The Rent Welcome Wagon- Page 420

[JoAnne1]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:01am

bso - you can run....

[camerangel]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:02am

no actually BSO can't run he's been shackled to the desk..

[JoAnne1]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:02am

sorta like me...

[BSoBW2]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:02am

Rockland Psych - exit 6 (half way btwn here and the city!)

[Ebonic_Singer]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:04am

Heeeeeeeeey yah.

[JoAnne1]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:04am

tg - been there... done that!

[Racetrack]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:04am

Sounds weird.

[JoAnne1]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:05am

ebonic!!!

[BSoBW2]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:05am

how'd you know Cam?

screams to mom, "Let me go, let me go!" lol jk

CONAN: What does Crackalackin' (sp?) mean?
SNOOP DOG: It means off the hook.
C: Yeah, I still don't understand.
SD: (stops to think) It means, everything is swell...

[Ebonic_Singer]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:06am

Hey Fredipoo, what's crackalackin? I mean, is everything swell?

[camerangel]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:07am

**smiles innocently**

TG you are such a perv!!!

PWN!!!!

BSO~ well you see I've been stalking you..

[Racetrack]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:07am

TMI indeed.

[JoAnne1]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:07am

are you kidding tg? i could make a FORTUNE if i was enough of a famewhore to actually tell those stories....

[OneBlazeOfGlory]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:07am

haha you guys are so weird sometimes

(but ammusing nonetheless)



Hey how do 'Shiksa Goddess' from 'The Last 5 Years' and 'Wild Horses' sound for audition songs? I've done them both a ton of times for all sorts of events and stuff... The only problem is I've done a billion other songs just as often and I'm having trouble narrowing it down.

[BSoBW2]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:08am

bonsing ~ nicely done

cam, why are you wasting your life?
HAHA

[Racetrack]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:08am

What other songs have you done Blaze?

[thespian geek]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:09am

Well, I suppose it's not too much info when you consider my Patrick Wilson birthday cake story I came up with... haha. Cam knows about it. I have a very overactive imagination sometimes. *Evil grin*

[BSoBW2]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:10am

is it anything like my (newly formed) Melissa Errico/Idina story?

[Ebonic_Singer]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:10am

well oneblaze, shiksa goddess is ELEVEN pages long.

[JoAnne1]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:10am

SUPER SWELL ebonic!!


blaze - sounds good - especially wild horses - again - most important is being (in your shower singing) comfortable with the material...

[BEKA531]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:10am

ok, here it is. there will be a prologue before this, and this is part, or maybe all, of chapter 1.

it is inspired by the movie Light Me Up, and Rosario's hypothetical Mimi, since we haven't seen her yet. she is 16.


The mascara brush looked like a fat black caterpillar. Mimi squinted into the mirror in concentration and tried to swallow her disgust at the sudden image. Too little sleep. Too little sleep and far too much **** to put up with. Of course it wasn't a caterpillar. Of course it couldn't sting her. Lately though, everything was starting to look threatening. She leaned closer and attempted to use the brush to "lift and separate", as the little tube bragged, sounding ever more risqué. The thing only succeeded in depositing several clumps of inky blackness onto her lashes, making her eyes water. Mimi put down the mascara and picked up one of the many bottles of hair product that were scattered around the counter, most of them lying on their sides after having been knocked down by a careless elbow or thrown by a frustrated hand. She had attempted to straighten the long black curls with the new flatiron she'd bought with the money from her part-time job at Hooters in the city, but it was already a humid morning, and the curls were fighting back with gusto. She sprayed it one last time, then stepped back to check her work.

The bruise from a few days ago was still showing a little too much, a long dark streak under one eye. Mimi glanced nervously at her watch, then grabbed the small bottle of brown concealer again and began trying to shade it better. It couldn't be too dark or too light, or someone would notice. And that was unthinkable. If someone noticed, she'd have a lot more than one bruise to show for it.

"Mimi, puta, hurry up! You're going to be ****ing late again!" The voice was hard, grating, and slightly slurred. He was drunk. Again.

"Coming!" she called, still desperately trying to hide the dark bruise.

He flung the bathroom door open then, smashing her in the shoulder with it. He was growing a bit of a beard, she noticed, but not a nice one. More like a week without shaving. Compounded with his yellow teeth and bad liquor breath, he looked like something from a bad horror movie. He grabbed Mimi's wrist, hard enough to leave bruises, and dragged her out into the small hallway.

"I'm not ****ing driving you to school one more time, you understand? You miss the bus again, you stay home. It's your problem if you gotta ****ing primp in front of the mirror too long every morning!"

"I wasn't…" Mimi willed herself not to cry. Crying never worked with him. "I was only trying to…"

"What, that?" he asked, pointing to the bruise. "I'll give you a matching one if it ****ing bothers you so much."

Mimi wrenched away from him, his nails leaving weeping red crescent marks in the thin dark skin of her wrist. She turned and ran down the hallway toward the front door, not bothering to grab books or anything else on the way out.

"You'll be ****ing sorry for this!" he screamed after her, slipping on the wood floor and crashing into things in his drunken rage. "Wait til you get home!"

Outside it was freezing, cold enough that there was ice on the ground and the sidewalks were almost impossible to navigate. It was hazy and overcast; the entire environment had an ominous feel to it.
Mimi sprinted the eight blocks to the bus stop, knowing there wasn't much time. She hadn't stopped to take a jacket on the way out, and the cold dampness cut through the short pleated skirt and faded brown sweater she had on, numbing her legs and face in a matter of minutes. She slipped on a patch of ice barely half a block away and fell, ripping a hole in her black tights. The bus was there already. Mimi forced herself back onto her feet and managed to sprint on just as the doors were closing.
Sneers from the pretty, popular girls, and cat calls from some of the less reputable boys greeted her. Mimi smoothed took a deep breath, smoothed her skirt, and walked to the last empty seat at the back with what dignity she could still scrape together.
The smelly yellow bus sped through the Bronx, kicking up garbage in its exhaust and collecting a thin film of ice and filth on the windows. It pulled up outside the school after twenty minutes and several near-collisions with taxis on their way to swindle money from early-morning commuters.

The school was an old building with bad plumbing, bad ventilation, and even worse administration. The paint in the hallways was peeling, the tiles were cracked, and the roof leaked badly every time it rained. There were always over thirty students in a given class, and there was never a day when there were enough teachers and substitutes to cover all the classes. There were even fewer books. There were metal detectors and cops stationed at the front entrance. The dean of students lived in a dream world in which his school was perfect and needed absolutely no help from anyone or anything. Mimi got to her feet and walked unsteadily off the bus. School wasn't good, but at least it was safe.

The adrenaline rush was wearing off, and suddenly she felt empty and weak. Dizzy, like the entire world was moving at a different pace, one which she didn't have the stamina to match. The sophomore lockers were outside in the courtyard, and on mornings like this the metal was so cold it was impossible to get them open. Mimi walked right past the wall of gray metal, knowing it would be pointless.

First period was history, taught by Mr. Greenberg, the school's best and most feared teacher. He despised lazy people and rebels, but most especially the clique of popular girls who acted brainless on purpose. He also happened to be the most dedicated, brilliant man still at the school.

Mimi sat down in the back of the classroom, as far away from the broken window as possible. It had been shattered nearly a month ago, when one of the jocks had had the brilliant idea of sending a paper airplane flying at one of the geeks who was sitting on the window sill. It had hit the geek in the back of the head, and he'd fallen backward, and would have plunged all the way out the window if it hadn't been for several others catching him. Now the cracked window was taped over with a sheet of cellophane that was badly torn, partially covered in frost, and all but ineffectual against the cold air that was blowing in from outside. Mimi hunched over the desk and hoped no one would notice the bruises on her face and wrist. The nail-marks were starting to sting, though they had faded a little.

The great majority of the class filed in late and grumbling, complaining about a new cop who had been assigned to the front entrance and actually made them follow the security procedures. This was unheard of. Greenberg hushed them quickly and began by reading the morning announcements-a new dress code was being enforced, there would be random locker checks all week long, and the school board had promised new books and supplies for the new year-only two months away. There was nothing about any clubs or after school activities-P.S. #109 didn't have any.

"Miss Marquez," said Greenberg suddenly, and there was a general sn* from the rest of the class. Mimi looked down at the surface of her desk. Someone had meticulously scratched SEX into it.

"Yes?" she mumbled at last, not looking up.

"Dean Anderson would like to see you in his office."

"N-now?" Mimi felt her heart speed up.

"Yes. Now. He has some things he'd like to discuss with you."

She got to her feet shakily, the knee she had fallen on earlier aching terribly. She could feel the eyes burning holes in her back as she turned and walked slowly out of the classroom, willing the room to stop spinning.

"Whore," muttered someone as she walked by his desk. She didn't bother to look up to see who it was.


Dean Anderson was blond, blue-eyed, dressed in a crisp dark suit, and as delusional as a man could get. When Mimi arrived in his office, he was engaged in a heated dispute with one of the English teachers, who was apparently not happy with the textbooks she was allotted.

"I'm telling you, this is inappropriate!" the woman growled, thrusting a thick literature book in Anderson's direction. "How can I be expected to teach when something like this happens?"

Mimi craned her neck to see what the woman was referring to. Someone had changed the labeling of "Class Set" along the spine to proudly proclaim "Class Sex." Mimi shook her head and shuddered.

"Deal with it!" said Anderson firmly. "There's nothing I can do for you. Now if you don't mind." He gestured to the door. The woman nodded and walked out, hanging her head.

Anderson looked up and offered Mimi the phoniest plastered-on smile she'd ever seen.

"Have a seat, young lady," he said in that false voice adults used when they thought they were doing her a favor.

Mimi obeyed, sitting in one of the rusty folding chairs by Anderson's desk.

"Yes?"

"Some of your teachers have noticed that you seem to be getting hurt a lot lately."

Mimi felt her stomach clench. This could be very, very bad. She forced a casual shrug.

"It's winter. I'm clumsy. I trip and fall on my way to school sometimes."

Anderson narrowed his eyes at her.

"I was under the impression that you were a dancer."

"Yes," said Mimi, more confidently now. "Not a ice skater."

Anderson nodded slowly, looking unconvinced. He leaned forward in his plush chair and squinted harder.

"And that, there, under your eye, what's that?"

"Birthmark."

"Uh…huh…"

"Can I go now, Mr. Anderson? 'Cause I gotta get to class."

Anderson sighed and stood up. He was resigned to lose. This round only.

"All right, Miss Marquez. But would it be all right with you if I called your parents? Just to make sure that they're getting you the proper treatment for all these…accidental injuries, of course."

"No!" Mimi cried, panicking. "No, please don't. They…they got a new baby on the way. Can't be bothered by me."

Anderson smiled smugly.

"I'm sure they'll have a minute to talk to me. Now go along. Wouldn't want to be late for class."

She turned and walked out of his office, into the filthy hallway, fighting back tears. If he called, not even school would be safe anymore.

If he called, there would be hell to pay.


so, post your thoughts, and i'll relay them to NTG. Updated On: 12/31/04 at 01:10 AM

[camerangel]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:10am

It's my life.. and if I choose to spend it stalking people like you thats frankly none of your business.. and it doesn't mean I'm wasting my life.. **sticks out tongue**

[Racetrack]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:10am

Do we really want to know TG?

[BSoBW2]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:11am

well, you picked the wrong person to stalk - boring life

::cue A Perfect Life::

[Ebonic_Singer]

Posted: 12/31/04 at 1:11am

aww thanks fredikins.