On the Internet and My Sister

            Okay, so everybody talks about my internet addiction in my family. Everyone knows that the moment the internet goes down, I will emerge two seconds later... 'Moooom.' and everyone will know why. Today, I have seen how my sister acts when this happens.
God almighty the anger issues.
Literally threatening the world at large and assigning blame to everything that moved, she stormed through the house, cursing under her breath, hitting inanimate objects.
            And I'm the addicted one. She was watching YouTube. YouTube. And she threw a fit like dad had cut out the internet as a big personal insult. Self control, kiddo! My reaction to a broken connection is a mild sense of disappointment and then I inquire upon the matter to see if it can be fixed promptly. If it can't well... tough. If it can... yay. Jokes are always made that I would crumple up and die without internet but my sister... my sister took all of .2 seconds to go on a little warpath. What the hell!
            The problem with Rose is she has no patience or ability to distinguish corrective criticism from insult. I suppose she'd rather wallow in her own righteous indignation and threaten life and limb of who dare question her evident perfection. She's lovely, yes, but often brawn over brains, like a little lion. I appreciate her confidence and take-no-shit attitude, envy it, sometimes, but like all siblings she can... be annoying. I love her though. No matter what she says out of drama-fueled theatrics.

T.Y.G.E.R.

Tangent Adventure One: Flight the Second

Copper, Angel, and I from Lost Rabbit

            This is what I did today! A slightly less crap drawing that led me to experiment further with layers and blurs. It isn't that detailed but I think it's nice. I really like my tablet.
I am also continuing the little story I started. The little tidbits are going to be called 'Flights.' I had a vague idea of how I was going to continue this. It's gone now, oh well. Let's see what happens...

            The first thing I was aware of was sunlight, and for a moment or two I successfully entertained the idea that the ordeal had all been a dream. But unfamiliar voices and the musty smell of old carpet and other fabrics brought me slowly into the waking world, and I was gradually getting more and more alarmed. I make a sound as I sat up and looked around the treehouse that seemed to be made almost exclusively from junk. The windows were plastic instead of glass, the ceiling was a blue cover for something-probably a large car-and the floor was all different sorts of wood and plastic and stone all jammed together like a puzzle. I was lying on a nestlike bed of carpet, woven mats, and raggedy sheets with my robe draped over me like a blanket. I put it on and made my way tentatively to the curtained 'door' into the next room, and without warning it was swept to the side, and I was suddenly face to face with a very groggy Dave. I became angry very fast. He didn't seem to notice. "Oh... you're awake..." I scowled. "You!" I screeched dramatically. "You-kidnapped-me!" He looked up at the ceiling in a I-really-don't-need-this-right-now sort of way, which did nothing but make me angrier. "You knocked me out and kidnapped me!"
"Are we done stating the obvious?" He asked in exasperation. I ignored him. "I still have the bite mark! It still hurts! You..." I struggled to find a non-profantic derogatory scathing enough, failed and trudged on. "Who the heck do you think you are? We had an arrangement! Don't bother me, I don't bother you. We agreed. And what were you on about 'Time and Space?' Do I look stupid?"
"Yes." He replied with a poker-straight face. I think I inhaled most of the atmosphere at that.
"You worm!" I spat furiously. He stiffened. I had actually said something properly offensive. Go me. "T-take me home. Now." I said shakily. I suppose we made a silly picture, a small angry little girl who looked like she just rolled out of bed yelling at a ginormous lizard who actually looked pretty miffed at me right about now. We glared at each other for a second, before he grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and dragged me into the den. "Darwin! Deal with her-now!" Later I didn't blame him one bit. He was at that level of tiredness about the same as one that had been up until five in the morning, and he was being more civil than I would've been if a teenager had started screaming at me and calling me names. But this was now, and later was a couple of hours from then. Now I hated his guts.
            I found myself face to face with a boy who seemed an odd mixture of Peter Pan, Tarzan, and the scientist from Journey to the Center of the Earth. He was wearing fairly dirty homemade clothes, and the bluest eyes ever and curly brown hair. He looked a little like my dad. Wait... no...
"Hey there, little sister."
"Monkey Boy?!" I shouted-screamed it, really. My Dad's tall tale, the one stupid running joke that he'd teased me with my whole childhood had a shred of truth to it? The one thing I solidly didn't believe was in the woods, even after Dave had snatched me up all those years ago and gave me the whole don't-bother-me-or-I'll-eat-you speech. He looked nowhere near as scary as I'd pictured him. Jeebus. He looked pained, and said he'd never thought he'd hear anyone call him that again. Dave burst out laughing. I frowned. "Wait... you're not old..." I said suspiciously. "You look about my age..."
"Well my dear, that's where Mythosfarieantology comes in," Said a third, older voice. "And a little of the study of Timespace Realitivity." I looked around wildly. "Oh what now?!" I moaned. Darwin rolled his eyes and pulled out a pair of weird, circular glasses with teal-colored glasses. "Here, I forgot your eyes haven't adjusted yet. You can keep those, we've got plenty." I examined them skeptically. "Put them on!" Ever curious, I did. They behaved normally at first, making everything look all green, but then everything felt all tingly and for a minute or two there was nothing but white, then everything went clear. Not just normal colors but like the first time I put on glasses. But sharper, better. "Whoa." I blinked. "Who in the worlds are you?"
"That's my teacher, Lily." Darwin said loftily. "Professor Farneer."
Okay, things are becoming clearer... not really. More will be elaborated on tomorrow, as well as what the l Mythosfarieantology is and why I couldn't see Prof. Farneer without special glasses. To be continued... tomorrow.
And there's Flight the Second of I'm Bored So I'm Off to Save the World. Otherwise known as Tangent Adventure One. More soon,

T.Y.G.E.R.

Okay, So That Thing I Mentioned Last Time...

            Me and a friend of mine are collaborating on a story. I have never done this before... It's for a mystery story writing contest. It is much harder than I thought, reason one being someone has to die, whether because of her insistence or the simple fact that murder mysteries are the simpler mysteries to write. We disagree a lot. I can't hold interest in a particular storyline. I like the first idea that we decided wasn't really a mystery. Mysteries are amazing to read, surely. Writing them, much like anything, is completely different.
It's waxing mildly frustrating.
Now it's very late and I am tired.
Sorry for keeping this so late... like anyone cares.
As you can tell, we didn't make much progress.
            My sister worried me today. Not the usual worries. A different kind of worry. A less funny sort of worry. A dreadfully common ailment for my generation and nearly all grownups of these times. It sort of snuck up on me.
            It was a simple enough start. She intruded my room muttering 'Mangas... mangas...' and began scouring my bookshelf. I have all of three, all based of actual novels. All merely holdovers from when I was teaching myself the style. On more of a whim than anything, I handed her A Wrinkle in Time and told her to read that instead. After all, I had read it around her age and I had loved it.
The little socialite outright refused, laughing.
I begged, I coaxed, I gave a vain shot at reverse psychology. This escalates into a scuffle. An actual scuffle between my strong, stubborn insisting she read the book or sit down and let me read to her and her 'I don't like reading, I won't!' attitude. For a considerable longer time than I would normally put toward any physical effort I was making a fool of my scrawny self trying to drag her away from the door. I kid you not. Finally I pulled the wimpy, effortless maneuver called 'Tell Parents to Force Her.' It is a empty win, sometimes hard to correctly enforce, but in the end I was reading it to her and she was listening and for a while I felt I had accomplished something. I didn't quite get the message across... according to her summary she was absorbing about as much as an infant could absorb the entire history of World War Two. After I let my disapproval be known she said many similar things that were denied to Mom two seconds later. "I don't have an imagination." "I have an imagination, but don't use it." and finally "I have an imagination, but don't want to use it now..." It's always an unsettlingly funny thing to watch Rose edit herself as she speaks, pretending the world has a backspace button and we all don't realize what a scarily bone-headed thing she just said. 
I am a reader, and by whatever god there is, my sister will be too. Comics and anime is tolerable enough. Fine in moderation. But they cannot, will not, if I have anything to say, be the contents of her entire literary background, with few exceptions. Sorry, enough ranting, it's nearly midnight.

T.Y.G.E.R.

My Sister, Thorn

            I wonder if there's a way to get more than seven not-so-different fonts. Well, for now it's just those. So, yesterday I couldn't think of anything to write... And still don't have any idea of what to write. But I'm writing because A: rants are apparently popular so far on the poll. B: I have to, because I'll die of boredom if I don't (among other things.) 
            So yesterday absolutely NOTHING happened. Well, my sister's headphones shorted out so she was begging/trying to blackmail (me)/demanding (once again: me) everyone else to 'borrow' theirs. So mom let her use hers. Which she then lost. I found them ten minutes after I let mom use mine for her MP3 player at work and she left. No biggie, except I'm silly enough to hand them to my dear sister who thinks she's still entitled to unlimited use of it--at least till mom get's back. Dad bursts her bubble, she throws a tantrum, and once again shows off her supernatural ability to ruin everyone's day all in one go.
            The reason headphones are such a big deal is that our laptop speakers are slightly lousy, and we both prefer headphones. Only my sister, who will start arguments insisting she has a monopoly on a particular type of soda or cereal, would turn something like that into a national crisis. She's absolutely great, but she's like the girl with the curl. When she's good, she's very, very good.
And when she's bad, she's horrid.

T.Y.G.E.R