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[01 Feb 2010|02:38am] Often, I question whether or not the way that I feel for you could properly be expressed with words. Usually, I come to the conclusion that it can't; whether it be a time when you've filled me with such utter frustration that I have no way to communicate what I'm feeling and thusly, end up clenching my fists and storming off-only to be dragged back because there is nothing that you could ever do that I wouldn't be willing to forgive you for. Then, there are the times when you stun me into silence with your various inappropriate innuendos and it takes me a minute to regain my composure. Lastly and in my opinion, most importantly (because usually you can lump the other two categories in with this one) there are the times when I am overcome with how much love and affection I feel for you and there is no combination of words, Hallmark greeting card or musical masterpiece that I could use that you are deserving of but you'll have to excuse me while I try... I remember the first time that I met you and while most other details from that particular evening are a little bit fuzzy, my memory of you is crystal clear. The room was littered with people and I had crossed through the seemingly never-ending sea of people for one reason or another and that was when I saw you. Back placated against the wall; phone in one hand, beer in the other, whether it was your soulful brown eyes, impressive physique or the fact that you looked just a little bit lonely, I felt compelled to come and introduce myself-or to ''hip shimmy" at you, as you like to recall (and I'm sure you recall often). Whether it was a twist of the abdomen or a shake of the hand, it was, undoubtedly, one of the best decisions I've ever made. The circumstances surrounding our union did not appear to be in our favor but my assurance that we can weather whatever comes our way has never wavered. I went into this knowing full-well that I would be risking having to spend weeks away from you, while we worked on our respective projects and while, in this case, distance does not make the heart grow fonder (because with you, my dear, I am over-flowing with fondness and care, as it is) I am as positive as ever that regardless of where we are and what we do, our bond can never be broken. Like I told you the other night, I feel as though we have been together for five months and fifty years, simultaneously. We've beaten the odds and proven those that say that couples lose certain aspects of their relationships with time, we still have the spark of a couple in their first flush and yet, I am more comfortable around you than I am around people I've known for my entire life because it feels as though you are one of those people. Simultaneously, I am perfectly content with what we have; our miniature zoo, our conversations composed of nothing but dirty jokes and corny euphemisms, our evenings spent in watching mob movies, gorging on pudding-and at the same time, I am continuously excited for whatever it is we are building toward because I know that whatever it is, whether it be a tiki hut or a colossal kingdom, it will always feel like home. It has been three-hundred and sixty-five days since we joined hands, lips and hearts. Through the past year, I have laughed, I have cried, I have felt elation, excitement, anxiety, frustration but I can honestly say that I have not regretted a single moment that I have spent with you. Given the opportunity, I would not change a thing-about the last year or about you. You are everything that I could possibly want in a best friend, lover and husband. I know that it will be an argument that we have until we're aged, wrinkly and blue in the face but I do not deserve you. However, (as you always say) I am eternally grateful that I did or said whatever it was to fool you into thinking that I am. I love you, Ryan Rodney Reynolds. Happy anniversary and here is to countless more. post comment

[17 Dec 2009|07:29pm] ( Scene Example 6 ) post comment

Entry Example. [17 Dec 2009|07:26pm] On more than one occasion, I have been accused of being a little abrasive. Alright, the more commonly used terms are a little more colorful (IE: douchebag, prick, fucking asshole). The way that I see it, I am very accepting. At first, anyway. Yeah, if you start talking about your undying love for scientology, Sarah Palin and/or Stephenie Meyer, I will probably either tell you to go fuck yourself or try to knock some sense into you (using some variation of a hammer, most likely). Is that so wrong, though? To be a little selective about the people that I choose to spend my time with. Vampires that sparkle? Hunting moose? Alien worship? Come on. I am a busy man, I don't have time for that shit. Risky Business, Nailin' Palin and Dracula: Dead and Loving it, on the other hand: I am up for, anytime. Really, though, the point of this rant has absolutely nothing to do with Mel Brooks (regardless of the obscene amount of respect I have for the guy), porn (regardless of...nevermind, I'm not going to go there) or Tom Cruise (regardless of the obscene amount of laughter this induces). Last night, I was on my way home from the office. Admittedly, I was in a mood. In my defense, I had to fore-go coffee until about noon because I had run late that morning and my fucking assistant had to go and- You know what? Let's start there. So, as some of you may know, I need caffeine to function. I am one of those guys. Sue me. I have not slept in past 9 AM since before the millennium (Mondays through Fridays: 5 AM). As you can see, the lifestyle choice is justified and necessary. Caffeinated teas don't do it for me and energy drinks make me feel like I'm going to go into cardiac arrest (if anybody feels the urge to say 'ancient', 'old' or any variation thereof, I will not hesitate to crack skulls so I advise you to resist). Anyway, where were we? Coffee, right. I am not very fucking particular about my coffee. I don't do any of that (to be read in a high-pitched, valley girl-esque manner) " venti half-caff, nonfat, hotter than Satan's balls latte with three pumps of sugar-free vanilla and-" I mean, really? Look into writing novels, clearly you are talented in the adjective area. Maybe like fucking instructive books on dieting, or something. I keep getting side-tracked. Anyway, so, my coffee; I like it in the simplest form: Black. Yes, her name was Rita. Rita was an attractive blonde. Not the brightest crayon in Crayola-land but I am a man, I have my weaknesses. The leggy fair-haired ones? They are my kryptonite. So, last week, Rita went on her usual coffee run for me. Ubeknownst to yours truly, she had made a quick stop in the office of one George Marks (one of the other partners at the firm) and politely inquired as to whether or not he'd like something in the form of caffeinated awesome, as well. Harmless, right? Wrong. You know how everybody has their drink? The go-to that you order whenever you are in need of a little energy or comfort? George is a man of strange tastes. His preference is vanilla chai. I don't know, I don't ask. He is his own person, let him have his odd choice in hot beverage. Whatever, usually, I don't care. Back to the story: At this point in the story, I am really fucking tired. We have been going through a lot of negotiations with a fairly large corporation (that will remain nameless) looking to construct another location here in the city, for weeks now. Huge deal, colossal. Needless to say, I have had more than a few sleepless nights since early March. On that particular day, I had had a two hour long conference call (that dragged, was extremely unsuccessful and incredibly frustrating, mind you) with one of the bigwigs from the aforementioned, nameless company and was in desperate need of a cigarette and a cup of coffee. No combination tops that one, in my opinion. I'm sure fellow smokers/coffee addicts understand. So, Rita returns from her coffee venture (what should have been a ten minute trip, always seemed to take her like a half an hour, I never understood it, she took the route everyday and still claimed to get lost). She places the cup in front of me and I swear to god, angels sang, bells rang, all of it... So, I raise the cup to my lips and at this point, a few things seem...off. I'm sure most of you know exactly what is coming here and this is getting way too wordy so I'll make this short. Two words: Foam and cinnamon. I am the kind of guy that does not lose his temper, easily. I will let things build, build and build some more (I'm an architect through and through, what can I say?). However, once they are taken too far, I will explode. So. Yeah. Intolerable, two-hour long phone call with an insufferable bitch in a suit on no sleep coupled with a chai latte? Dynamite. No, not in the positive "dy-no-mite" way. In the way that ends in destruction and tears. Destruction came swiftly, I dropped the cup to the floor and within seconds, chai was flooding my office (alright, it wasn't that bad, it was about twenty ounces of awful). The tears came when about three of those steaming hot ounces seeped through my shoes (it was Friday, I wore loafers). I'm not kidding. Of course, it wasn't me that did the crying. All it took was a string of curse words, fists pounding on the desk and two select words: "you're fired." Bam. Mascara streaming down the cheeks. I know what you're thinking but I am not a terrible human being. Not one but two broken copy machines, a handful of spilled cups of coffee (that did not come in contact with my feet) and multitudes of angry business associates that had been hung up on, later... She had it coming. You know? I said that this was going to be about why I am so selective about the people that I choose to spend my time around and in a way, it kind of was. But, I've already spent four paragraphs explaining the Rita disaster and I know that if I get to talking about what I initially had meant to talk about, it'd take another four. So, we will save that for next time. This was a tiny taste. Savor it. Oh, before I wrap this bad boy up... I have zero plans for this weekend and am in the market to change that. Give me wild and crazy suggestions and/or volunteer yourself to take part in them. Most likely, it will not end in tears. Destruction? Maybe. With that, I am done. If anybody makes it through all of that, I...will think of something to tempt you with, I'm sure. post comment

[17 Dec 2009|07:22pm] ( Scene Example 5 ) post comment

[17 Dec 2009|07:20pm] ( Narrative Example 1 ) post comment

[14 Apr 2009|06:15am] ( Scene Example 4 ) post comment

[26 Feb 2009|05:07am] As a child, I was always sent to bed earlier than I liked, or thought was fair. My parents tried everything to get me on a normal sleep schedule, and it just never worked out. I would crawl in bed, and after about fifteen minutes, I would turn on the television. I liked to watch old movies, or television shows. Fall asleep with visions of Lucille Ball, or Audrey Hepburn dancing around in my head. If my mother decided to poke her head in I would just pretend to be asleep, when in reality, I would never doze without finishing the episode, or the film. Eventually, they caught onto this little ploy of mine, and scolded me for it. So, I simply, muted the television and would try my best to figure out the plot without the sound. It turned into an amusing game. I would sit there, and provide the dialogue (quietly, of course), lowering my voice and doing my best Desi Arnaz imitation... At the time, I thought that my parents would chalk it up to sleep-talk. However, I think they figured it out, as it is incredibly unusual for a twelve-year-old girl to mutter in a semi-masculine voice while she sleeps...especially, not with a poor attempt at a Cuban accent. Thus, the television went. My next bright idea was to fake being scared of the dark, thus giving myself the opportunity to read. As you can imagine, this was short-lived. I bought myself a night-light, and spent a few nights crouching down beside it, book open in front of me. This posed a problem, because I would have to dive for my mattress when I heard foot-steps approaching the door. My parents were intelligent people... I was robbed of my night-light. Finally, I would just lay in the dark, novel in hand, and squint until my eyes adjusted well enough that I was able to make out some of the words on the pages. After a few weeks (maybe more, I couldn't say for sure now) I was able to read perfectly with just the moon-light to aid me. This is a skill, I am proud to say, I still have today. As for the insomnia...that is something that has stayed with me, as well. I don't like sleeping pills. They freak me out. So, I live with it. Sure, there are many days that I have to drag myself through, sleeplessly. But I've always been nocturnal. It's a part of who I am, and I've come to embrace it. It's nice being able to watch the sun rise. That's a plus. I recommend staying awake that late to everyone, at least once in a while. If you're friends with me long enough, rest assured you'll get at least one random text message, or phone call, at three o'clock in the morning once a month, or so. I get bored. I apologize. I'm making it sound far more lonely than it is. It gives me time to myself, and I need that. I can read, or write, or just think about things... I love to over-analyze. And you know? This, and almost any other journal entry of mine would never get finished if I didn't have this time. Days are so stressful. Nights are for relaxation, that doesn't necessarily mean that you have to sleep...that is what large quantities of Red Bull are for. So, here I am. It's late. I'm not tired. I know that I should be. I apologize for my semi-drunken banter. Sobriety and I? We just don't get along. I'm kidding, I'm kidding. What I mean to say is when it comes to honesty, and getting down to the gritty, and truthful things, alcohol is quite the lubricant, don't you think? The past few weeks-months, actually, have been incredibly stressful. I won't get into the specifics, believe me, it'll spare you all of the melodramatic rambling that is sure to ensue if I do share the details. In retrospect, I am glad for everything. Change is inevitable, and for the most part I welcome it. Who doesn't love a new and exciting venture? I've realized that the majority of changes are not entirely negative. I've been through a lot the past few months, and with everything changing around me, I sort of got lost in it. Proudly, I would like to announce that I am back. It has been a rough road, and I am still picking up the pieces, and recovering. However, I have learned a great deal about myself, and although at times it has been ugly, it has been healthy. A friend, and I talked about that once. About how important self-discovery is, no matter how unbecoming you are when that kind of light is shed on you, even if it is just for you to see. I am far more self-aware, and self-confident than I was when this journey began, and I feel more...content. Content is a good word. I wouldn't go as far as to say that I am happy, but that's alright, for now. I'll make do with what I have. I have taken the steps to do what I needed to do. There is more to be done, but I am working on that. The road ahead me is a long one, and am embracing it. Baby steps. Always baby steps. They're good enough for me. Regardless of what has happened, or what is going to happen, come Hell or high-water, I am going to have myself a Merry fucking Christmas. post comment

[23 Feb 2009|04:42am] Recently, I was thinking about awkward moments. They are more common than I realize, I think. I was picking up a cup of coffee the other morning, and the barista (who was clearly out of his mind because he) was charging me the five dollars and eight cents for my latté. Now, I'm a caffeine addict. Those that know me best would go a little farther and complain about how ridiculously hyper I am. Anyway. Where was I? Oh yes. A fiver for two shots of espresso and milk. So, I visit this particular shop pretty often, and generally the employees give me a quick hello, or something. One of the other baristas had been in the back getting ice (I only know this because he emerged from the back-room, only to return to it a few minutes later, saying "Bitch if the timer goes off and I'm in the back getting ice, make sure you take the cookies out!") I swear, I do not stalk those that put together my daily caffeine fix. The curly-haired gentleman that appeared in the doorway and began to perform his cookie-duties gave me a wave, and a "Hey!". Naturally, I deemed "Hey there!" an appropriate response. Right about here-no definitely here, there was an awkward pause, and he said "Oh, good! You?" Now, bear in mind that I'm standing in front of his buddy, who has clearly seen that I did not ask him how he was... But what was I supposed to do? "Um, dude, I didn't ask you how your day was!" I wasn't about to make the guy feel like a total jackass (although at this point making somebody look like a total jackass seemed inevitable, so I took one for the team). "I've been great! Thanks for asking!" Cue chuckles from the one that was over-charging me for coffee, at the moment. Then, the guy stalked back to where he came from, I reluctantly handed over my cash, and that was that. I guess the reason that I started this off with that grueling tale is because I think that this is awkward. I hate talking about myself. I mean, I'll talk your ear off about my love of cheese, or the Red Wings, and I'll defend the fact that I am NOT a midget until I'm blue in the face, but for me, that about covers it. Don't get me wrong, I am about as chatty as they come. Ask anyone that has spent a prolonged period of time with me. I will talk your ear off... Not literally, but it might end up being painful. So, yeah, hi. I'm Kristen. For those of you that don't know me, I'm that girl that likes to electrocute people on television, and "xoxo, Gossip Girl". Once upon a time, I even played the spawn of a P.I. If none of that jogs your memory, I won't take it to heart, feel free to say hello anyway. I'm pretty friendly. Occasionally, yeah, I do like to bite-I mean-nibble, lovingly. Oh, and if you like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain? I'm your girl. post comment

[08 Jan 2009|03:29am] ( Scene Example 3 ) post comment

[08 Jan 2009|03:27am] ( Scene Example 2 ) post comment

[08 Jan 2009|03:26am] ( Scene Example 1 ) post comment

[08 Jan 2009|03:22am] So, here's the deal: I had an example journal on Greatest Journal, and when I switched computers (admittedly, this was stupid), I didn't save any of the AIM logs/old entries on this computer. GJ died, leaving me example-less. So, all of my old PB stuff is gone, but I asked a friend of mine that I write with to send me some of the scenes we'd written together, but it's only from one of my characters. I apologize, but I'll keep updating this with other examples as I create them! post comment

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