Aimz

Summertime

2007-05-28T02:29:26Z

I've been away for awhile. Hiatus over.
Here are 37 Summer Inspired Stock Icons
Credit aimala1
Comments are love
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Notebook textures by </a></font></b></a>girlboheme. She makes beautiful textures, which I use alot. Check her out!

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My Favorite Music Now

2007-03-31T13:24:54Z

Amy Winehouse and Corinne Bailey Rae are such breaths of fresh air. Classic voices, old souls with modern twists. Some phenomenal talent coming out of the UK.

Here is Amy doing the catchy Rehab song acapella. It just blows me away. And Corinne doing a jazzy version of "Sexy Back".

More behind the cut (Corinne, KT Tundstall covering Jackson 5, John Mayer)

Battle in Seattle Wallpapers

2007-03-21T03:53:24Z

Please comment if taking if you feel compelled or give a shout out, or ignore me. Whatever suits you. LOL.
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800 x 1075 versions Behind the cut
Enjoy!

Battle in Seattle, is a movie co-starring Michelle Rodriguez that chronicles the WTO protests in Seattle. Directed by Stuart Townsend slated for a Dec 2007 release. I love this screen capture, it's so gut wrenching. Michelle plays one of the peaceful protestors that gets caught up in the bedlam.

aimala1 @ 2007-03-10T00:58:00

2007-03-10T06:16:48Z

Stock Icons
eh, a bunch of good stuff

Thanks for the overwhelming response to my latest posts.
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Fanfic - "Road Trip" Part II

2007-03-10T05:32:12Z

Ana Lucia rarely feels the need to explain to people why she is the way she is.

She sits in her convertible, gnawing on her thumb. Her temples throb and she grips the steering wheel tightly, growling through a clenched jaw before releasing a slow long breath in attempt to calm herself. Her eyes are fixated on the black asphalt and the heat that she can see rising from it. She relates. In her rearview mirror, she sees a pregnant woman in a pink sundress waddling along like a penguin in heat. Her heart hurts. She turns off the ignition and waits to see if he will come back.

The rage started the day before yesterday, Mother’s Day. She could feel it coming to a head, and did nothing to stop it. She didn’t want to stop it, and Sawyer didn’t exactly help matters either. They were headed north, when they were supposed to go south. They had decided to go south then east, away from the 100-degree sweltering heat. Sawyer got a balled up map thrown at him, along with some choice words, because he had failed to listen to her, again. Somewhere after the shouting became so ridiculous that they could barely hear each other, she had pulled the car over at a gas station and ordered him to get out. He did – slammed the door and stomped into the convenient store, cursing. She filled up the Mustang and now she waits.

“It ain’t gotta be your way or no way,” he announces, appearing out of nowhere with several bottles of water in hand.

Ana cranks her neck and looks up at him squinting against the sun. He’s hovering over her, dripping wet with sweat, looking like an angry bull.

<I>My way or the highway,</I> she thinks. She says forcefully, “I don’t like being lost. And for no damn reason.”

“Well it’s a hard knock life Annie. Lots of things ain’t to our liking.”

Ana slits her eyes at him, holding back her words.

He opens her door. “Now slide you sweet ass on over. I’ll take the wheel.”

“If you think I am letting you . . .” She stops herself, then moves to the passenger side with a heavy sigh. She’s tired of arguing. It’s like beating her head against a brick wall with him and she’s fed up.

“Why don’t you navigate? You tell me where to go, where to turn, what exit to take…”

She looks at him suspiciously as he starts up the car.

“Hell even when to take a piss. Cuz, if we get lost again, it’s all on you Ponce.”

“We won’t get lost,” she responds with an assured smirk, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Keep poutin’ Muchacha, you know I love it,” he teases with a sultry growl. She rolls her eyes and pulls away as he attempts to grab her lower lip.

“And let’s get this top up and put on the dang air condition’in.”

He speeds off. She tells him to head south, and she’ll let him know when he’s allowed to take a piss. He thanks her.

The sunset glows rusty streams of orange hues. Ana sits on the edge of a rock at a scenic overlook, gazing out into the horizon, mindlessly raking a stick around in the dirt. She shrinks as something cold hits her neck, then relaxes at the cooling sensation of it.

“The last brew from the cooler.” Sawyer hands it to her and lowers down to sit next to her, grunting from his stiffened muscles.

She pops the can open and presses it to her lips. “Wanna share it?”

Sawyer nods and waits for his turn at a swig. A welcome breeze hits, blowing her hair back. Sawyer smoothes his fingers through it then rubs his hand along her neck softly. There’s a family nearby at a picnic table. The kids are chasing each other and their screeching laughter amplifies in her brain.

Ana feels his eyes on her, feels him moving closer to her but she is unable to comprehend the close tenderness. He comments on the beauty of the sunset, it’s different than it was on the island, less ominous, less like death. He says that since they had been driving all day, that they should find a motel nearby and call it a night. He could use a nice long shower. His demeanor is cool and calm as if he hasn’t a care in the world, nothing to suggest that they were at each other’s throats hours before. She keeps her gaze honed straight ahead.

“So why don’t you spill what’s got you so sad?”

She looks at him curiously, as his words hang in the air. He rubs her shoulder as if he is trying to coax it out of her. She stiffens and blocks any feelings, looks away because she’s afraid he can see the tears burning at her eyes. She didn’t know she could register sad, just angry or confident. She rarely lets anyone see her in any state that one could call sad.

“I’m just really tired,” she answers more solemnly than she wants to.

“I mean for the past three days. Don’t get me wrong, you light up like a match when you’re pissed off, spittin’ madwoman. Wouldn’t mind if you curbed that habit a-tall. Might keep me from killin’ ya.” He snickers and takes another swig. “You can be fun when you want ta, hella fun in bed . . “

“Do you have point?”

He laughs at her irritation, and she softens her face realizing what he is attempting to do. She grins and shakes her head at him. He’s hopeless. He holds her chin up and says it’s nice to see her smile.

Ana wakes herself up on cue. She was dreaming something she didn’t want to dream, the repeated nightmare that involves gunshots and a wailing infant.

She reaches her arm out for Sawyer and he’s not next to her. A breeze blows the curtains at the terrace door and she sees him out there reared back in a patio chair.

“Can’t sleep?” she asks groggily while stepping out into the night air.

Sawyer jumps a bit and quickly puts out his cigarette as if he is trying to hide it from her. “What the hell Luce, how about puttin’ some clothes on. We ain’t the only ones in this hotel.” He looks around into darkness to see if anyone is peeping.

“We’re on the 20^th floor, relax man.” She tiptoes quickly across the concrete surface, crawls into the patio chair, onto his lap and curls herself into a ball against him like a cat.

“Well … let me fetch a blanket, somethin’ girl.”

“Relax,” she says again, almost happily as she lays her head on his chest. “It’s what, 3 a.m.?

Nobody’s awake.”

He wraps his arms around her completely as if he is trying to shield her from on-lookers anyway. “Not that I don’t like ya naked,” he moans and kisses her forehead, smoothing his hands along her skin. She snuggles closer and shuts her eyes. Sawyer smells of clean soap, and cigarettes. His skin is cool and his heart beats against her ear.

“You miss your Mom? That’s what it is ain’t it?”

“That’s what what is?”

“Why you been all sad and salty for damn near three days.”

She sighs. “If I tried to figure you out, you wouldn’t like it.”

“This ain’t about me though. I’m as happy as a clam, baby.”

“Whatever. And why are you smoking?”

“Calms my nerves and don’t go changin’ the subject.”

“There is no subject.”

After her final answer, they sit for a while in silence, and she effortlessly drifts back to sleep.

She awakens in the same position to the early sunrise. Sawyer is standing above her draping a blanket over her.

“Mornin’ Lemon Pop. Hope you woke up on the right side of the bed ta’day.” He hands her a mug of hot coffee.

“We’ll see. Thanks.” She can’t stand him being this nice, but her usual survival tactics that involve avoidance and pushing away haven’t worked yet. They are equally hardheaded, tolerating each other out of spite perhaps.

“Remember I told you I was shot?” She looks at the ground, at the frayed jeans above his bare feet, gripping her coffee mug.

“Yea, on the job right?” He stops moving and sits on the edge of the end table across from her, waiting for more.

She doesn’t know why she said it, or why she feels the need to confess anything more. Maybe because what he said yesterday is true -- they have a lot of time to spend together and a lot of talking to do.

“Yea. Well… there’s more to that story.”

She tells it all without pause. She let the guy reach. She was stupid. All of it. Even how she hunted the guy down. He got shot and there was no evidence. Sawyer seems to understand without her spelling out all the incriminating details. He listens without question, nor comment, and seemingly no judgment. So she keeps on talking monotone, almost robotically.

“Sunday was Mother’s Day you know.”

“Damn, forgot to mail my card. You talked to the Madre though, right?”

“Yea. I miss my Mom, sure. But it all happened the day before. On Mother’s Day four years ago, I woke up in the hospital with a pain in my chest that I can’t describe, and they told me what I already felt and knew. That I killed it.” She rubs her hand across her chest, wincing.

“You killed it?”

“Yup.” She bites her lip hard as it quivers. “The last thing I said to the bastard was that I was pregnant.”

There is silence and she finally looks at Sawyer squarely to see his reaction. She can’t read it. Maybe he doesn’t care. Men can’t fully comprehend what it’s like to lose a child. She learned that the hard way.

He moves towards her, and gently removes the mug from her grip. She moves to leave the scene as he begins to sit in the chair, but he pulls her closer to him, cradles her as he did hours before.

“Hey you know what,” he finally says. “We know more than most folks that life’s a bitch. It hits you hard and barely lets up. But when it does, when you get that break from the pain and the bullshit, it’s a beautiful thing.”

She raises her head and looks at him curiously, letting his words sink in. He smiles at her, winks his eye and his dimples and cool manner warm her to the core. He’s a snake charmer and she resists him as best she can. Then she realizes that she feels things differently with Sawyer, anger and lust all at once with extreme intensity, and that is better that feeling dead.

She kisses him lightly on the lips. A sense of contentment washes over. This is her break, and it’s beautiful.

Lost Fanfic - Road Trip (Sawyer-Ana Lucia)

2007-02-25T14:58:31Z

Road Trip

Show: Lost - Sawyer and Ana Lucia
Rating: Strong R
Premise: Sawyer and Ana Lucia collected their settlement money from Oceanic Airlines and hit the road -- a series of post island vignettes chronicaling Sawyer and Ana Lucia's lustful and tension-filled adventures cross-country. Inspired by one line in a Sana fic by cynthia_arrow

Part I: . . . And On We Go

Week 1
Ana Lucia rolls out from under Sawyer's heavy arm, her moistened flesh peels away from his like skin from warm vinyl. She hears him grunt, and pauses for a second, figuring that he's going to watch her saunter across the hotel room with one groggy eye open. He likes the way she saunters, he once told her, called her gait “swishy and hellbent”. Back on the island -- one of his drunken claims -- he enjoyed watching her leave because he always knew she was coming back anyways, guaranteed. And she always did.

“I gotta take a piss.” She announces it with the commanding nonchalance of a jaded bus driver, and earns from him a cracked snicker. She has his attention, and scratches her ass in long stokes for extra effect as she lumbers towards the bathroom like a drunken sailor.

Girl you got a pretty mouth, she figures he's thinking this at the moment, and would drawl-it out Southern style if he could -- if he were in a state to be forming sentences. It makes her smile.

She leaves the door open so he can hear her slam the seat down, tinkle and flush. This kind of thing, not acting lady-like when she was supposed too, was never for the squeamish. The squeamish would always run. She found out long ago that Sawyer was not running anyways, guaranteed. Maybe he never would.

When she crawls back into bed, Sawyer is flat on his back, his eyes are lazy slits, struggling to focus. She forgot to turn off the bathroom light, and there is a stream of it cutting across his face, making his irises glisten, reflecting flecks of silver in his beard, and deepening the pools of his ever-present dimples. She snuggles in under the crisp hotel linens and cradles back against his chest. He wraps his arm around her tightly, and she doesn't care that he smells of sweat and stale aftershave and needs a shower, and is making her hot. Because, it's what she had grown accustomed to in another world, and it's as familiar as anything. He presses his lips against her, murmuring something incoherent. “Uh huh,” she responds, not really knowing what she's agreeing to, not caring. She closes her eyes and drifts off.

The next morning, the vent is blowing the heavy drapes, slivers of the Southern California sunrise peek in. Sawyer is snoring in a low drone, and she's working him awake with her hand. Her hand on his cock has a mind of its own. He responds with a favorable moan, manages to tell her it feels good. If she can keep him like this, in a drugged-up state of happy obedience, maybe she stands a chance of tolerating being with him everyday on this crazy road trip that has no apparent end.

“Baby, you don't want me ta 'plode yet. You best slow down.”
As he forces her hand away and attempts to flip her over, the maid is knocking at the door.
“Housekeeping.”
He yells go away. . . please. She says give us 30 minutes. He yells make it an hour.
“An hour huh?” She smirks while straddling him, slowly slipping him inside.
He jerks his hips up and in. “Mmm, at least.”

+++

“Ain't you got the itin'ry all mapped out?”

Sawyer's profiling in the bathroom mirror, doing what she figures is counting the gray hairs in his stubble. Yesterday she made the grave mistake of informing him that he had more grays than ever. Grave mistake. Out of everything that had tried to kill him on the island, she wonders how the lack of mirrors of which to indulge his vanity didn't manage to.

It takes her a second to figure out what I-tin'ry means. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Woman.”

She's annoyed, but realizes maybe that's what he expects out of her -- regimen. Hell it's what she's always expected out of herself. But they were just supposed to drive, head east, not care where they ended up -- merrily on their way. That lack of a plan was the plan, and she needed it that way.

Whipping back the shower curtain and turning on the water, she reminds him what's she's been telling herself, and happily so.

“We have all the time in the world Cowboy.”

She closes her eyes and savors the soft shower of warm water streaming over her, feeling free and unburdened. Life is but a dream.

++++

A few months ago, after the remaining survivors had given their final depositions in the class action law suit against Oceanic Airlines, they all exchanged phone numbers and promised to keep in touch. It would be a vain pact on her part, she knew, as another reunion of the damaged and fucked-up former castaways could have waited awhile if she had her way. Yet she had looked for him, they all looked for him, but “a Mr. James Ford” didn't seem to show. Typical Sawyer. But then she spotted him in the parking lot, leaned up against her mustang, with those dimples, and scraggly mane and that stupid cocky grin.

“You finished deposin'?” he asked.

She remembers not wanting to give him any emotion, not wanting to admit to herself that her heart was warm and beating rapidly at the sight of him, and that she wanted to rush over and jump up in his arms. She answered simply, “Yup.”

“We all stinkin'' rich then?”

“Looks like it.”

With bold assumption his last words were, “Well fuck then Muchacha, why we wastin' time. Let's hit the road.”
And that was what they did, what they are doing now, going on merrily. She didn't pack or leave a forwarding address. She called her Mom, told her she loved her and hit the road indeed. There was never any plan, any I-tin'ry.

++++

His sudden appearance in the shower jerks her out of her stupor and she slips a bit on slick tub.

“I don't recall inviting you in here.” She frowns and he jockeys her out of the stream, shaking his hair back.

“And yet you ain't kicking me out neither,” he says while splaying his palms against her hips and jerking her close. She leans back and looks at him, waiting for his next move, biting her lip as he becomes aroused against her lower abdomen. He cradles her face in his palms, rubbing his thumbs against her flesh. “Sweetcheeks,” he says lazily, barely audible against the dull roar of the shower, before sucking her lower lip, slipping his tongue in deep, kissing her hungrily.

He will never say Ana Lucia. She'll never say James Ford either. She doesn't know that man. He breaks from the kiss and pecks at her neck, cheeks, eyes lips. Water trickles in and over his blue eyes, yet he never breaks his trained gaze on her. He sees only her. She tries to avoid eye contact because the growing warmth in the pit of her stomach, the swirling intensity of it, makes her feel uneasy, because she doesn't really know this man either.

“So we gonna to do this then?.”

“You wanna bail? Here's you chance.” She waits, soapy water tickles at her feet.

He lowers his brows and jerks his head back, looking at her curiously, like he's surprised she's giving him an out, offended perhaps. “Ut uh baby. No way.”

She can't help but smirk. Her voice shakes from joy, from fear. ”Good then. So let's cut the planning bullshit and just do this.”

“Yes mayum,” he says into her neck.

She melts into him, wondering what she's gotten herself into, how in the world she's going to put up with him everyday for god knows how long.

As he lifts her up around his waist and her back hits the slick tile, the thought fades, replaced by moans and shallow breathing and pure bliss.

She'll worry about it later.

Eco Facts

2007-02-05T17:24:24Z

Hey it’s nice to see some environmentally aware people on my friends list. I am by no means perfect or totally “green”. In fact, I am just fully learning about it myself. It’s baby steps – it’s the little things that add up to so much more. I recently compiled these factoids, which really put things in perspective, especially in regards to our collective impact on the environment, and the simple preventative measures we can take every day.

Recycle, Reduce, Reuse -- why you ask?, because . . . .

· Each American throws away an average of 100 polystyrene cups each year, and the expected lifetime of each cup is over 500 years

· 40 billion plastic utensils are discarded each year

· Americans throw away 2.5 million plastic bottles every hour.

· Plastic water bottles will take 1000 years to biodegrade in a landfill.

· About 86 % of US landfills are currently leaking toxic materials into lakes, streams, and aquifers.

· Styrofoam pellets float on the oceans can be found in the stomachs of 63 of 250 species of sea birds.

· Plastic workers who make PVC (a form of plastic) have 6-fold increase in risk for testicular cancer.

· Coca Cola accounts for 25 million plastic bottles a day.

· Ten tons of waste are generated to make a 5-pound laptop computer.

· Americans use some 14 billion plastic shopping bags, an average of 425 bags per person.

· Operating a commercial leaf blower for one half hour produces the hydrocarbon equivalent of driving a new 1999-2000 light duty vehicle at 30 mph for more than 2 round trips between Denver and New York City.

· More toxic insecticides are used on cotton than on any other crop.

· Conventional cotton occupies only 3% of the world's farmland, but uses 25% of the world's chemical pesticides and fertilizers.

· The use of five sheets of paper, at 6 watts per sheet, is equivalent to one hour's use of an 80-watt light bulb.

The good news

· 60% of the world's lead supply comes from recycled batteries

· 1,500 aluminum cans are recycled every second in the U.S.

· It takes 90% less energy to recycle an aluminum can than to make a new one

· Recycling an aluminum soda can saves 96% of the energy used to make a can from ore, and produces 95% less air pollution and 97% less water pollution

· One ton of paper from recycled pulp saves 17 trees

· If everyone in the U.S. could manage to use just one less gallon of water per shower every day, we could save some 85 billion gallons per year

· Recycling creates 6 times as many jobs and land-filling

· A home office outfitted exclusively with Energy Star equipment (computer, monitor, printer, and fax) can save enough electricity to light the entire home for more than four years.

· In response to President Bush’s decision not to sign the Kyoto Protocol. 376 U.S. mayors have pledge to adopt the targets set forth by the Kyoto Protocol

· You can save three trees every year just by recycling your newspaper

· A 60 foot tree cut for market takes 60 years to replace - a 60 foot bamboo cut for market takes 59 days to replace.

· Every yard of organically grown fabric prevents about 1/2 lb. of chemical fertilizers and pesticides from polluting the earth

· An acre of hemp will produce as much pulp for paper as 41 acres of trees over a 20 year period.

· When you visit a pharmacist, one In every four purchases will have come from a tropical rainforest.

· Waste soft drinks and candy can be used to produce ethanol.

Pass this along . . .

Global warming meme

2007-02-03T16:27:39Z

Global warming meme

Are you concerned about global warming?
Do you want to do something about it?

There are practical things each one of us can do to lessen our impact on the environment -- saving energy, recycling, using less water are a few of those things.

This month I intended to change all my lightbulbs to energy efficient ones.

If you do, reply to this post with one thing you intend to change in your lifestyle (or in the world), this week, to cut greenhouse gas emissions. Then post this in your journal and see what your friends have to say.

Here are some ideas for steps you can take.

x-posted from daily_granola; please feel free to x-post

Stock Up

2007-01-28T02:54:20Z

29 Stock Icons
3 Stock Banners
One Stock Wallpaper

Valentine's Day Inspired
More Inspirational Quotes -- spread the love
Books, Stairwells, Thank yous, more....

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