Lance Alvers- RP Journal for 12monthsback

Tue, 20 Nov 2007 17:50:01 GMT

The tip of the cigarrette smoldered as he raised it to his lips, taking a long drag before flicking the ash to the wayside, scanning the row of cars in front of him.

The parking garage was dimly lit, but it did nothing to hide the luxury of the vehicles he had to choose from, neither how inherently vunerable they were. Easy enough to strip down, sell for parts. Get him that much closer to one of his own. Vintage Porsche, maybe. Corvette. Even better.

Flicking the cigarette to the ground, he ground it out with his heel, moving toward the Benz parked on the right.

Mon, 15 Oct 2007 04:15:47 GMT

Taken a picture naked? No
Made money illegally? Yes
Had a one night stand? Yes
Been in a fist fight? Yes
Slept with your best friend? Yes
Had sex in a public place? Yes
Ditched work to have sex? Yes
Slept with a member of the same sex? Yes
Seen someone die? Yes
Ran from the police? Yes
Woke up somewhere and not remember how you got there? Yes
Worn your partners unmentionables? No
Fallen asleep at work? Yes
Used toys in the bedroom? Yes
Ran a red light? Yes
Been fired? Yes
Been in a car accident? No
Pole danced or done a striptease? No
Loved someone you shouldn't? Yes
Sang karaoke? No
Done something you told yourself you wouldn't? Yes
Laughed so hard you peed your pants? No
Caught someone having sex? No
Kissed a perfect stranger? Yes
Shaved your partner? No and fuck, I don't even want to know
Given your private parts a nickname? No
Ever gone in public without underwear? Yes.
Had sex on a roof top? Yes
Played chicken? What?
Mooned/flashed someone? No
Do you sleep naked? Yes
Blacked out from drinking? Yes
Felt like killing someone? Yes
Had sex more than 5 times in one day? Working on it. Current record's at three.
Been with someone because they were in a band? No
Taken 10 shots of liquor in a day? Yes
Shot a gun? No
Gone outside naked? No

Sun, 07 Oct 2007 22:00:51 GMT

Seattle!AU

He had no idea when he'd become such a fucking night owl.

Probably after working the graveyard shift and switching back to days. Hell on his sleep patterns, and no matter how fucked he knew he was going to be come work in the morning, he couldn't bring himself to crawl into bed. Too hyped up, too antsy. Finally, he'd abandoned his tiny apartment, taking a jacket and his cigarettes and heading for the piers.

Sun, 07 Oct 2007 01:22:21 GMT

Matrix!AU

It was dark. Dark and dank and he'd done the living in a cave thing, but there was always an escape. Self-imposed isolation was nothing compared to no way out. Two days and he was craving a return. A return that, according to Chimera, to Candice, wasn't possible. He kept quiet, going about the duties on the ship assigned to him, trying to pretend it was just a dream he couldn't wake up from

So when they told him he was going to 'plug in', he jumped at the chance, his mind not even processing the rest of the words.

He wanted to go back.

Wed, 03 Oct 2007 00:42:22 GMT

Matrix!au

The quiet squeak of the sponge on the glass grated in his ears, leaning down to soak it in the warm, soapy water before straightening, moving it in wide circles over the store-front window. His hood was pulled up and over his lengthening hair, sunglasses obscuring his eyes. In the shadow of the skyscrapers or not, the city was too damn bright in the afternoon. Night after night spent staring at his computer screen really wasn't easying the strain on his eyes.

Tossing the sponge back in the bucket, he moved to toss empty it into the storm drain. Darting a quick glance upwards at one of the shining office buildings, he wished the word sellout didn't have such a bitter taste in his mouth. Company man or not, pulling down six digits as a programmer would've been fucking heaven compared to this shit.

Sat, 22 Sep 2007 19:39:20 GMT

Lance was half asleep on the couch when she came in, watching wrestling and nursing a beer. The latter in an attempt to kill the splitting headache he'd had all day, the former because...well, it was wrestling. Didn't really need an explanation to watch two guys beat the hell out of each other.

"Hey," he mumbled, glancing over at her. "Don't turn on any lights, okay? I have a bitch of a migraine."

Thu, 20 Sep 2007 17:52:25 GMT

To: uraveragejoe@aim.com
From: rockin_ouloud@gmail.com
Subj: (none)

I'm not working tonight. So if you're not...maybe we could...get something to eat. Or whatever.

Mon, 10 Sep 2007 12:07:10 GMT

From: rockin_ouloud@gmail.com
To: ambiguouslyzach@aol.com
Subj: (none)

hey. so. this is probably late in coming but...i figured i owed you more than some shit i spouted when i was high as a kite. i know how much it fucking sucks not to ever get an explanation and so. yeah. this is an explanation i guess

i didn't lie to you. i know that's probably the first fuckng thing you thought and i don't blame you but it's not the case. i care about you a whole hell of a lot. and when i said...i meant it. as much as i can mean it. which is a huge fucking part of the problem.

cooper told you you loved me. and vice versa. and i think...we were a little fucking quick to believe him. to just assume he knew what the fuck he was talking about and act accordingly. i don't have the first damn clue what it is. love. and maybe i was too quick to want to believe that was what it was. it went too hard and too fast and fucks knows we didn't get off to the best fucking start.

i don't know much about love but i know its for one person. only. and maybe we should've got a clue then.

it comes down to i'm too fucked up and you're too young. i know thats shitty to cop behind, but you are. i'm too old for you and i have too much of my own shit that comes along with it. i'm barely managing to be a decent fuckng person. i can't handle boyfriend. my life's going to hell to fucking quick and you can't dpend on me. i can't have prison hanging over my head. i can't take care of someone. or let someone take care of me. i can't afford to give two shits either way or i'm going to start drowning and never break water.

you need someone who can give that to you. who can take care of you, who's your own fucking age. who won't turn you bitter and cheat on you and make your life harder. and this isn't fucking selfpity on my end its the truth or being a selfrighteous prick. its honest. i shouldn't have pushed. i should've let you be with cooper but i fucked up.

so. this is me saying i'm sorry. if i hurt you. and that i'm...still here if you need a couch or someone to talk to or something. i can be a friend. like we were supposed to be.

it's all i can give you.

and for what its worth. i really...even though i fucked it. thanks for the chance.

lance

Wed, 05 Sep 2007 13:08:31 GMT

--Locked to those who know Lance w/ the exception of Wanda--

I normally don't like to use this fucking thing, cause fuck, whining about your problems to strangers has to get old real fucking fast, but I...need to get this out somewhere and I'm not going to fucking talk to anybody about it. So its either this or get blind fucking drunk and I've fucked up enough stuff that way, so I'm trying this.

Pietro's dead.

Has been dead. For a month now, and I didn't fucking know. Probably the longest he's ever been still and it's funny but it's not, not at all, because it's Pietro. He's not supposed to stop moving, not ever and he's not supposed to be dead. It's not supposed to work like that. He was a fucking celebrity. An Olympian. Someone important, goddammit, who had people who needed him and he's not supposed to be dead.

It's not fucking fair.

And I betrayed him. I fucking sold him out to save my own ass and Wanda, too, and she called me family. He was my best fucking friend in highschool and he fucking did something with his life and her too and I sold them out. Why? So I wouldn't go to fucking prison? Where I've been headed my whole fucking life anyway?

No. It's not going to be like this. I have to...fix this or something. Somehow. I need to take care of Wanda cause I owe him that. I owe him at least that.

Thu, 30 Aug 2007 00:25:27 GMT

Summary: When he thinks about her, he tries to remember good things.
OOC comments welcome

She carried nail polish in her purse.

Aphrodite’s Pink Nightie was what she swore up and down it was called, pale and pink and perfectly suited for her. She would pull it out at the strangest places, from at her desk in homeroom to in his Jeep at a stoplight, correcting a miniscule flaw with practiced hands.

The smell turned his stomach, but the way she’d smile at him afterwards, mouth pursed and coy as she blew on them to dry…more than made up for it.

He remembers stuff like that.

Her perfume, something overpowering and flowery, the sound of her laugh and the freckles on her nose that she tried to cover up with powder. The time she tried to make cupcakes and ended up with blackened lumps of cake batter and a small kitchen fire.

Her small breasts and thick eyelashes, the way she’d giggle and push at his hands if he tried to touch her below the waist. The way that she’d keep him on the phone for hours and force him to carry her books at school.

Little stuff.

He doesn’t like to think about the fool he made out of himself.

About trying to be a nice, normal boyfriend, of all things, trying to be someone she could tell her friends about. About telling Pietro he was getting in her pants so that the other boy would leave him alone when he took her to the dance. Taking her there in the first place, feeling like a fraud as he tried to play the part.

Doing it all because when she looked at him, he felt like a better person.

But not for long.

The looks started to change.

They started to match the ones her friends wore when he talked to her in school. When he walked her to class. The undercurrent of distrust and disgust that they projected, the question on their minds clear. Her kisses became less frequent and less flirtatious. Coy smiles stopped being just for him and became meant for others.

And still he followed her around. Still he called her. Still he thought about her.

Until one day, when he saw her wearing the fullback’s letterman jacket and she stopped looking at him entirely.

He remembers the sound the bastard’s nose made as it broke.

Sat, 18 Aug 2007 10:56:13 GMT

Date: Fall 1992
Summary: Sometimes the best thing about childhood is that it ends.
Status: Complete
Warnings: Mentions of child abuse

He sits on the kitchen floor and plays with his army men, organizing them into platoons and giving them orders, just like he saw on TV. Slow and steady, they creep over the linoleum, trying to get to the cupboards before the enemy spots them.

He’s lost two soldiers already when she storms into the kitchen, her feet crunching his best troops. She spies the empty beer bottles he’s been using as tanks and has him by the arm, dragging him to his feet. His arm hurts and he’s already apologizing as she tugs up his shirt, grabbing a wooden spoon off of the counter.

She beats him until his back and rear end are red with welts and then again when he starts to cry.

Later, he flees to his room and crawls under his sheets, pulling them over his head. I’m okay, he tells himself, pressing his face into his pillow, gulping in air as he sobs.

I’m okay.

He forgets to wake her up for work on a Thursday and she screams horrible things, things he doesn’t even understand. She tells him he’s irresponsible, just like his daddy, and he doesn’t know what it means but he knows better than to talk back when she brings up his daddy.

When she falls asleep in front of the TV later that night, he climbs on top the bathroom counter and puts his feet in the sink, staring in the mirror.

He sucks on his fat lip, touching his reflection, and wonders if his mommy wouldn’t get so angry if he didn’t look so much like his daddy.

He doesn’t like school.

He’s big this year, in third grade, and that means a whole different recess time and everything. It also means stuff is harder and kids are meaner. There are less arts and crafts and more numbers and he pushes his desk over when Amy Littleton makes fun of how he reads.

He likes his teacher, though, and so he tries to be good. He likes her cause she smells like strawberries, not like the stuff the nurse puts on cuts, and because she lets him count on his fingers, even though they aren’t supposed to.

His teacher keeps him inside during recess one day. He hates her then. He sits at his desk with his head down, trying not to listen to the kids outside. She erases the board and comes to sit beside him, handing him a sucker.

Liking her again, he unwraps it, showing her after a minute how it turned his tongue blue. She laughs and then gets quiet, asking him why his eye is black and blue. He tells her he got in a fight. Her face looks sad, though, and he feels bad for lying to her.

She asks him if he wants to go play now, and he forgets all about it in his excitement.

His mommy was too sick to make him lunch that morning and so he steals a ho-ho from Jenny Patterson and pulls her pigtails when she cries.

He doesn’t get recess again, but his teacher lets him play with the colored chalk on the board and he almost doesn’t mind.

He remembers it’s his birthday when the principal says it on the morning announcements. He’s nine today, nearly ten and definitely grown up.

His teacher asks him in front of the class if he got anything special. He tells her he got a remote control car and a new bike and GI Joes and definitely not any clothes. The rest of the class oohs and aaahs, but she has that sad look that makes him feel bad for lying again.

At recess, she lets him pick teams for kickball.

His mommy has a man at the house when he goes home.

The door to her bedroom is open but he doesn’t go say hi. He knows better. He throws away his homework and grabs a box of cereal. His mommy and the man are being really loud, but he doesn’t turn the TV up.

He knows better.

He doesn’t go to recess anymore.

He stays with his teacher in the classroom and helps her put away the art projects. She notices the burns on his arms from his mommy’s cigarettes when he scratches at them and sits down at a desk.

She’s crying and he feels awful. Tugging at her hand, he asks her what’s wrong. She shakes her head and wipes her eyes, smiling at him. Smoothing a hand over his floppy brown hair, she asks him if he thinks she’s pretty.

He tells her he thinks she the most beautiful girl in the world.

She touches his split lip and starts to say something when the principal comes in the room.

His teacher isn’t in class the next day.

Or the next.

He sits on his bed with his blanket over his head like a fort and thinks about running away.

One night, his bruises still fresh, he decides to do it. He puts socks and underwear and his toothbrush into his backpack and sneaks out the back door. Wiping the tear tacks from his cheeks, he climbs over the chain link fence into the next yard and picks up the little pug dog that runs to greet him.

Mrs. Bernstein lets him play with her dog and take him on walks cause she’s too old to anymore. He feels bad for taking him, but he thinks he’ll be better off with someone who can take care of him and hopes Mrs. Bernstein won’t be too mad.

He makes it to the end of the block before he gets too scared to keep going.

Clutching the dog to his chest, he goes back home, feeling bad for trying to go away. After all, it doesn’t matter what she does or how much she yells.

She’s still his mommy.

The hospital room is cold and white and smells funny and he hates it there. His hand hurts where there’s a needle in it and his jaw hurts where it’s wired shut. He can’t talk. The nurse can’t read his sloppy handwriting and so he can’t even ask her why he can’t go home.

Or where his mommy is.

The policeman who comes to visit him tells him that his mommy’s in big trouble for what she did to him. His face crumples even though he’s trying to be a big boy. I pushed her, he wants to say. I made her mad. My fault.

The policeman ruffles his hair and Lance thinks of his teacher and hates him.

Wed, 15 Aug 2007 00:31:08 GMT

Date: Fall 2005
Characters: Lance Alvers, Candice Wilmer
Summary: Lance and Candice try to deal with the aftermath of last night's events.
Status: Complete
Warnings: Graphic sexual situations, dark, angst like whoa
Private, AU beginning from their first meeting in the park

The insistent, shrilling ringing of Candice's cell phone woke him early and with a groan, Lance reached over to grab it off the bedside table, turning off the alarm.

Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he rolled over onto his side, shaking her lightly.

"Candice," he mumbled, still half alseep himself. "You going to class?"

Wed, 01 Aug 2007 01:54:36 GMT

-Delinquent!AU-

Tugging out of the guard's grasp, Lance grit his teeth, staring darkly around the room as they uncuffed him. Once free and left to his own devices, he rubbed his wrists absently.

No way the fucking car was worth this shit.

Pulling out a chair at an empty table, he propped his feet up, wishing for a cigarette.

Mon, 23 Jul 2007 23:11:43 GMT

Date: Winter 2005
Characters: Lance Alvers, Candice Wilmer
Summary: Lance chooses the wrong person to play confessor to.
Status: In progress...
Private. Cause, well. It's personal.

He stared at the number, black ink on white paper, standing out in stark relief.

The phone sat beside him, dial tone barely audible as he tried to decide whether he really wanted to call just to pitch his sob story. He needed a drinking buddy, though, at the very least, and the fact that his chosen partner in drunken self-pity was a woman didn't escape him. But...fuck, Candice was a better choice than most people he knew. She didn't fucking coddle him and he didn't have anything to lose in regards to her.

Two things that put her above Joey and Zach in the whole confessing to murder shtick.

And maybe, just maybe, he wanted some punishment for this. Fuck knew he deserved it. At least she would give it to him straight, no holds barred.

Sighing, Lance punched in her number, waiting for it to ring.

Tue, 10 Jul 2007 09:22:23 GMT

Date: Summer 2000
Character: Lance Alvers
Summary: While at a party, Lance experiments and realizes something terrifying about himself.
Status: Complete
OOC comments welcome

…bang bang you’re dead hole in your head…

His fingers tapped restlessly on the arm of the sofa, unable to distinguish the pounding of the bass from the pounding in his head. He could still taste the chalky remnants of the Desoxsyn, the pills scattered across the tabletop. It was making him nauseous, along with the stuffy, thick air of the basement, but he felt glued to his seat, strains of Silverfuck twining with his own thoughts.

Sometime later, maybe an hour, maybe five minutes, he lurched off the couch, pushing past a drunken girl with pink hair. She was leaning against the doorframe, dry heaving, and the sight and smell nearly had him vomiting along with her. He couldn’t breathe down here, and desperately, he made for the stairs, heart near pounding out of his chest.

He made it outside, slipping in the wet grass and gasping in a lungful of air. The earlier buzz was wearing off, leaving him sick and crippled in the backyard of a faceless classmate. Falling over on his side, he tried his best to breathe past the hammering of his heart against his ribs, the sound rushing in his ears, distracting him.

The sudden feel of hands on his arms startled him, his eyes wide and confused, something nonsensical falling from his lips. Fingertips pressed like sandpaper across his face, trying to shut him up. Clawing at them, he somehow found his hands tangled in thick hair, registering dark eyes and pale skin before he smashed their mouths together.

Those same rough fingers scrabbled at his hips, slipping under his shirt and leaving scorching welts in their wake. Flat teeth biting his mouth, flat chest under his hands and fuck, not that, what the hell—

Lance pulled away roughly, forgetting to let go and taking several strands of dark hair with him. Stumbling to his feet, he made it halfway down the hill before strong arms, warm arms, male arms wrapped around his waist, tugging him down into the mud.

He choked on a startled gasp, fists swinging, catching, twisting in cool, sweat-soaked cotton and there were lips on his, a tongue against his, something hard pressed against him and this wasn’t happening, why wasn’t he pulling away, why wasn’t he hitting him—

“Fuck you,” he hissed soundlessly, the air sucked from his lungs by that foreign mouth, biting down until he tasted blood. Sandpaper hands were in his jeans, and fists that meant to break, pulled closer.

Sharp teeth bit at his neck, sucking hard, vampire teeth and the thought made him laugh, loud and hollow, till those hands were back over his mouth, suffocating him. He writhed under the force, hips pushing upward and meeting faded denim. He couldn’t breathe now, but he was still laughing, that mouth pressing against razor-edged fingers, swallowing him through layers of skin.

Let go, he thought, choking on his own bile, kicking and biting, trying to get away, but only moving closer and he was seeing spots now, but maybe it was all just a trip. A bad trip and this couldn’t be him. This couldn’t be him pressing like a whore under another guy, strangling and screaming in his head, but not pulling back, not escaping. He should be murdering for this, he knew, but he just wanted to taste again and fuck, he couldn’t breathe--

A knee finally connected, breaking the hold as the hands fell away from his mouth, and he gasped, swallowing convulsively like a fish out of water. Fury and fear combined to rush through his veins, more potent than the drug itself. His fists impacted over and over with soft, giving flesh, wringing cries from that gaping mouth, that disgusting, raping, pleasant mouth and dammit dammit dammit.

He hit until there was no noise but the wind and the cicadas, then pushed to his feet, running until the truth was far behind him, until he was bent over behind a withered oak, vomiting and shaking.

Behind him, sirens wailed.

Wed, 13 Jun 2007 05:16:50 GMT

Scowling, Lance popped the cap off of his beer slumping down in front of his computer, punching the power button a bit harder than neccesary.

He was going to kill him.

rockin_outloud has signed in and is available to recieve messages.

rockin_outloud (11:54:08): i can't believe you

Sun, 10 Jun 2007 23:40:57 GMT

Fall 2005

Lance was impatient. Which, really, was nothing new. - Following an embarassing encounter at work, Lance takes his frustrations out on an innocent bystander.

Someone, somewhere, really fucking hated him.- All Lance wants to do is make it home with his groceries intact. A random encounter with a disappearing pregnant woman and a dark-haired hottie makes that all but impossible. {warning: graphic sexual situations}

Instead, he was here to play Obi to the young, inexperienced Jedi. Wonderful.- Lance shares his garnered wisdom with a nervous Claire and becomes a fast Lex to Peter's Clark.

He still was having a hard time believing the kid was here.- Two net friends meet up at long last.

Lance sighed. God this was going to suck. - Scones, snarking and sucker punches.

Fuck, the stupid prick was attractive. - Lance crashes Zach and Cooper's meeting. {warning: mild sexual situations}

Lance did. not. wait. up. - Zach returns to Lance's apartment, as promised. {warning: mild sexual situations}

He hit the intercom button. "Stay there, I'm coming down."- After some flirting on the net, Lance gets a late night visitor.

Letting his breathing become slow and even, he was asleep within moments. - After getting some sleep, Lance wakes up to breakfast and awkward conversation. {warning: sexual situations}

Sighing, Lance rounded the corner, hands still tucked in his jacket pockets. - Lance runs into the last person he wants to see. Things escalate.

Lance stormed into the kitchen, grabbing an icepack out of the fridge. - After the fight with Peter, Lance returns home in time to interuppt yet another awkward conversation.

rockin_outloud (7:09:09 PM): you're im-ing to yell at me, aren't you. - Lance and Claire have it out the mature way: they bitch at each other over AIM.

Innocent question. Not antagonistic. He gave himself mental points. - Lance and Zach have a chat. Then a fight. Storming out ensues.

Frowning again, he tried again to stand, managing it this time. - After the last thread, Lance drowns himself in his own pity. And indulges in a little drunk dialing. {warning: mild sexual situtations}

He was feeling self-destructive. - Lance makes things worse. He has help. {warning: graphic sexual situations}

God, he was going to be sick. - The fallout.

Lance drug himself out of bed, tugging on a shirt and walking out into the living room. - Zach returns. Cereal and awkward conversation are had.

He wanted to know what to feed dogs?- Lance goes to Joey's bearing gifts.

rockin_outloud: cool. now i can hate the jerk witout feeling bad.- Lance and Zach AIM chat.

A flash of peroxide blonde caught his eye. - Lance runs into an old friend on the street.

He headed over to the bar, sliding into the seat next to her. - Lance has dinner with a one-night stand. Not awkward at all.

Suddenly, he thought he was going to be sick. - A late night meeting turns sour when Zach reveals his secret. {warning: sexual situations}

Shaky hands lit a cigarette. - After the previous thread, Lance engages in some self-destruction, as well as some drugged dialing.

Where Claire was, Zach wasn't too far behind. - Sporting a bitch of a headache, the last thing Lance needs is an awkward reunion. Murphy gives him just that.

He closed his eyes, tucking the phone between his ear and the pillow. - Lance and Zach reconcile. {warning: graphic sexual situations}

A smile for that one, pressed against Zach's shoulder. - Lance doesn't do mornings. But he'll make an exception for Zach. {warning: graphic sexual situations}

Why did he agree to this again? - Zach takes Lance home to meet the parents. Kind of.

The Odessa Mall. Joy of joys. - The boys go mall hopping, plate shopping, and room ransacking. {warning: sexual encounters}

Wouldn't be an act of terrorism without the Maximoff flare for the dramatic. - To quote Pietro, 'Big badda boom time.'

Fall 2012

Leaning against the frame, he glared at her. -Claire and Lance at home, seven years in the future. {warning: graphic sexual situations}

Lance staggered to the side, pain shooting through his skull. - Lance runs into an old friend. {warning: graphic sexual situations}

The stupid fucker had a knife.- Lance tries to play white knight and ends up trapped under debris.

Some survey shit I found online...

Sun, 13 May 2007 00:02:25 GMT

Name::	Lance Alvers
Nickname::	none
Age::	22
Date of Birth::	5-07-85
Place of Birth::	Chicago, IL
Current Town/City (Where You Live Now)::	Queens, NYC
Hometown (Where You Grew/Raised Up)::	Chicago, IL
Some One Special (Parents, Friends)::	the Boarding House guys, I guess, before they turned traitor
Siblings::	a sister, Carla
Skills/Specialtiy::	I can knock you off your feet without even touching you.
Orientation::	shrugs I'm not picky.
Single or Taken::	Single
Religion::	God is dead.
Pets::	none. had a toad once.
Values::	are over-rated. you look out for yourself, and you gets yours. that's about it.
Passions::	the guitar, cars
Hero::	Kurt Cobain
Overused Phrase::	"rock your world" and various other shitty puns
Favorite Color::	black
Favorite Number::	47
Favorite Quote//Slogan/Tag Line/Theme, etc.::	"Say 'hello' to my little friend!"
Favorite Symbol/Logo/Emblem, etc.::	middle finger work for you?
Looks/Appearance
Ethnicity::	White
Heritage::	Greek
Eye Color::	Blue
Hair Color::	Brown
Length of Hair::	About shoulder-length, I guess. Going for the Eddie Vedder look
Label::	Hood, degenerate, deadhead...take your pick
Style (What You Wear)::	leather jacket, t-shirt, jeans, boots...whatevers closest when i wake up
Piercings::	had my eyebrow for awhile...ripped the stupid thing out cause it pissed me off
Tattoos::	'the earth will shake' in greek on my right bicep
Body Type::	I guess I'm about average-sized. On the lanky side, bout 6 foot.
Contacts/Glasses::	no
Other Notable Appearance Traits::	I got in the habit of wearing fingerless gloves, like, all the time. not sure why. makes me feel badass, though
Entertainment & Things You Like (Preferred or Favorite)
Movie::	Scarface
TV Show::	CSI
Store::	Hank's Auto Body
Type of Music::	Grunge
Artist/ Band/ Musician::	Nirvana
Song::	Zero- The Smashing Pumpkins
Book::	Clockwork Orange
Magazine/Periodicals::	Maximum
Sports to Play::	does stealing wallets count as a sport? no? damn, i was going for MVP
Sports to Watch::	hockey
Sports Teams::	don't care
Video Games::	Grand Theft Auto
Board Game::	I kick ass at monopoly
Card Game::	Texas Hold 'em
Other Notable Games::	Rainbow parties
Electronic Device::	walkman
Missed Memory::	Leaving Pietro's shit in the lawn. in the rain.
Cartoon::	Southpark
Anime::	no way
Super Hero::	The Punisher
Other Notable Things You Like::	moshpits, guns, starting shit, motorcycles
Crush/Lover
Preferred Eye Color::	brown
Preferred Hair Color::	brown
Preferred Length of Hair::	long or short, doesn't matter
Preferred Height::	shorter than me
Looks or Personality::	personality, i guess
Hot or Cute::	either
Preferred Body Type::	i'm an ass man, myself
Preferred Personality::	i want someone who's got some guts, i ain't lookin' to take care of some fairy princess
First Thing you Notice About the Opposite Sex/Crush::	laugh
Turn-On::	Nice ass
Turn-Off::	bitchiness
Any Crushes Now?::	No
First Kiss::	Erica Watson on the playground. 3rd grade
If you could date anybody, who would it be?::	Laura Croft or Elektra
What is something you don’t understand about the opposite sex?::	why they all have to go to the bathroom together.
Are eyes the passageway to the soul?::	ugh, no. that's actually really gross.
Love Life
Single or Taken::	Single
Right this Moment
Where are you now?::	Net Cafe on 8th
What are you listening to now?::	whatever hoity toity jazz new age shit they're playing
What do you fear most now?::	That one of these beatniks is going to try to talk to me.
Who would you like to hang out with now?::	Freddy. At least he was quiet.
Current
School/ College/University/Alumni (Previous...)::	high-school dropout
Job/Occupation/Armed Forces,etc.::	stock boy
Transportation/Vehicles (Cars/Bikes/Motorcyles/Trucks/Automobiles,etc)::	My jeep
One Or The Other [This or That]
Pepsi or Coke::	Pepsi
Dog or Cat::	Dog
Rock or Rap::	Rock
Dark or Light::	Dark
TV or Movie::	TV
Chocolate or Vanilla::	Chocolate
Gold or Silver::	silver
Summer or Winter::	Winter
Fall or Spring::	Fall
Romantic Comedy or Action Adventure::	Action Adventure
Cell phone or iPod::	man, you guys are all rich bastards, aren't you?
Love or Money::	Money
IM/Instant Message or MySpace::	neither
Ocean or Pool::	Pool
Learn Now or Learn Later::	Learn never
Heaven or Hell::	don't buy it
Kisses or Hugs::	Sex
Pen or Pencil::	Pen
Do You...
Do Drugs?::	Pot, ocassionally. Used to be a pretty big methhead
Smoke?::	yup
Drink?::	yeah
Sing?::	pretty well
Dance?::	no way in hell
Play an Instrument?::	guitar
Write?::	song lyrics and grocery lists
Skateboard?::	no
Snowboard?::	no
Have Regrets That You Never Really Got Over?::	no regrets. hakuna fuckin' matata
Have Fears That You Never Really Got Over?::	no fear
Do You Believe in…
Yourself?::	ignoring how after school special that is, yeah. sure.
Love at First Sight?::	no
God?::	no
Satan/Devil?::	no
Heaven/Hell?::	no
Life After Death?::	nope. we're all worm food
Life on Other Planets?::	no
Luck?::	yeah
Magic?::	no
Horoscopes?::	no
Karma?::	no
Evolution?::	guess so. i mean, it explains a lot
Ghosts?::	no
Food (Preferred or Favorite)
Flavor::	Sour
Appetizer/Snack::	hot wings
Candy::	Warheads
Meat::	hamburger
Pie::	chocolate
Ice Cream::	Double Fudge Brownie
Sauce/Dressing::	none
Cereal::	Coca Pebbles
Cookie::	Chips Ahoy
Cake::	german chocolate
Doughnuts::	choclate eclaire
Fruits/Veggies::	fruits
Dairy Product::	cottage cheese
Other Notable Foods::	ramen noodles
6 Words That Describe You/Me
1. ::	tough
2. ::	short-tempered
3. ::	foul-mouthed
4. ::	paranoid
5. ::	sucker
6. ::	loner
2 of Your Favorite Beings (Things,etc)
1.:	My jeep
2.:	My strat
1 Being (Person,Thing, etc) You Would Like To Meet/See
1.:	Kurt Cobain