Apart from the graphics posts, this journal is friends only. To be added, you need to share at least 3 of my interests, and those do not include PS, graphics or icons. Comment in this post to be added. Read the userinfo.

I've moved, people. Click the following image to go to my new journal. Add me and I'll add you back.

Made up my mind. I need a fresh start. I really need a fresh start. So, from now on, you can find me on teh_steph .

And that's all. This journal will be used for iconage from now on.

Johnny Depp movies I own:

- 21 jump street
- Nightmare on Elm street 1
- Platoon
- Cry Baby
- Edward Scissorhands
- Benny and Joon
- Fear and loathing in Las Vegas
- The Astronaut's wife
- From hell
- Pirates of the Carribean
- Secret window
- Finding Neverland

Think that I need to , urgently so, restock on more JD movies? I think so too. So, I'll be making a lot of trips to the video store.

The room I'm sitting in is perhaps one of the prettiest rooms in the entire building. You can see that it used to belong to a man, since there is a lot of woodwork and a lot of darkgreen. Very male. I can't say that I hate it. In fact, if my mother loved these rooms, I cannot see why it wouldn't appeal to me. This room was this way throughout the years I grew up, and it is still this way. I have no single reason to believe that my children will transform this room into something more modern. It is family history. And that is why I'm keeping it this way. I've seen pictures however, of how this room used to look before my parents took on the dutiful job of restoring it. Blank, white walls. Ugly plumbing. Floorboards who were in dire need of a sand down and a new layer of varnish. Not something I would have gone for. In fact, the entire building was derelict, but my father refused to let it slip through his hands. He was in love with it, you could say.

But underneath that terrible layer of white, my father found green. And so ... the walls became green. The woodwork was chipped, but he managed to get the paint of it, and back to his original splendor. Furniture that my father bought to match the area of when this room was decorated, although he hated Victorian furniture and had a outmost love for Art Nouveau furniture. Most of the furniture in the building is Art Nouveau. It isn't the nicest style, but it doesn't suck either. But when you grow up with it ... you can't love it or hate it. It's just there, really and you grow used to it.

I was born in this room. I grew up in this room, watching my mother bang away on the only pieces of Art Nouveau in the entire room : The Remington Noiseless that I chucked into the flames in a fit of rage when I was 17, and the Art Nouveau desk, which is still here. My father had such exquisitive taste. Antique dealers who come into the building just don't have eyes enough to take it all in, and walk around with their eyes as big as church bells. I think my father would have been amused, really. And right now, I'm writing in this room.

My parents were both artists, which is probably why they nearly drove each other insane. My father preferred the rich versatility of his piano to the harsh clacking of the keys on my mother’s typewriter. Perhaps that’s why they had separate bedrooms. My father’s piano was downstairs in the lounge, of course, but often while he tossed and turned and tried to sleep my mother would be up half the night, banging out b-grade horror novels on autopilot. I can't say she was a very good writer, but her ideas were out of the ordinairy. Her novels would attract the people who loved a bit of a scare. I believe they can still be found in second hand bookshops. My father, apart from being a wonderful, passionate pianist, which I've learned from the recordings my mother let me hear as a teenager, was also a police officer.

As a teenager, I imagined him nursing his bottle of whiskey late at night, listening to recordings of his favorite classic pianists, weary of his job, but that is perhaps not what he did. It is easy to have a wrong image of your father if you never knew him at all. I adored him, I needed him, I missed him, in a way. Whatever there's left in my mind are vague, made-up images of someone who looks like my father, from the pictures I've hoarded and claimed as my own as the years passed by. Long hair, pale skin, slender build, long fingers, those of a pianist. All of them are pictures of my father with long hair, apart from one, where he looks gaunt and pale, with short hair, ruffled about, messy clothes and a weary smile on his face. It is easy to believe that my mother chucked away all of the other pictures where he could be seen with short hair. It is understandable. She always told me that the man with short hair just isn't your father anymore, just a mere shadow of the person he used to be.

My father had cancer, and he would have died of it, if he hadn't fallen down the mainstairs when he was 32. On purpose or by accident, that I don't know. It isn't easy to fall down them, although the building's history has two recordings of people who have seen their lives end by falling down them. First recording was a servant, who liberately fell down them to end her life, in the 1870's. The second one is ... yes, my father.

The piano that my father just loved to play is still here, although no one has played it in ages. It is tuned each year, although it is far from necessary. It isn't gathering dust either. It is polished at least once a month, because my father did have exquisitive taste. A Steinway from the 1930's, if I can believe my Uncle Noah's insane Irish ramblings, God bless the man. It's just my way to honor him, I suppose, apart from his pictures that used to decorate my bedroom with as a teenager.

I don't think it is odd at all to miss someone you never knew. And in fact, my father, the enigma that he was, since my mother rarely spoke about him, has always been around. He is in the house, each way I go. He is in every single piece of furniture that I touch, he is in every room. Why? Because I want it that way.

But before I continue this any further, do you believe in ghosts? Could you ever believe that they are around us, watching all our movements, watching us being born, watching us grow up, cry bitter tears, watch us eat, sleep and breathe? They watch us live our lives without the singlest trace of recognition as of why they are there. Most of them don't know either. All they know is that they are trapped. I can believe it gets rather lonesome.

The older the building, the more ghosts there are. Roman armies have walked through our basement ever since I can remember, destined to continue their doomed march for so many centuries to came. There are servants, there are Victorian ladies walking through the corridors of this building without taking note of me or their children. But some of them walk talk to you. Some of them will want the contact, but little of us mortals are willing to accept that, and they are ignored.

This building, and the site it is based on, has seen quite the history. What do you wish of a former Victorian hotel? That no ghosts at all wanders through it? It would be entirely inlogical to believe that. Romans have used this site, which partially explains the Romans in the basement. Most of the ghosts in here can be explained, and as the years passed I learned their names and part of their histories.

I need to do something creative. Something creative that doesn't bother the shit out of my wrist.

Something that doesn't involve schoolwork. Something that doesn't involve the GIP and something that doesn't involve photoshop at all.

Hard choice, no? I think I'll whip out my wordpad and write something. Doesn't matter what.

A fanfic, maybe?

Of one of JD's movies? *grabs Edward Scissorhands of the shelf*

And you can be darn sure of it, that when I start writing, that I'll whip out my Chet Baker Cd as well. Yum. Smooth jazz.

Kinky bastard! Grats! You're 79% kinky!

Well well well, you kinky bastard! Most likely you're into some weird shit, which is always great. Consider mailing the author of this test, and keep up the good work ;)

My test tracked 1 variable How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 93% on kinkpoints

Link: The Kinkyness Test written by nilnisicruce on Ok Cupid

What Is Your Animal Personality?
brought to you by Quizilla

And the begging for a paid account commences. It is running out in two days.

And I look like a 40 year old whore who crashed out in her bed after a night of heavy drinking.

What an image.

I thought today would be fun. It wasn't.
I thought it would be impossible to get drooled over by man of my father's age. I was wrong.
I thought it would be possible to keep my hair in tune. It wasn't.
I thought it would be impossible to arrive at school too late. I wasn't.
I thought it was impossible to sneak out of school without people noticing. I was wrong.
I thought it would be impossible to get any whiskey from Hein. I was wrong.

Things I will remember for at least a while : Jesus Christ performing "I will always love you' (Whitney version) and getting almost shot by a killer. (The Bodyguard, anyone?) and the male nurses dressed as females performing "I was made for loving you".

Also Hein and Bert. I loved them.Movies on my to see list : "Fear and loathing in Las Vegas" and "Reservoir dogs". Why? Fuck, that's why.


Hein and Bert as the charries in "Loathing" starring Johnny Depp and I dunno who else.

Hein as Johnny Depp. I think the resemblance is remarkable.


Reservoir dogs style, duds.

Three of my friends. Note the girl with the curly hair, Liesa. A big JD fan.
So from left to right, dunno too tired to remember name, Liesa, Jessica.


And me, of course.

This is me and Jess.

Also went to the movies, watched a big part of 'the aviator" before realising I was going to miss my train. I spent fifty minutes out there in the cold and darkness waiting for the last train for the night. Which would have been this image:



I've only been home for about 40 minutes. Not wanting to go to bed yet. Whiskey's still running in my veins and I'm restless. No school tomorrow, for which I'm glad.

Steph = happy. Very happy.

So, Steph treats on some more new songs.

First up: Missy Higgins. Very good music, think of Bob Dylan and you ain't got it. Trust me, very good music.

Missy Higgins - drowning

Maybe I'm just living out the same old stories in and out
But you know that don't make it easier
Time will fly away with me if truth won't stop and let me see
And tell me I am to believe that you and I should never be again

I'm drowning

When the one you leave is the one thing you believe
You say goodbye when underneaths your one belief
That love rules all, conquers all

( more of it )

And some Monster Mike Welch. I'm in a very mellow, bluesy mood tonight, since it is so quiet around me, and that calls out for some blues. I call this the drunken brawl version of his album version.

I just can imagine him sitting in a bluesbar, on a bar stool, bawling out whatever he's got to sing. Originally was released on his second album, axe to grind, released in 1998. This song might be the perfect example of what people think blues is - soft, mellow and smokey. Wonderful song. I love this version to bits. I don't have the lyrics, but it shouldn't be too hard to understand. And it was taken from his website.

Monster Mike Welch - Take your best shot.

Also very worthy to check out: Lydia Warren. A recommendation by Mike. And he sure knows what he likes! Damn, the stuff she has is good.

And third one up : Salma Hayek - Siente mi amor. Another one of my favorite songs that I play whenever I'm feeling very moody.
I doubt if anyone knows enough Spanish to be able to understand it, but eh. Here goes.

Salma Hayek - siente mi amor (Once upon a time in Mexico soundtrack)

Una historia sin tiempo que no tiene fin.
Un amor como el nuestro no, ni nunca podra morir.
Quiero ser en tu alma un momento feliz.
Te amare por siempre vivire dentro de ti.

En los dias de dolor siente mi amor.
Que vendra con el viento, que vendra con el sol.
En los ojos de Dios, lejos de ti.
Me veras en suenos, sentiras mi besos.
Me oirias reir.

Si te sientes solo y estas en silencio.
Piensa en mis caricias y en nuestros secretos.
Quiero ser en tu alma, un momento feliz.
Te amare por siempre, vivire dentro de ti.

En los dias de dolor siente mi amor.
Que vendra con el viento, que vendra con el sol.
En los ojos de Dios, lejos de ti.
Me veras en suenos, sentiras mi besos.
Me oirias reir.

Me oirias reir.

Siente mi amor. 
Siente mi amor.

I'm very sleepy, but I'm awake. Does that makes sense? I need people to help me. I need to pick a combo of outfits for tomorrow. Theme; victorian whore.

Will update in a new post with new pics.

The featured artists :

Tiffany
 
Mary Chapin Carpenter

Tiffany: Cover Morning Musume Hello! Project

(*contents taken from this website*)

Download the song right here. If the link has expired, tell me and I'll put it up again.

Warning: This song is very boppy and poppy.

( And of course the lyrics, because Teh Steph is a lyric freak. )</pre>

Mary Chapin Carpenter - Hero in your own hometown.

Download here

( Lyrics to the song again. )

Mike, as in Monster Mike Welch, as in the guy of the gig I fucking tried to go to, sent me a mail. I'm not kiddinf, and neither is this mail a fraud.

THIS IS NOT MAKING ME FEEL BETTER.


I missed you at the gig - I was really looking forward to meeting you finally!

I hope everything's alright. Know that you're loved, and if I don't get back to you, It's because internet is tough on the road.

M


I'm off for school now. Nobody hug me. Because I'll fucking cry if ya do so.

I used my "connections" to get Stormie into my new game - hope you don't mind. Figured that we could use some very good players.

Someone managed to confuse the hell out of me today, not on purpose though.

I like men; just, my experiences with Nick never were good - especially the sexual parts of it. Trust me, when someone can't find the hole or never getting an orgasm, you starting to wonder about things, for Christ' sake. And I was a cutter until I met Nick, merely because he told he'd break up with me when I dared to cut myself again. Which was hard. And yet ... I've only done it twice again in the two years we were together.

Pain is a thing I both love and hate. I hate toothaches and my migraines whenever they show up, and can and will whine about them, but when it is self inflicted, I don't whine about it. I carry the pain, almost cradle it. And I'm not talking about cutting - I am talking about the fact that sometimes I will just bang my head against the wall or slam my fist into it, or purpose fully make a wrong step with my foot so that I limp for the rest of the day. Which I did today. And it hurts. I'm limping. Mission accomplished, I might say.

I am tired of feeling so emotionless. Yes, I can act as if I'm really happy and crazy, but there are times when I will just sit down somewhere, get out my notebook and shut out the rest of the world by closing my hearing aids, no matter how many people there are around me.

People don't know me, people don't understand me.

When Fauve made me laugh until I was crying, I felt relieved - the first time that I cried honest in several years. I just can't cry. I can cry on command, that I can. But crying didn't make me feel better.

Have I ever fallen in love? Like, in major droolage over a boy or a girl? No. I get attached to people, but fall in love with them? No. I care about people, no matter if I let it seem so, or not. I show my affection to Fauve and Kaatje, because I feel they're as troubled as me. Perhaps just not the same way I am troubled - but in other ways. I can relate. They need comfort - and I'll give it, occasionally.

But the fact that I don't like to be cuddled, kissed or jumped at, says a lot about how I am of receiving comfort. I just won't take it. I'm the person that keeps it all inside.

Nick accused me of living in a world that wasn't the real one. What is wrong with seeing this world far darked than it is? If you know my RPG characters, you'll know my view on the world. There's something bad, and more evil will come your way.

Unbeknowst to me, well, at least, until as of late, I've been putting things of myself into my RPG characters, which is unevitable, really. Absence of father figures is a major thing of them - my father never was there. His routine was and still is the same; wake me up, bring me to school, go to work, come home eat and sleep.

He never says more than 15 words a day to me, except for when he rambles on about his cameras, which I'm not really interested in, but I will listen. It's the only thing I have in common with my father, apart for our fascination for wars. Yes, there. My fascination for the Vietnam War only developed so that I could talk to my father about it.

Mothers who are bitches is another thing that happens to my RPG charries. My mother never was an aimable person. Always was dependent of others, even me and my sister. I vauhely suspect that she is suffering from a mental disorder of some kind - one time she will be sweet and gentle, other moments she is a downright bitch. Which why it's a party whenever she's gone for the weekend.

And then, there's my handicap. I used to cry bitter tears when I was younger, claiming to people that it wasn't fair for me to have ended up like this. I'm only at half of my potential. My handicap, my poor way of speech is only because I cannot properly pronounce words, which developed into an almost maniacal shyness towards people. The stores where I corder stuff, are usually stores I've been going to for more than three years, because I know the people.

I'm not happy right now. Not that depressed that I want to cut my throat, either. Just very pensive.

Just what exactly has gone wrong in the 21 years that I've lived? A lot. I'm hungry for family members I've never met, just because they're dead. I love relationships that will kill me.

And I can't run away from it all, because I hate uncertainty.

That will be all. Dinner awaits.

Edit: In about 30 minutes, give or take a few, the MMW (read: Monster Mike Welch) gig I've wanted to go to so badly, is starting in Hasselt, and guess where I am? Home, of course. I can't believe this is happening. As far as I'm concerned, the gig never happened, for my own sanity.

Art update here.



Here's the sucker. Notice the splatters of paint on the black surface of "Time". Told you it wasn't finished. But nonetheless, no matter how I hated it, I'm still proud to see that it is still on the wall and that the teachers haven't painted it back white yet. And no, that isn't me on the picture.

 I'll add more when I'm in the mood for it.

Advanced
You scored 80% Beginner, 80% Intermediate, 87% Advanced, and 61% Expert!
You have an extremely good understanding of beginner, intermediate, and advanced level commonly confused English words, getting at least 75% of each of these three levels' questions correct. This is an exceptional score. Remember, these are commonly confused English words, which means most people don't use them properly. You got an extremely respectable score.

I think it's not that bad for a non-native english speaking person, heh? Actually, I'm pretty proud of myself. I only wish I'd done better on the expert bit. Ah well, can't get everything in life.

http://www.okcupid.com/tests/take?testid=14457200288064322170

Winnie.

I did some work on the new game.

Victorian Louis Carter userinfo.

Modern Louis Carter userinfo

Userinfo of STP_past.

There's some more stuff to be done, I realise that. Such a FAQ, a template for forms, a character list and ladela. I'm just tired now. I can't think anymore. Feel free to change and add things if you like. Also did the userinfo of the future one. Will you make a OOC and OWL community, please?

*smiles*

I have opened my game, more or less. There's still the whole plot thing to go with, which me and gillians_gal intend to write out sometime tonight or tomorrow. The game already has a huge plot going on, and it will be wonderful for everyone who is interested in Victorian times, stories of secret love affairs and ghosts.

It will play with people in the past and in the future, the past being the 1888's, the time of Jack The Ripper, if I'm correct, and 1998, set in a haunted hotel, which actualy exists. The people who were alive in the Victorian times, are the ghosts of 1998. The people alive in 1888, see the ghosts of the people in 1998, because the two worlds mix, like in the movie 'The Others'.

Hm, yeah. Just wanted to share it.

READ THE PAST. And yes, I play past_carter.

I love the ideas you wrote down. I'm not a person to send e-mails, so I'll just send through vague suggestions through my livejournal.

But somehow, in the train, on way my home, I decided that I loved the idea of past AND present in one game. A mirror, a veil, whatever. I wish I could wait until you are back online, but I'm deadly tired. Appearantly, I only had enough energy for the movie. Gah, I'm turning old.

And I looked up some Helena Bonham Carter pics and I made a banner. Couldn't help myself.



And I have to admit, even though if I did not like the sideburns Johnny Depp was sporting in 'From Hell' from the screencaps and pics I saw ... I must admit that he is the best Louis Carter for in the 1880's. Equally as troubled, heh. And the movie rocked. I'm happy that I bought the special 2 disc set now. Because I love the idea of absinthe. In fact, when I get enough money, I might buy myself a bottle.

*knows a store that sells it* Or should I go with Chartreuse? Hmm.

And I also seem to have lost my favorite earrings, although I'm hoping them still to turn up somewhere, which is unlikely. Damn. One of them was a gift from my aunt, an american eagle with feathers hanging of them, and two small stones set in jade and red coral. The other one was damn simple, even if I say so. A little chain, with a very small cross dangling from it, and two pins to put it through your ear.

They were in my bag. A cigarette rolled out when I dropped it, so I figure the earrings rolled out as well. And I want to kick myself for doing that. Because they were my favorite earrings. I wonder if I'll ever find a pair that will match the cross one. I really can't believe I've been so stupid.

I really can't. Because they were my favorite ones. If I ever wore a pair at all, it were those. *headdesk* Gah. Stupid me. Maybe I should start wearing safety pins or something. because if you lose those ... it really doesn't matter. They're easy to find. And they look flashy and mean.

Damn. Fauve, please scour Ghent with me in search for new favorite earrings. :(

One minute.

*grabs bookbag*

I went to the S.M.A.K. with my class today, one of Ghent's many museums, dedicated to modern art. I think the S.M.A.K. stands for Stedelijk museum voor actuele kunsten. But I could be wrong.

We originally went there to see the art of Michael Borremans. Examples of his work to be seen here, here and here. His paintings are breathtaking, but strange, as you can see. Damn them challenging paintings. On the second floor, there was another exposition by Borremans, this time of drawings. Even more stranger.

Appearantly, the paintings are leaving for New York when the exposition is done here, so any people living near New York, check him out. The drawings are going elsewhere, Ireland, I believe. The S.MA.K. is the only museum to expose them at the same time.

What caught my attention even more, was the work of Orla Barry. He is an artist who makes short films, pictures and writes down a sentence or two in his journal every day. Pics here and here .It sure was a sight to see. My favorite sentence that I found must have been :

"Where the nun comes from, is no longer a mystery."

or

"An open window
A strangely lit bedroom
violent movements"

But I've never been that type of person that can enjoy art as some people can. You know those jazz purists, who can sit at their table with a glass of wine and listen to the music for hours? You have art lovers in museums who act just the same way, and can sit staring at a painting for hours. I can ejoy art, and love trying to understand it, but I'm a booklover.

I saw jericho_chan's brother in the museum as well, but hell, I never knew the guy, so I just walked away. All the Borremans drawings were making me lightheaded. I can't understand shit of them.

And my store won't order 21 Jump Street. Liesa had to send me out of the store before I freaked out. Ugh. Imagine that? "It's not in the comp." I bet the guy didn't look hard enough.

Anyway, back to my RP thread, because it's about ghosts and a wonderful derelict hotel, named St Pancras.

For jericho_chan : Cry Baby screencaps

I'm trying to feel better. I really am. *is downloading 21 JS eps like crazy*

Okay, Cass was the last one who talked to me before I left for school, and that was at 10.35 in the morning, my time. I don't know why I even bothered to go to school, though.

Some youngsters made fun of my hair, and I so badly wanted to chase after them and swing my Scary Mary bookbag into their faces. I didn't do it, though, because I had a train to catch.

Dutch teacher was ill, so me and my class watched Benny and Joon, which I happened to have with me. For now, my 21 Jump Street video is in the possession of Fauve. Take care of it!

I was aggravated during informatics class. Ugh, I'm not allowed to use codes to make my site. So stupid. Let's to it in the normal, easy way! Dreamweaver is your friend! Sure. Suuuuuuure.

I'm smoking a cigarette now, and munching on the last bits of the piece of nougat I just ate. Yum. nougat. I love me some nougat. Even if it is from the Aldi. It's yummy! Specially with chocolate!

And I bought bullets over broadway with John Cusack. On DVD for the mild price of 5 dollars. So, I'm going to watch that tonight. And probably do some RPG too. And make 21 JS icons to fill up my icon space 'round here.

And thanks to everybody who said my hair looked cool and very red. Because it is cool and very red.

I've dreamt about depressed cops nurturing their Johnny Walker, while listening to jazz music. No further explanation for this, except fot that the guys really did look like Johnny Depp. That will be all for the dream. And something about monsters in coconuts.

Now, picspam, anyone? Yes, Slava, Elena can see those.

My sister, Anne-Lise and Tristan standing next to the christmas decorations.


Me, watching telly on a very rare occasion.


My sister and The Jerk pulling suprised looks as they enter the kitchen Living room. Suprise picture! WTF, I don't know my own house!


I am a fashion model. Even with a baby in my arms.


Laughing over something someone said, with so said baby in arms again.


I don't know what's going on in here. Perhaps I was just sick and tired of people making pics of me.


And my hair. >.< I really should ask someone to make pics of it. Because I can't work with a digital camera.


And now (I just sneezed my brains out, gah.) I'm off to take a bath. Cya chicas.

I need a Gmail invite. Anyone who can give me one? My email adress to send that to is orban_stephanie@yahoo.fr

thanks!

What characters best remind you of me from ...
1) A Motion Picture
2) A Television Series
3) A Novel or Book
Bonus: Any other form of media.

I might have found an UNDERWOOD typewriter for 5 dollars! *sqeals* UNDER-WOOD! UNDERWOOD! 1950's model. God, I love those ads in the newspaper sometimes. Appearantly, it belonged to someone who's died now and they're selling all kind of stuff to get rid of it.

Mother: "Est-ce que la machine marche encore?"
Seller : "Comme ca. Elle est vieille."

God, I hope daddy-O wants to drive me. Saturday. I hope. OMG. Underwood. Even the bloody name ... is a dream. And it's a 1950's model according to the add. So ... I'm scouring the net in search for possible examples. I don't care that it doesn't really work work like Stephanine and Hermes.

*excited sqeal*

And I just found an ad which might represent the Underwood machine they're selling. Nice!

Edit: I found this on a site. Made me laugh.

And to answer a few questions:

Yes, they take up a lot of space
Yes, some are REALLY heavy

Yes, a lot of 'em are stored in the garage.
No, many of them don't work.

Yes, many of them do work.
Yes, I am trying to repair others.

No, I won't be able to repair all of them.
No, some never will work.

No, I don't do complete restoration or totally rebuild machines. I believe old, well-used machines should look like old, well-used machines. Only cleaner.
Yes, I do use some of them. I even keep one at the office to use for memos and such. It irritates the younger reporters, who prefer the silence of computer keyboards, which makes it worth it.

ALSO ... Pos. 5 Hermes Media 1936

Which means ... Nah, couldn't be right. Right? Edit: This is from the 1937/1938. Fuck. I never knew that. Hoooooly cow. And I paid 7 euros for that? Wow.

This will be a busy day for my back. But I took my painkillers, so I'll be alright. (Yes, my back is acting like a motherfucker.)

I don't quite get why I still bother to update this thing, because I never ever get the singlest idea of people who read my journal. Uh, people, please, do comment once in a while. I know some of you read it, and most of you are absolutely bored with my updates, but ugh, please.

I think I'm coming back into my goth dress phase. Not as extreme as I used to be - so no chains, dog collars and extreme make-up, but at least I'm wearing black again. Ignore the purple eyeliner I'm wearing. It's nice enough. And that's more then I had ever hoped for. And all that thanks to gillians_gal and her Pauley Perrette obsession.

Who is Pauley Perrette? Honestly said, I still don't know.

But here a banner that I made of Perrette. Heart brush is from teh_indy . All the rest ... mine.If you really want to know how I made this, leave a message at the beep, and I'll explain it in a tutorial when I get back from the fleamarket. If necessary, I'll post images of the brushes that I used. See? This is the graphic person in me.If only I could manage this with my icons ... Feh.

Also, I have a new journal. I don't what I'll use it for, but I'll come up with something. It's the teh_steph. Add it.

Since my internet connection is slow (way too slow), my RP activities will be lying low until I get my butt into gear to ask for a few more packs to speed up my connection. Wouldn't take too long, really. But I want to watch some movies, you see.

This might be the best thing I've read so far. *laughs* Contents belong to Monster Mike Welch. Can be found on his website under 'What I'm listening to'.

Okay, so I bought an iPod...not one of the little bitty ones, either, but the full-on 40GB beast...and I've been loading it with music. What one chooses to put on something as nearly unlimited as an iPod speaks volumes about what one actually feels about music, and it turns out that I'm a ridiculous blues fan.

In fact - wait for it - I might even be a blues purist. Yes, you read that right; the self proclamed iconoclastic Beatlemaniac is a blues purist deep down. Now, this doesn't stop me from loving the music of the Beatles, Elvis Costello, and D'Angelo, nor does it mean that I'm going to throw on a baggy suit (although that may be the only kind that fits these days) and a pompadour and pretend it's 1957.

But when it comes to the blues, and what I like to listen to, I pretty much like the music as it came up from the Delta to West Memphis and Chicago, and from Texas and Oklahoma out to California, and I'm just not that interested in anything else. Funny, huh?

Okay, that was blues talk. *grin* Crazy git. And according to Mike, Elvis Costello's album 'The Delivery man' is a good one. So, I'll buy it. And when you don't think this is funny, well ... *laughs* It's not you. It's me. I have a strange sense of humor.

I just woke up. My back still hurts, so good that I didn't go to school. It would only have turned out to be worse if I did go.

But hey, an e-mail from an old friend really cheered me up. Monster Mike Welch, I'm sure I've buggered you all with him before, has sent me a mail, asking me if I would be a-coming to the gig he's giving in Hasselt.

I know he's only doing that gig so he can see me, so we can talk, and sympathise. We've been online buds since 1998. And he is one of my idols on top of that.

*shamelessly pimps website* www.monstermikewelch.com

I was supposed to go with Nick. *bites lip hard* But yeah ...

MAN! I WANT TO GO!

Fauve, you like Blues, right? The dude is a huge beatles fan.

*is looking for every possible way to go*

It's about getting up early. It's about trying to catch your train and make to school in time.
It's about silk screen printing and Noah's ark.
It's about having too little money to eat, because you spent it all on school equipment.
It's about stressing yourself needlessly on needless things.
It's about the fucking mural I'm still not finished with.
It's about the wrist that is hurting like a baaaaad motherfucker.
It's about the back that hurts like like a baaaaad bitch. +
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I hate tuesdays.

Public thanks to Bert from my class, who helped me with my mural today. And that's the sole reason why this entry is public. *twiddles thumbs and taps foot* Restless. So very restless.

I want to make icons. I really do. Problem is ... they suck. I've taken a dislike to borders brushes. And gradients are only good when you use them on pics of a size larger than 100x100.

But eh.

To come:

- A lot of John Cusack bases. And with a lot, I mean, a lot. All with a 1pixel black border around them.
- A lot of Kate Beckinsdale bases. All with a 1pixel black border around them.
- A lot of Johnny Depp bases. All with a 1pixel black border around them.
- My pathetic tries to make icons out of the "Serendipity" movie.
- My pathetic tries to make icons out of the "Grosse Point Blank" movie.
- My pathetic tries to make icons out of the "America's sweethearts" movie.
- Banners of whatever grabs my fancy.

My father has bought all kinds of food for Tristan, this time looking at the age - four months. I feel as if he is on a crazy binge of buying the foods he couldn't buy when me and my sister were born. I think it's rather amusing. He loves the kiddo, he just won't admit it. Cute, really.

And I have coke! I can drink again! My dry throat was so happy when I drank a huge lemonade glass full with coke. So, I drank another glass. And burped. To quote Kristine: "Fetch!"


We all know John Cusack ....




But nobody knows my daddy-O.




See the uncanny resemblance? *waits for people to fall in love with Daddy-O*

Hm. Stephanie is happy with self. Stephanie is pleased with self.
Even though Stephanie doesn't have coke in the house and has to drink bitter, nearly cold coffee. That is why Stephanie is smoking. More Louis/Hestia smut.

Trying to wake up. Trying to ignore that the weather's just awful outside of my room. And she should be happy that Tristan staying tomorrow to sleep over. WHich means she won't get muchos of sleep. Or at least, her mother is.

Hmmmm. Beethoven. And when Stephanie stops feeling dizzy and stops feeling like her shoulders have been put through a mangler, she'll be fine.

Note to self: stop sneezing. It's bad for your back.

Ask me 4 questions.
-Any 4, no matter how personal, private or random.
-I have to answer them honestly. I have to answer them all.
-In turn, you post this message in your own journal and you have to answer the questions that are asked of you.

So, if you want to be added, please comment here first. That counts for everyone. NO COMMUNITY ADDS. NO RATINGS COMMUNITIES. THANK YE.</font></p>

Alright.

That trip tomorrow? I don't want to go.

The teacher going with us is a crazy jerk, who speaks to us in latin, greek and hebrew. He expects us to understand it as well. His wife is the ex-principal of my school, and she drinks. She hated me.

I've been in that school for far too long. I even know the ex principal of the school! Oh my dear. The hours I spent in her office, the detentions on her behalf. She is coming as well. She was fired for major drinking, and from what I might believe from the former classes that went on the trip, she is still drinking.

Oh man.

I thought, okay, she's coming, no big deal. Really. That was, of course, until I learned that, even if I was going to a field trip to Luxemburg, my mother still will be like ... 50 miles away from me. 50 miles!

I mean ... c'mon. She's going to visit family, and even might come up to Clerveaux to see me on saturday. FAT CHANCE! I probably will in the train already. Not a tiny chance that I am waiting until Monday to return to Belgium, and to the Flanders.

So. I still have four hours of class tomorrow, and am expected at the railway station at one PM. It's WEDNESDAY! THE TROLLEYS ARE BOOMING WITH PEOPLE! Jaysus christ! A fucking four hour train ride ... How I am looking forward to that.

Oh, and that ex-principal thing? Not helping one bit. I hope she bumps into many a door, the drunken git.

We are expected to get up every day at 6! AM to attend the mass of the monks in the abbey. Oh, what a joy. I have packed my rosary. Have you packed yours?

And again on 7 PM and 9.30 PM. God, I will need some beer. I hope my boyfriend brings me some desperados, beer with tequila. God knows I'll need it.

Today was ... bad for the mind.

My art work was called bad by two teachers, I was scolded at by one other teacher who said I needed to speed up my pace.

UHM. HELLO? I'm like a fecking TB patient. Coughing and all. Get the deal?

I'm wearing black tomorrow, people. Black for my grades, black for racism ( go and read Stormie's journal ), sexism and my shitty field trip.

My Yankee Beaner Chiclet twin; might our principals pop like a tick.
My New Jersian twin; might you meet Louis in New Orleans.
My boyfriend: GAGBALL!

*snickers* Oh yes people, I'm getting a gagball. Whoo! The fun!

(1): What celebrity do you associate me with?
(2): If I was a villian who would I be?
(3): What song reminds you of me?
(4): If I was a color what would I be?
(5): Describe me in THREE words.
(6): What movie reminds you of me?
(7): What BAND/ARTIST reminds you of me?
(8): If I was a super-hero who would I be?
(9): Would you ever punch me?
(10): Would you ever date me?
(11): Quick, what number am I?