my wisdom teeth next week; I didn't realise how serious it was until then. I mean, amongst other surgeries, it's like a guppie, but still, I have to like, not eat and stuff. I don't know. I was fascinated by how casually the surgeon sauntered into the room like she hadn't just been potentially saving someone's life; I mean, she was definitely changing someone's life in some way, and that's something you're allowed to brag about. I would have. Also, she was kind of small and her hands were perfectly and delicately shaped; yet she had this air of authority, of strength about her. Like she knew what she was doing with her life.

I also just finished this gorgeous book called The Book Thief. Go read it. It's brilliant and perfectly written. It's in my top five favourite books; the style is interesting and the characters are flawed but wonderful. I can't gush about it enough.

I'll leave you with an excerpt of my Serendipity:

---

"I'm bored," Joey stated abruptly and she stood up. She took both Taylor's and Matt's hand to drag them towards the sea. The refused so she looked around the group for approval of her idea; Abigail, being the adorable button that she was accepted just because she didn't want conflict, and James also got up to join them. He looked back at Erin encouragingly and she without hesitating ran down towards the water.

Joey pulled Abigail straight into a wave which got them soaked, while James looked reluctantly at Erin who grinned flirtatiously and used both of her hands to pull him into the sea with her. Erin was surprised that the water was the warm as it licked its way up her dress, and before she knew it, she was pretty much drenched up to the tips of hair in her ponytail. It just felt so nice.

James however didn't really join in and Erin felt bad with him just sitting on the sand all by himself, so she walked out of the water and went to join him.

"You alright?" she asked him, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. She realised the flaw in her plan of wearing a white an butter yellow striped dress and going to play in the water; hooray for transparency.

"I'm good," he nodded towards the empty space next to her and she slumped down next to him. "How is Oz treating you?"

"Ah, it seems impossible but it's exactly the same as I remember it," she said warmly. "It's like I never left."

"And Abbie said you're staying for a year? How come?"

"If I'm being honest," she sighed; it was kind of exhausting, explaining what her purpose here was, since there wasn't one sole reason. "It just got a bit, hectic at home, with my parents nearly divorcing and all," she stopped to sneak a look at him; he was looking at her pretty intensely and it made her lose her train of thought for a short moment. "And that kind of led to me breaking up with my lovely boyfriend and I was just a bit lost; I love this place, and I though it'd be a good place to *find* myself, so to speak. Plus the wedding anniversary party and shtuff. Lots of reasons, as you can tell."

"Yeah my parents are divorced too," he sympathised. "And it does kind of mess things up thoroughly. Luckily mine were pretty civil about it but I don't think my mum's really forgiven my dad for the whole affair."

"That's kind of the situation too," Erin nodded. "But if I'm being honest I doubt my dad really cheated. My parents have been disgustingly in love since they were like, fifteen. It took them like eight years to properly get together and my dad's not the kind of person who'd throw that all away. I reckon my mum just needed a little bit of Australia too."

James grinned, "That's understandable."

"Guys!" Joey screamed. "What's the time?"

"Chico Time!" James bellowed back. And Joey asked him to answer "seriously", but Erin just raised an eyebrow at him sceptically; she hadn't known that 'Chico Time' had managed to break through into Australia. He proudly held his chin high and said, "Yeah, I know about Chico Time."

Erin giggled and shook her head; she took James's hand and took a look at his watch.

"Eleven o'clock!" she shouted, which made Joey scream 'Shoot!' and fall over, bringing Abigail down with her, the two of them screeching in harmony. Joey hauled herself up and staggered out of the water.

"I've gotta go, but it was nice to see you again," she told Erin and gave her a quick hug. "We should hang out again soon."

"Sure, I'd like that," she said warmly as they pulled away.

"I should probably go too," Erin lamented. As she stood up, James extended a hand which she took and pulled to help him up. She laughed nervously as this made they bodies be too close for two people who just met.

When she got to the campfire Ethan was dusting off the sand of his shorts. She felt kind of guilty for leaving him since he was the one that invited her, but his smile took it anyway.

"Shall we go?" Erin beamed at Ethan. He looked vaguely taken aback by her sudden change in how warmly she was addressing him, but shook his head.

“I’ve got the day off tomorrow so I’m going to catch some waves, because I can,” he nodded towards the abandoned surfboard that somehow she had not noticed. Maybe she was too busy trying to hit on James without being too obvious (and failed, dear reader, might I add).

"Oh," she replied, "I'll keep you company, then. I don't actually know how to get home."

"I can walk you home now if you like," he offered, and his eyes betrayed the sincerity of his words. She could quite clearly tell that it was something he had looked to forward to; he had, after all, worked all day in that shop, putting up with Auntie Molly talking about her and assisting to the customers who were mostly middle-aged to elderly woman who bought random flowers but were really there just to chat with Molly, with the occasional man who seemed to be buying a bouquet for his significant other. God knows how long he must have worked there for since she got there around nine and he had just arrived.

"No, no, I really don't mind," she told him. "I'll wait. There's not much for me to do anyway."

He shrugged in a 'suit yourself' fashion before removing his shirt and heading towards the water. Erin made a note of how amiable his chest was after she had managed to untangle the mess that had become her thoughts. She wanted to become friends with this New Ethan, who was well-mannered and considerate, but his good looks were going to be awfully distracting; she hoped she could just find a suitable summer fling so she could get this craving for romance out of her system. She felt like this desperate, horny fourteen year old all over again; trouble was, honry, desperate fourteen year old Erin had Jacob to make out with and talk about how much life sucked with. Now? She had no-one, except for potentially James, whom hadn't really displayed a profound interest in her. Fantastic: she was worse off than her younger, more lamentable self. Life. Was. Fair.

Ethan, she noticed as she carefully made her way down closer to the sea, was a pretty decent surfer, not that she was one to judge. The tide was out but the waves were big enough for Erin to be impressed by his supposed skills. He swiftly turned and slid in the waves as if they were barely there and he rode out of them like it required no effort at all. Then, still standing on his board, he threw himself off it, into the water; he would then climb back on the board and sit on it until another wave came along than could be surfed. It was fairly routine, but each time he would add his own little unnecessary quick twist or would stay too long in the wave's tunnel; each time Erin would sit up a little straighter to see if he was alive. And he always was.

Love, Mel.