I've done my obligatory 8 Days of Happiness; but I'm not done posting! I'll still be totally incoherent, never fear. But now....finally....I get to COMPLAIN.
Firstly, that lovely feeling from eating so much chocolate has worn off....and now I just feel fat.
And lazy. Unfortunately, I got guilt-tripped into babysitting for a new family tonight; they have a 7-year-old girl and twin boys, age 6.
I am so excited that I'm considering digging myself a snow cave and hibernating for a few weeks.
Speaking of snow, why the hell hasn't it gone away yet? I thought I was going to DIE today, because my mom decided to drive our family friend's minivan to piano class even though a) she hasn't driven a minivan in YEARS; b) she's never driven THIS van ever; c) the roads were a nasty mix of snow, ice, and slush; d) she's not a fabulous driver to begin with. Not that she'll ever admit to that last one, but I know the truth.
Long story short: We got stuck in the slush. Multiple times. IN OUR OWN GODDAMN DRIVEWAY.
But, I got a fatty ball--bigger than my head--of soft yarn from my piano teacher, and we spent a good fifteen minutes discussing knitting. It was fun. This yarn will probably become Gradation Scarf, but I am looking forward to transportation attempts given the sheer mass of it.
I have, for now, come to terms with the fact that my parents will never ever trust my friends, girls and guys both, to not be giant raging hormones. There may be more on this later, because no doubt I will find this practice grossly unfair in the future. For now, it's a convenient excuse when I don't want to be anything other than a hermit.
Being a hermit, as I have rediscovered this break, rocks.
I am looking forward to Monday and Tuesday, because I am seeing outside-of-school friends. I am also looking forward to New Year's Eve, because for the first time in AGES we're not going to Family A's house for their fatty party with nobody my age, where I habitually spend several hours on their couch with my laptop/iPod/book not moving. Instead we're going to Family B's house, and not only do I like these people better, but it'll be just us and them.
Learning this was the highlight of my holidays.
Also, I hit one week of hermit-hood two days ago.....I'm not sure whether I blame my somewhat-existent reader friends for not organizing things, or if I thank my somewhat-existent reader friends for not organizing things. Either way, hermit-hood will be broken soon enough.
And while I'm on the subject, may as well comment on how weird I find it that people mind when we're "anti-social"...yet when we're together at school, our idea of being social is for all of us to have our laptops out with various games/puzzles/crosswords running.
....
So being a hermit and being with the group both involve nearly identical amounts of socializing. Who'd have thought.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
As X-mas approaches...
So I got last minute gifts for parents and Sister. Mostly chocolate. Which the rents were there to pick out for themselves. But whatever. Obligations fulfilled!
Grandrents are here! Safe arrival, no flight delays, nothing.
Day of birth approaches!
Someone actually named their child Basil Wolverton. And wasn't a celebrity. Win.
I've realized the bulk of college letters (or okay, a lot of them if not the majority) are repeats and therefore can get chucked automatically. This lightens my load considerably, and the less I have to read about how "If you're unique/smart/magical/a unicorn, then ______ College is for you!!", the better.
I lost internet for a while today, and I actually sat down with a proper book that I enjoyed and it was so much fun. Apparently not being attached at the hip to my computer can be a good thing.
BASIL WOLVERTON.
This man was apparently the colleague of someone who went by "Big Daddy Roth" in professional circles. Those cartoonists. What total nutjobs.
I'm getting a DVD I have wanted for a very long time off Amazon for Christmas, and when the order was in I did the Dance of Awesome Nerds. I looked like a fool.
My mom bought herself a bundt pan because it was on sale. And now it's underneath the tree.
IT RAINED. NOT SNOW, RAIN. SEATTLE IS BACK!!!
Grandrents are here! Safe arrival, no flight delays, nothing.
Day of birth approaches!
Someone actually named their child Basil Wolverton. And wasn't a celebrity. Win.
I've realized the bulk of college letters (or okay, a lot of them if not the majority) are repeats and therefore can get chucked automatically. This lightens my load considerably, and the less I have to read about how "If you're unique/smart/magical/a unicorn, then ______ College is for you!!", the better.
I lost internet for a while today, and I actually sat down with a proper book that I enjoyed and it was so much fun. Apparently not being attached at the hip to my computer can be a good thing.
BASIL WOLVERTON.
This man was apparently the colleague of someone who went by "Big Daddy Roth" in professional circles. Those cartoonists. What total nutjobs.
I'm getting a DVD I have wanted for a very long time off Amazon for Christmas, and when the order was in I did the Dance of Awesome Nerds. I looked like a fool.
My mom bought herself a bundt pan because it was on sale. And now it's underneath the tree.
IT RAINED. NOT SNOW, RAIN. SEATTLE IS BACK!!!
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Scarves, sisters, and leathery beans
Scoliosis Scarf is over a foot and a half long by now, I'd say. I am a knitting fiend. And also an old lady with cats in disguise.
I was talking to Sister and got so excited I stopped finishing my sentences and just babbled thoughts as I had them. I clearly need to spend more time with my sibling; she makes me immature, but it's a hell of a lot more fun.
My dad's coworker is apparently one of those people who Martha Stewarts her way through life--the type that bakes yummy cookies from scratch and then gives them to people in perfectly tied bags with red ribbons for Christmas gifts. I really hope she's not a temp.
I have yet to hear a Christmas song in its entirety on the radio. It's like the Apocalypse, but happier.
I hobo-ed outside of QFC with Sirius waiting for my mom to get me coffee (what is with QFC and fake hobos?); an old lady gave me a funny look; Espresso Truffle sounds pretentious but tastes REALLY GOOD. I am sad that it is seasonal. Happy that it'll be around for quite a while longer still.
I shoveled snow for the first time in my life today. It was ridiculous and I think if people are too damn wimpy to walk through snow, they should just stay inside. Still, however ridiculous it was, my mom promised to pay me. Cash is always good.
My birthday traditionally sucks, but there will be grandrents here who haven't been here for my birthday since THE birthday...and that one didn't suck, so maybe I'll break the streak thanks to those leathery old beans.
My grandparents are leathery old beans.
My dad is the FailChef. My mom is the vegetable chef. My sister....makes cookies, apple pie, lava cakes, and red velvet cupcakes. And she's the one baking something for my birthday.
I was talking to Sister and got so excited I stopped finishing my sentences and just babbled thoughts as I had them. I clearly need to spend more time with my sibling; she makes me immature, but it's a hell of a lot more fun.
My dad's coworker is apparently one of those people who Martha Stewarts her way through life--the type that bakes yummy cookies from scratch and then gives them to people in perfectly tied bags with red ribbons for Christmas gifts. I really hope she's not a temp.
I have yet to hear a Christmas song in its entirety on the radio. It's like the Apocalypse, but happier.
I hobo-ed outside of QFC with Sirius waiting for my mom to get me coffee (what is with QFC and fake hobos?); an old lady gave me a funny look; Espresso Truffle sounds pretentious but tastes REALLY GOOD. I am sad that it is seasonal. Happy that it'll be around for quite a while longer still.
I shoveled snow for the first time in my life today. It was ridiculous and I think if people are too damn wimpy to walk through snow, they should just stay inside. Still, however ridiculous it was, my mom promised to pay me. Cash is always good.
My birthday traditionally sucks, but there will be grandrents here who haven't been here for my birthday since THE birthday...and that one didn't suck, so maybe I'll break the streak thanks to those leathery old beans.
My grandparents are leathery old beans.
My dad is the FailChef. My mom is the vegetable chef. My sister....makes cookies, apple pie, lava cakes, and red velvet cupcakes. And she's the one baking something for my birthday.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Candy mountain
I told my sister jokingly (sort of ) to buy me a bag of white chocolate Hershey Kisses, and I think she did.
I have found that there's nothing better than mint chocolate and white Oreos and tortilla chips with salsa for a snack. Separately.
I've managed to eliminate some colleges from the FATTY STACK OF BROCHURES.
I ordered pizza sticks at QFC today after a very long time, and I was reminded of the time when a kindly gentleman paid for a pizza stick because he thought my friend and I were poor homeless children or something and we could only afford one. In reality, my friend had already eaten lunch. I think he walked off feeling like a good Samaritan. Two words: Charity. FAIL.
I've been having so much junk food this break, but also there has been an epic realization that it doesn't matter if I get fat because the worst that will happen is my parents will say "You should exercise" and some people will secretly be disgusted by me. And life will go on.
I have also had a realization that I should not expect a teen romance-novel guy unless I am willing to act like a teen romance novel girl. I refuse to cry myself actual rivers, so I guess having a boyfriend is out the window. Freedom!
I took a broom to the bushes this morning, knocking snow off them so they'd not be so bent over. It was really fun, and I got snow everywhere, and I suspect that given enough time, this particular task will appear in the training sequence of a B-grade martial arts movie. Karate Kid 4, here I come.
I have found that there's nothing better than mint chocolate and white Oreos and tortilla chips with salsa for a snack. Separately.
I've managed to eliminate some colleges from the FATTY STACK OF BROCHURES.
I ordered pizza sticks at QFC today after a very long time, and I was reminded of the time when a kindly gentleman paid for a pizza stick because he thought my friend and I were poor homeless children or something and we could only afford one. In reality, my friend had already eaten lunch. I think he walked off feeling like a good Samaritan. Two words: Charity. FAIL.
I've been having so much junk food this break, but also there has been an epic realization that it doesn't matter if I get fat because the worst that will happen is my parents will say "You should exercise" and some people will secretly be disgusted by me. And life will go on.
I have also had a realization that I should not expect a teen romance-novel guy unless I am willing to act like a teen romance novel girl. I refuse to cry myself actual rivers, so I guess having a boyfriend is out the window. Freedom!
I took a broom to the bushes this morning, knocking snow off them so they'd not be so bent over. It was really fun, and I got snow everywhere, and I suspect that given enough time, this particular task will appear in the training sequence of a B-grade martial arts movie. Karate Kid 4, here I come.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
....Bloody hell of snow
So we have about 9 inches of snow all told, because of compression....had the snowed stayed fluffy, it would have been a foot. ONE WHOLE FUCKING FOOT OF SNOW. I love it, but I am almost sort of done. Still. Happiness comes from white powder. Of all sorts.
I finished a couple of different series of books that I was reading. This will probably be my major accomplishment for break.
My family played Taboo; Sister and I totally pwned our parents. It was awesome.
I saw Kung Fu Panda. It was sort of a fail. But also sort of a win. Because of the turtle. And because his name was Oogway. It is the most failuretastic name ever. But I love it.
Christmas approaches! And with it, my birthday! Which means I'm going to be old! And possibly be expected to act responsibly--wait. Okay, ignoring the last two sentences, that is another thing of win.
I have managed not to succumb to the fail of Facebook. I am so proud.
....There's this movie, with this quote. And a very long story goes with this quote, going back to middle school and a movie called Merlin. But basically, I'd remembered this story, but not the actual quote nor the name of the movie. And then....it was rediscovered.
Shut up. I'm happier because of it.
Cody! He is so fuzzy and warm and like a giant horse-shaped teddybear. Even when he was like, I am going to snuggle--no wait, I am going to eat your snowpants.
It was adorable.
I finished a couple of different series of books that I was reading. This will probably be my major accomplishment for break.
My family played Taboo; Sister and I totally pwned our parents. It was awesome.
I saw Kung Fu Panda. It was sort of a fail. But also sort of a win. Because of the turtle. And because his name was Oogway. It is the most failuretastic name ever. But I love it.
Christmas approaches! And with it, my birthday! Which means I'm going to be old! And possibly be expected to act responsibly--wait. Okay, ignoring the last two sentences, that is another thing of win.
I have managed not to succumb to the fail of Facebook. I am so proud.
....There's this movie, with this quote. And a very long story goes with this quote, going back to middle school and a movie called Merlin. But basically, I'd remembered this story, but not the actual quote nor the name of the movie. And then....it was rediscovered.
Shut up. I'm happier because of it.
Cody! He is so fuzzy and warm and like a giant horse-shaped teddybear. Even when he was like, I am going to snuggle--no wait, I am going to eat your snowpants.
It was adorable.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
I have failed....not that anyone cares
So it turns out that once there's actual snow, I totally space out about blogging in favor of going sledding, wrestling with the pup, and throwing snowballs at Sister.
FAIL.
Still, in apology to the nonexistent readers, I will post a super long post about stuff that's made me happy since the 18th until now. And by super long, I mean it'll be a few lines longer than normal.
I finished my Ancient Med project, and even if it is made of suck it is still finished, which means I'm OFFICIALLY ON BREAK!!!!!
Cody came back, so I got to ride today even though my toes went numb about five minutes in. It was still fun. And he is still cuddly. All is well.
I have time to start a billion more art projects that I'll never finish. This shouldn't make me happy, but it does.
Glove warmers.
I finished a letter to my grandparents! It's only taken me about three months! Yes, I fail at hand-writing letters!!
My room is all snuggly and warm and we haven't lost power yet. Thank you, cake-gods.
WE GOT SIX INCHES OF SNOW.
WE'RE SUPPOSED TO GET ANOTHER SIX THIS EVENING. HOLY SHIT.
I'll actually have an excuse to be a hermit! This...is sort of a good thing, sort of a bad thing. I want to see my nonexistent reader-friends, but at the same time, getting to squirrel myself away on Mercer's pretty fun too.
I'm actually going to see people I haven't really spent time with in years this break. This makes me happy.
Stanford invited me back for another EPGY session...and now I don't have to say yes. Which, though EPGY was kickass, means I'll get to spend more time at the farm this summer, and there is nothing that trumps that.
I got into the outdoor trip I wanted!!! So I can get it done Spring Break and not have to waste valuable summer!!!!! THANK YOU, CHIP.
I have a water-wigglie.
The third Mummy movie has Jet Li. And it's got an undead skeletal army fighting an undead terracotta army. And Jet Li pwns them all.
I've been forewarned that I'm probably going to get ridiculous and useless and utterly magical presents from Sister this year. They will represent the height of nerdiness, and I will love them.
Oh yeah, and WE'RE ON WINTER BREAK!!!!
FAIL.
Still, in apology to the nonexistent readers, I will post a super long post about stuff that's made me happy since the 18th until now. And by super long, I mean it'll be a few lines longer than normal.
I finished my Ancient Med project, and even if it is made of suck it is still finished, which means I'm OFFICIALLY ON BREAK!!!!!
Cody came back, so I got to ride today even though my toes went numb about five minutes in. It was still fun. And he is still cuddly. All is well.
I have time to start a billion more art projects that I'll never finish. This shouldn't make me happy, but it does.
Glove warmers.
I finished a letter to my grandparents! It's only taken me about three months! Yes, I fail at hand-writing letters!!
My room is all snuggly and warm and we haven't lost power yet. Thank you, cake-gods.
WE GOT SIX INCHES OF SNOW.
WE'RE SUPPOSED TO GET ANOTHER SIX THIS EVENING. HOLY SHIT.
I'll actually have an excuse to be a hermit! This...is sort of a good thing, sort of a bad thing. I want to see my nonexistent reader-friends, but at the same time, getting to squirrel myself away on Mercer's pretty fun too.
I'm actually going to see people I haven't really spent time with in years this break. This makes me happy.
Stanford invited me back for another EPGY session...and now I don't have to say yes. Which, though EPGY was kickass, means I'll get to spend more time at the farm this summer, and there is nothing that trumps that.
I got into the outdoor trip I wanted!!! So I can get it done Spring Break and not have to waste valuable summer!!!!! THANK YOU, CHIP.
I have a water-wigglie.
The third Mummy movie has Jet Li. And it's got an undead skeletal army fighting an undead terracotta army. And Jet Li pwns them all.
I've been forewarned that I'm probably going to get ridiculous and useless and utterly magical presents from Sister this year. They will represent the height of nerdiness, and I will love them.
Oh yeah, and WE'RE ON WINTER BREAK!!!!
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Cake-gods make me happy
The cake-gods granted us a fake snow day! WITH VERY LITTLE ACTUAL SNOW!!!!!!
I finished my Mediterranean paper! It is made of suck! But it is finished!
The paddock project is actually making progress (I think). Which means Cody might be back this weekend. Which would make me really happy, because I've missed the big fuzzball more than I thought I would.
My dog is cute. And more photogenic than any of my friends. And cute. I've said this before. But he makes me really happy, so he gets to be listed more than once.
If tiramisu was a guy, he'd be REALLY HOT. I am pleased with my choice of favorite dessert.
We have a Secret Santa thing for Spanish class, and I'm kind of excited to see what fun stuff is in store for everyone, mostly because a large percentage of my class are seniors, and the rest are people like Devin, Katie, etc. So I suspect most gifts will be made of fail, but also highly amusing. Also, okay, I like getting presents. Is there a problem with that?
Finally, in a fit of epic win, my mom's making chicken tika masala for dinner tonight. And I'm pretty sure we're having flaky parathas, not just chapatis, and for those of you who haven't a clue what I'm talking about, trust me when I say this is good stuff. Bran Don would growl and gnash his teeth at it in approval.
Oh wait. Not finally. Because the real last thing I'm happy about is that my mom (who is proving herself the best parent a stomach could ask for) bought me milk chocolate with mint filling, and it is going to make me gain about 10 lbs. over break. If they even last that long. Which will make me sad in the long run.
BUT I'M HAPPY NOW!!!!
I finished my Mediterranean paper! It is made of suck! But it is finished!
The paddock project is actually making progress (I think). Which means Cody might be back this weekend. Which would make me really happy, because I've missed the big fuzzball more than I thought I would.
My dog is cute. And more photogenic than any of my friends. And cute. I've said this before. But he makes me really happy, so he gets to be listed more than once.
If tiramisu was a guy, he'd be REALLY HOT. I am pleased with my choice of favorite dessert.
We have a Secret Santa thing for Spanish class, and I'm kind of excited to see what fun stuff is in store for everyone, mostly because a large percentage of my class are seniors, and the rest are people like Devin, Katie, etc. So I suspect most gifts will be made of fail, but also highly amusing. Also, okay, I like getting presents. Is there a problem with that?
Finally, in a fit of epic win, my mom's making chicken tika masala for dinner tonight. And I'm pretty sure we're having flaky parathas, not just chapatis, and for those of you who haven't a clue what I'm talking about, trust me when I say this is good stuff. Bran Don would growl and gnash his teeth at it in approval.
Oh wait. Not finally. Because the real last thing I'm happy about is that my mom (who is proving herself the best parent a stomach could ask for) bought me milk chocolate with mint filling, and it is going to make me gain about 10 lbs. over break. If they even last that long. Which will make me sad in the long run.
BUT I'M HAPPY NOW!!!!
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Posting at school where the snow gets in
Today, I am happy about knowing my friends, even when I want them to leave me the hell alone. Because they inevitably don't, and that is why I love them (most of the time).
I am also taking shreds of happiness from the knowledge that someday, somewhere, a student will leap up and throttle Kruges in the middle of yet another failed example problem, and there will be instantaneous rainbows over half of the United States.
I'm also happy because NONE OF MY FRIENDS KNOW HOW TO DRESS THEMSELVES. No, really. (Cynic doesn't count, because he had someone to pick clothes out for him.) It makes me look less weird when I come to school looking like an idiot.
And certain people who drive me nuts basically no longer exist to me as far as I'm concerned, because I never see them. This is bliss.
No doubt I will think of more things (or not) as the day goes on. Perhaps there will be a Part II.
I am also taking shreds of happiness from the knowledge that someday, somewhere, a student will leap up and throttle Kruges in the middle of yet another failed example problem, and there will be instantaneous rainbows over half of the United States.
I'm also happy because NONE OF MY FRIENDS KNOW HOW TO DRESS THEMSELVES. No, really. (Cynic doesn't count, because he had someone to pick clothes out for him.) It makes me look less weird when I come to school looking like an idiot.
And certain people who drive me nuts basically no longer exist to me as far as I'm concerned, because I never see them. This is bliss.
No doubt I will think of more things (or not) as the day goes on. Perhaps there will be a Part II.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Happy days are here--or not
Well, okay. To be honest, I have to say I'm disappointed that we probably won't have a snow day on Wednesday, because the math test is shaping up to be a FAILURE.
Still, I have things to be happy about! Really! Somewhere, hidden in my closet under the skeletons of the fools who tried to--um.
Yeah. Somewhere!
And after a little bit of searching and kicking away of the dustbunnies, I have found them.
I just ate a packet of SweetTarts. The packet of SweetTarts I just ate had three candies instead of the two I was expecting. Two out of three were flavors I like.
The bus back home didn't take an hour or three like I was expecting.
I made progress on the Scoliosis Scarf. And then I had to undo about an inch and a half, but whatever. Progress was made. At some point.
There is apparently a BBC-broadcasted show about Merlin the wizard and King Arthur wherein there is lots of subtext about an anagram of subtext, or something like that. Geek away, my nonexistent readers.
And finally--FOUR MORE DAYS UNTIL BREAK!!! (Less, if the weather stops being such a tease.)
Still, I have things to be happy about! Really! Somewhere, hidden in my closet under the skeletons of the fools who tried to--um.
Yeah. Somewhere!
And after a little bit of searching and kicking away of the dustbunnies, I have found them.
I just ate a packet of SweetTarts. The packet of SweetTarts I just ate had three candies instead of the two I was expecting. Two out of three were flavors I like.
The bus back home didn't take an hour or three like I was expecting.
I made progress on the Scoliosis Scarf. And then I had to undo about an inch and a half, but whatever. Progress was made. At some point.
There is apparently a BBC-broadcasted show about Merlin the wizard and King Arthur wherein there is lots of subtext about an anagram of subtext, or something like that. Geek away, my nonexistent readers.
And finally--FOUR MORE DAYS UNTIL BREAK!!! (Less, if the weather stops being such a tease.)
Sunday, December 14, 2008
IT SNOWED! FTW!
Happy things! It snowed! Or....powdered, rather!
And I got to wrestle and jump around and generally play with Sirius in the snow, and when he knocked Sister down and into a concrete step we don't think she got a concussion!
Also, even though we'll probably have school on Monday, and school is still the bane of my life, I took a step back and realized that even if I don't have a fabulous GPA of fabulousity, I will always be able to do something I love. Even if I wind up working at Kelsey Creek for the rest of my life, it's not exactly going to be the end of the world. In fact, I'd be pretty happy. And that makes me happy now.
I may actually finish my Ancient Med project of DOOM today. I am in shock, but happy. And it will be badass, because I've found obscure but awesome sources that Mail Jug will have to give me credit for finding.
Did I mention we had snow? And wind? And we DIDN'T lose power? Automatic happiness.
Finally, my puppy. I love him like a thousand moons, he is so cute. Even when he knocks Sister down, he is so cute. And hell, even Sister is cute. In an "Oh, you" sort of way. I suspect cloning more than ever.
And I got to wrestle and jump around and generally play with Sirius in the snow, and when he knocked Sister down and into a concrete step we don't think she got a concussion!
Also, even though we'll probably have school on Monday, and school is still the bane of my life, I took a step back and realized that even if I don't have a fabulous GPA of fabulousity, I will always be able to do something I love. Even if I wind up working at Kelsey Creek for the rest of my life, it's not exactly going to be the end of the world. In fact, I'd be pretty happy. And that makes me happy now.
I may actually finish my Ancient Med project of DOOM today. I am in shock, but happy. And it will be badass, because I've found obscure but awesome sources that Mail Jug will have to give me credit for finding.
Did I mention we had snow? And wind? And we DIDN'T lose power? Automatic happiness.
Finally, my puppy. I love him like a thousand moons, he is so cute. Even when he knocks Sister down, he is so cute. And hell, even Sister is cute. In an "Oh, you" sort of way. I suspect cloning more than ever.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
So I saw this thing. On a LiveJournal.
It was a "I'm going to post for 8 days what I'm happy about" type of thing. And I liked the idea, so I'm going to do it. In secret. Like a ninja. And none of you will even notice, because nobody reads blogs. Ever.
So. My happy things for today.
Sister and I had a total moment of bonding over trashy fantasy plotlines wherein Girl is Magically transported to a Magical land of Magic. And she meets Guy. Who is hot. And also off limits. But hot. And there is True Love of the Princess Bride Variety.
I realized Rome was actually just a disguised softcore porno, and I thought about Mail Jug's reaction if he ever knew this and somewhere a nun died of spontaneous combustion of win.
Though not enough homework was done and I failed a quiz and this week is going to be hell, I'm anticipating a heart-to-Bubs chat. And I have faith that talking with a stuffed sparkling frog will solve all my problems.
Finally, rainbow Japanese boybands. No more needs to be said.
So. My happy things for today.
Sister and I had a total moment of bonding over trashy fantasy plotlines wherein Girl is Magically transported to a Magical land of Magic. And she meets Guy. Who is hot. And also off limits. But hot. And there is True Love of the Princess Bride Variety.
I realized Rome was actually just a disguised softcore porno, and I thought about Mail Jug's reaction if he ever knew this and somewhere a nun died of spontaneous combustion of win.
Though not enough homework was done and I failed a quiz and this week is going to be hell, I'm anticipating a heart-to-Bubs chat. And I have faith that talking with a stuffed sparkling frog will solve all my problems.
Finally, rainbow Japanese boybands. No more needs to be said.
Monday, December 1, 2008
It's like I haven't posted in months!
And though I have many reasons for not posting in months, and indeed I don't think many of you even READ blogs anymore (....yeah, okay, I don't either), I'm not going to talk about that stuff. I'm not going to talk about anything school related. I'm not even going to talk about sex. Instead, I'm going to talk about a lot of little things that have nothing to do with anything, because I got 10 comments the last time I did that.
1. I have turned into a knitting nerd, my friends. Mourn, because if you thought SadArt's crocheting was a domestic spaz, you should see me KNIT. I feel like the stereotypical little old lady who's doomed to have cats for the rest of her days.
2. I think...I hope, rather, that I may have bought a pair of jeans that FIT. Granted, I also bought a vaguely-rainbow-plaid shirt, which may cancel out the triumphant end to the Epic of the Jeans. Nevertheless, I am happy.
3. Nobody in my family can shop together. It ends in catastrophe and my dad doing the cabbage patch in Sears.
4. I have discovered another tacky reality TV show that I would love if I had cable (which I don't). It may be Bridezilla. It may actually be better than the time I watched a reality TV special on Southern belles who enter pageants (they were all, weirdly enough, rather chubby).
5. Most of the time, I love the weather here. The rest of the time, I want this city to get over itself and just STOP WITH THE MPD WEATHER.
6. My sister discovered a broken ukelele. I suspect great masterpieces will soon follow.
7. My sister also wants to buy herself a guitar and teach herself how to play and though technically I know someone who's taught herself at the same time I don't think I can stand a repeat of when Sister tried to play the violin for a month. Suffice to say there was a duel of the noise between her and our dog.
8. I have realized all Indian people are, at heart, great big nerds, but that doesn't mean most of them aren't jackasses too.
9. BLOODY TURKEY. What a cool name for a band!
10. Morning TV show hosts should never try and dance with the Rockettes. Nobody wants to see that first thing after they wake up. Or ever, really.
11. I hate art. I hate it with a burning passion. But I like writing, because it's surprisingly fun to BULLDOZE EDIT.
1. I have turned into a knitting nerd, my friends. Mourn, because if you thought SadArt's crocheting was a domestic spaz, you should see me KNIT. I feel like the stereotypical little old lady who's doomed to have cats for the rest of her days.
2. I think...I hope, rather, that I may have bought a pair of jeans that FIT. Granted, I also bought a vaguely-rainbow-plaid shirt, which may cancel out the triumphant end to the Epic of the Jeans. Nevertheless, I am happy.
3. Nobody in my family can shop together. It ends in catastrophe and my dad doing the cabbage patch in Sears.
4. I have discovered another tacky reality TV show that I would love if I had cable (which I don't). It may be Bridezilla. It may actually be better than the time I watched a reality TV special on Southern belles who enter pageants (they were all, weirdly enough, rather chubby).
5. Most of the time, I love the weather here. The rest of the time, I want this city to get over itself and just STOP WITH THE MPD WEATHER.
6. My sister discovered a broken ukelele. I suspect great masterpieces will soon follow.
7. My sister also wants to buy herself a guitar and teach herself how to play and though technically I know someone who's taught herself at the same time I don't think I can stand a repeat of when Sister tried to play the violin for a month. Suffice to say there was a duel of the noise between her and our dog.
8. I have realized all Indian people are, at heart, great big nerds, but that doesn't mean most of them aren't jackasses too.
9. BLOODY TURKEY. What a cool name for a band!
10. Morning TV show hosts should never try and dance with the Rockettes. Nobody wants to see that first thing after they wake up. Or ever, really.
11. I hate art. I hate it with a burning passion. But I like writing, because it's surprisingly fun to BULLDOZE EDIT.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Captain! Nervous breakdown ahead!
So I was an idiot and signed myself up for six classes, two of them intensive. And so it goes that a few weeks into school, I am a few miserable Chem HWs away from a total collapse. I'd like to stay focused, and I'd like to be able to get everything done, but I have the nasty feeling that it just isn't possible. So I've got a few choices here. And I need advice, which I probably won't listen to, because I'm an idiot like that (see a recurring theme?)
So. Choice 1 is that I start seriously slacking off in a few classes--English and History really--and sacrifice getting high grades in those classes so I can focus on the intensives and not fail those. Choice 2 is I do as much as I can with the intensives, but focus on my stronger classes. Get mediocre grades in the intensives, good-to-high grades in the others. Choice 3 is I attempt to do really well in all my classes, but I sacrifice my social life, my riding, and any hope of teaching piano. I also have to FOCUS, which is the hardest part of choice 3, and I have to stop being so easily distracted. This is nearly impossible, because I'm determined not to give up riding. It's the only thing that consistently makes me happy, and I need that right now.
Unfortunately, choice 3 is what my parents are leaning towards. I'm not sure how to tell them that if I only focus on school, I'm going to just stop trying period in under a week, because they're not getting it. I need some way of getting rid of all this stress, but I don't think I can talk to a psychologist about it because I honestly don't think that I'm willing to accept help. And on top of it all, I can't even get COMFORT from my parents because if I go to them and I'm frustrated and upset, all I'll hear is "Well, obviously it's because you're trying to do too much and need to quit horseback riding and socializing so much."
And all I have to say to that is "SCREW YOU." So you know how I stand on that particular issue. I'd still like advice though. In person, over the blog, I don't care. Just...advice. Help. Hugs and cookies, even. I am quite obviously desperate.
So. Choice 1 is that I start seriously slacking off in a few classes--English and History really--and sacrifice getting high grades in those classes so I can focus on the intensives and not fail those. Choice 2 is I do as much as I can with the intensives, but focus on my stronger classes. Get mediocre grades in the intensives, good-to-high grades in the others. Choice 3 is I attempt to do really well in all my classes, but I sacrifice my social life, my riding, and any hope of teaching piano. I also have to FOCUS, which is the hardest part of choice 3, and I have to stop being so easily distracted. This is nearly impossible, because I'm determined not to give up riding. It's the only thing that consistently makes me happy, and I need that right now.
Unfortunately, choice 3 is what my parents are leaning towards. I'm not sure how to tell them that if I only focus on school, I'm going to just stop trying period in under a week, because they're not getting it. I need some way of getting rid of all this stress, but I don't think I can talk to a psychologist about it because I honestly don't think that I'm willing to accept help. And on top of it all, I can't even get COMFORT from my parents because if I go to them and I'm frustrated and upset, all I'll hear is "Well, obviously it's because you're trying to do too much and need to quit horseback riding and socializing so much."
And all I have to say to that is "SCREW YOU." So you know how I stand on that particular issue. I'd still like advice though. In person, over the blog, I don't care. Just...advice. Help. Hugs and cookies, even. I am quite obviously desperate.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Damn, I should've posted this a week ago
Summary of California: The weather is a fucking tease.
I keep thinking I'm going to have a really nice, sunny day, but no. Epic failure of the sun.
On the bright side, I can now tell people I regularly used the men's bathroom of a frat house and watch as their faces contort with horror. It's not that bad, really, but one of the showers has odd orange goop stuck on the door handle. Obviously, I don't use that one.
Also, we have tons more free time than I thought we would, and there are computers in the house itself, so it's all good. Although once again, I find myself haunting Gtalk (especially on Sundays), waiting for people to get online and NO ONE EVER DOES *hints like mad*.
Except for occasionally Cynic and his partner in crime, who I shall affectionately dub Not Nearly As Bad (But Getting There Quickly).
In other news.........I have no other news, because I haven't been Youtube surfing at all. But I did watch the Doctor Who season finale (without ever watching Doctor Who before) and it was pretty interesting. I think this requires more investigation.
And also I went hiking (walking) the Dish, which is basically a fatty fenced-off area where there are mountain lions, squirrels, and some giant dishes that look like they're used in making Death Rays.
I keep thinking I'm going to have a really nice, sunny day, but no. Epic failure of the sun.
On the bright side, I can now tell people I regularly used the men's bathroom of a frat house and watch as their faces contort with horror. It's not that bad, really, but one of the showers has odd orange goop stuck on the door handle. Obviously, I don't use that one.
Also, we have tons more free time than I thought we would, and there are computers in the house itself, so it's all good. Although once again, I find myself haunting Gtalk (especially on Sundays), waiting for people to get online and NO ONE EVER DOES *hints like mad*.
Except for occasionally Cynic and his partner in crime, who I shall affectionately dub Not Nearly As Bad (But Getting There Quickly).
In other news.........I have no other news, because I haven't been Youtube surfing at all. But I did watch the Doctor Who season finale (without ever watching Doctor Who before) and it was pretty interesting. I think this requires more investigation.
And also I went hiking (walking) the Dish, which is basically a fatty fenced-off area where there are mountain lions, squirrels, and some giant dishes that look like they're used in making Death Rays.
EDIT (7/16/08): Well, the last week was miserably hot, so fuck you, California weather. Also, we had a dance. It was an demonstration of the failings of the male sex. And then we had a waterfight. Which wasn't a demonstration of anything, except for maybe how easily entertained really nerdy people are. And we watched billions (two) Heath Ledger movies, and I am depressed because a) he's cute and b) he's dead.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
And a follow-up: Gay pirates win
Summary of Stardust: Robert De Niro dancing around with a pink feather fan.
It's like someone in Hollywood loves me.
Anyways, I'm going to be gone for quite a while (not that I post frequently enough to make it noticeable) and don't know how much Internet I'll get. So here, have a crazy Scottish battle song. It's a real work of art.
Also on Imeem is this song by a guy named Owain Phyfe, which is basically even worse than Bernard when you're having sex. It's almost as bad as Moondoggie. Or Pterodactyl.
I've discovered I don't really like plain coffee. Because I'm a psuedo-Seattleite I like to pretend I do, but it turns out I fail at being from Seattle and only like coffee with tons of sugar and chocolate and milk.
Here's another odd little thing I've rediscovered: those plastic tubes of colored water that are hollow. And like the picture says, they ARE super fun! They're also basically plastic genitalia (male AND female--equal opportunity toy molestation!) that go squish.
It's like someone in Hollywood loves me.
Anyways, I'm going to be gone for quite a while (not that I post frequently enough to make it noticeable) and don't know how much Internet I'll get. So here, have a crazy Scottish battle song. It's a real work of art.
Also on Imeem is this song by a guy named Owain Phyfe, which is basically even worse than Bernard when you're having sex. It's almost as bad as Moondoggie. Or Pterodactyl.
I've discovered I don't really like plain coffee. Because I'm a psuedo-Seattleite I like to pretend I do, but it turns out I fail at being from Seattle and only like coffee with tons of sugar and chocolate and milk.
Here's another odd little thing I've rediscovered: those plastic tubes of colored water that are hollow. And like the picture says, they ARE super fun! They're also basically plastic genitalia (male AND female--equal opportunity toy molestation!) that go squish.
But I'm not done yet! I've got a few more things to fry your brains with. Like this small rodent. Not sure what species it is, but it's dramatic. Like, James Bond meets Star Wars dramatic, only all smooshed down into the form of a hamster/prairie dog/gopher.
However, not even "dramatic" can describe the two last goodies I've got for this smallish-looking group. Boys and girls, meet the childhood you may have had (but probably wanted to forget). I give you....Pokemon and Sailor Moon!!!
Okay, I sort of lied. Technically these are only the first-season openings, but it should be enough to bring back memories of hours spent in front of the TV letting Ash and Bunny along with their respective anime minions corrupt your innocent little brains.
And you should spend a good long while looking up these characters and their aforementioned minions on Wikipedia, because when a character is described as a "rose-throwing source of encouragement"....well. We all know he's going to have a bit more success than poor old Bernard.
Now I must go pack my pink camouflage-patterned pajama shorts. They're hot.
...
Fine, I was lying again. I think I'm going to pack the blue ones instead.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Arrgh! I be a pirate!
Only, you know. Not.
Even though school is over, I really don't feel like it is....and probably won't for a good long while. But who cares? No one wants to hear me talk about school. So instead, group, let's go for the good stuff: really bad smut.
....
Okay, I'm kidding. Although bad smut is brilliantly entertaining, just because phrases like "love juices" and "hearty meat" fail at being anything other than snicker-inducing. That'd kill sex right there: "Oh Bernard, stab my womb with your powerful man meat!.....Bernard? Bernard, why are you laughing?!?!?"
Not that the name Bernard wouldn't kill sex on its own, but whatever.
Anyway, that wasn't what I was planning on writing about. I was actually planning on writing about the woes of someone who needs to come up with witty things to write in her friends' yearbooks.
But wait, there's more!
I also have the woes of someone who knows she is going to get TOO FAT over summer, and if not over summer definitely when school starts again. Woe is indeed me, except that short and snarky is already me and so are a whole bunch of other things, so woe doesn't really stick out too much. Poor little woe, all ignored and unloved *pets*.
Clearly, I'm more than a little ADD right now--I blame the sundae and cupcake consumed a few hours ago that have yet to lose their effect. I also blame bad smut, for making me laugh, and good old whats-her-face who I'm not going to mention by name but YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.
Hmph.
And all I have to say is: "Your son has been kidnapped! By a Turk, on a yacht!"
Thank you ladies and squirrels, you've been a wonderful audience and the more you tip me (I prefer white chocolate, not dark, thanks) the more I'll post!
....Only, you know. Not. Again.
Even though school is over, I really don't feel like it is....and probably won't for a good long while. But who cares? No one wants to hear me talk about school. So instead, group, let's go for the good stuff: really bad smut.
....
Okay, I'm kidding. Although bad smut is brilliantly entertaining, just because phrases like "love juices" and "hearty meat" fail at being anything other than snicker-inducing. That'd kill sex right there: "Oh Bernard, stab my womb with your powerful man meat!.....Bernard? Bernard, why are you laughing?!?!?"
Not that the name Bernard wouldn't kill sex on its own, but whatever.
Anyway, that wasn't what I was planning on writing about. I was actually planning on writing about the woes of someone who needs to come up with witty things to write in her friends' yearbooks.
But wait, there's more!
I also have the woes of someone who knows she is going to get TOO FAT over summer, and if not over summer definitely when school starts again. Woe is indeed me, except that short and snarky is already me and so are a whole bunch of other things, so woe doesn't really stick out too much. Poor little woe, all ignored and unloved *pets*.
Clearly, I'm more than a little ADD right now--I blame the sundae and cupcake consumed a few hours ago that have yet to lose their effect. I also blame bad smut, for making me laugh, and good old whats-her-face who I'm not going to mention by name but YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.
Hmph.
And all I have to say is: "Your son has been kidnapped! By a Turk, on a yacht!"
Thank you ladies and squirrels, you've been a wonderful audience and the more you tip me (I prefer white chocolate, not dark, thanks) the more I'll post!
....Only, you know. Not. Again.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Three old draft-posts in one!
Title: Okay, so there IS a God
Of course there's a site that does lolcats, Star-Wars-style.
That is all.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Title: A list of uselessness about me and why yes I AM self-centered)
I am useless. This has been established over and over and over again, thank you very much. So in honor of uselessness, I'm going to do a LIST. Scandal. And this list, instead of being thought-provoking or even humorous, is simply going to be things about me that you probably never needed to know. There will be a quiz on this later.
1. I have a horse blanket sitting on my rug. I won it as champion rider for 2007 in my level, but the problem is, I have no horse. So I took it home, because it's fleece and a fairly pretty blue plaid, and now it's on my rug.
2. I currently have a bag of candy from Valentine's Day, a packet of almond roca, a tin of apple sours, and an drawer of other assorted chocolates and sweets, all inside my room.
3. In the winter, when I get cold, I sit on the floor heater.
4. I feel more awkward saying "lesbian" than "gay". I don't know why. I just do. (EDIT 5/3: I suppose I should mention that this makes me feel horribly guilty, but I should also mention that the awkwardness has receded in the past few months....so to those who feel offended, forgive me?)
5. I felt horrible when one of my model horses fell of the top of my desk and its leg broke. It is now dubbed the "Suicide Horse" by my parents, but I had my dad superglue its leg back on, and I'm worried if I put it back on top of my desk, it'll fall again.
6. I do 1000-piece jigsaw puzzles in my spare time (of which I have very little, being a chronic procrastinator).
7. I used to sing Hindustani classical music, but I hated practicing and so I quit. Now, when I see my old teacher, I like being able to tower over her. She's short.
8. I'd like to punch someone properly before I die, for no other reason than I think it's easier to accomplish than climbing Mount Everest or curing cancer.
9. However, if that someone happened to be an ex-boyfriend, I'd feel like I was in a bad Japanese soap opera. Or any Japanese soap opera.
10. Catcher in the Rye is a tasteless book and its protagonist can go die in a hole with Donald Duk and Meursault. I like flamboyant books, even if they're cheesy.
11. I have really knobbly knees, and they make me happy for no reason at all. I also have knobbly elbows, but I see them less.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Title: Why are all these dogs out clubbing?
And once again, my post-title has nothing to do with the post at all. It will be tangent-filled and useless, but you already knew that (or you've never read this blog before).
But my first point isn't even actually a point. So there. It's actually an angry flail against girls who go to parties with over 2000 people, dress like a slut, and then complain about getting groped. Yes, there is someone in particular who I'm thinking of--but she's more of an idiot than I thought she was if she puts herself into situations where she's surrounded by drunk teenage guys and then makes it seem like she was about to be raped. Logically, of course, she would have left the party. But in true drama-slut fashion, I'm sure she stayed so that she'd have a good story for the next day. What. The. Hell.
It's not even just her--there are people who dress provocatively and then make a big deal out of getting watched by perverts in downtown. Not even approached. Just looked at. Apparently pervs now come with X-ray vision. I'd admit, in a moment of hypocrisy, that I'm really jealous, but it's just not true. I'll pass on the self-objectification, thanks.
It just seems so goofy to me that "feminists" would wear revealing clothes just to get attention, and hell, this is probably a super-pointed attack. It's not meant to be. I can understand, vaguely, why some girls do the things they do, but at the same time, I'd prefer if they go spread the drama somewhere else. There's a difference between dressing to look good, dressing to get attention, and dressing to get drama, and anyone who's desperate enough to put themselves in possibly dangerous situations just for the drama needs help, fast.
And then, of course, there are the frosh--also known as the sex maniacs. There are girls who plot to wear sheer white shirts to dances so that their bras are visible--and then they take it one step further, and they wear leopard-print bras. That's just TACKY. I mean, it's sort of okay for the seniors to be outrageously skanky, because they're seniors and usually it's funny rather than wrong. But these girls are what? 14, 15 years old. At risk of sounding like an old lady, they're children. I mean, are the guys they're trying to attract even taller than them yet? Hell, for all I know, it's not even for the guys as much as it is for the drama, and for the shock value--and that's just pathetic.
If they want to make a statement, they could always just learn how to krump. Either way, they'll look like idiots.
Of course there's a site that does lolcats, Star-Wars-style.
That is all.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Title: A list of uselessness about me and why yes I AM self-centered)
I am useless. This has been established over and over and over again, thank you very much. So in honor of uselessness, I'm going to do a LIST. Scandal. And this list, instead of being thought-provoking or even humorous, is simply going to be things about me that you probably never needed to know. There will be a quiz on this later.
1. I have a horse blanket sitting on my rug. I won it as champion rider for 2007 in my level, but the problem is, I have no horse. So I took it home, because it's fleece and a fairly pretty blue plaid, and now it's on my rug.
2. I currently have a bag of candy from Valentine's Day, a packet of almond roca, a tin of apple sours, and an drawer of other assorted chocolates and sweets, all inside my room.
3. In the winter, when I get cold, I sit on the floor heater.
4. I feel more awkward saying "lesbian" than "gay". I don't know why. I just do. (EDIT 5/3: I suppose I should mention that this makes me feel horribly guilty, but I should also mention that the awkwardness has receded in the past few months....so to those who feel offended, forgive me?)
5. I felt horrible when one of my model horses fell of the top of my desk and its leg broke. It is now dubbed the "Suicide Horse" by my parents, but I had my dad superglue its leg back on, and I'm worried if I put it back on top of my desk, it'll fall again.
6. I do 1000-piece jigsaw puzzles in my spare time (of which I have very little, being a chronic procrastinator).
7. I used to sing Hindustani classical music, but I hated practicing and so I quit. Now, when I see my old teacher, I like being able to tower over her. She's short.
8. I'd like to punch someone properly before I die, for no other reason than I think it's easier to accomplish than climbing Mount Everest or curing cancer.
9. However, if that someone happened to be an ex-boyfriend, I'd feel like I was in a bad Japanese soap opera. Or any Japanese soap opera.
10. Catcher in the Rye is a tasteless book and its protagonist can go die in a hole with Donald Duk and Meursault. I like flamboyant books, even if they're cheesy.
11. I have really knobbly knees, and they make me happy for no reason at all. I also have knobbly elbows, but I see them less.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Title: Why are all these dogs out clubbing?
And once again, my post-title has nothing to do with the post at all. It will be tangent-filled and useless, but you already knew that (or you've never read this blog before).
But my first point isn't even actually a point. So there. It's actually an angry flail against girls who go to parties with over 2000 people, dress like a slut, and then complain about getting groped. Yes, there is someone in particular who I'm thinking of--but she's more of an idiot than I thought she was if she puts herself into situations where she's surrounded by drunk teenage guys and then makes it seem like she was about to be raped. Logically, of course, she would have left the party. But in true drama-slut fashion, I'm sure she stayed so that she'd have a good story for the next day. What. The. Hell.
It's not even just her--there are people who dress provocatively and then make a big deal out of getting watched by perverts in downtown. Not even approached. Just looked at. Apparently pervs now come with X-ray vision. I'd admit, in a moment of hypocrisy, that I'm really jealous, but it's just not true. I'll pass on the self-objectification, thanks.
It just seems so goofy to me that "feminists" would wear revealing clothes just to get attention, and hell, this is probably a super-pointed attack. It's not meant to be. I can understand, vaguely, why some girls do the things they do, but at the same time, I'd prefer if they go spread the drama somewhere else. There's a difference between dressing to look good, dressing to get attention, and dressing to get drama, and anyone who's desperate enough to put themselves in possibly dangerous situations just for the drama needs help, fast.
And then, of course, there are the frosh--also known as the sex maniacs. There are girls who plot to wear sheer white shirts to dances so that their bras are visible--and then they take it one step further, and they wear leopard-print bras. That's just TACKY. I mean, it's sort of okay for the seniors to be outrageously skanky, because they're seniors and usually it's funny rather than wrong. But these girls are what? 14, 15 years old. At risk of sounding like an old lady, they're children. I mean, are the guys they're trying to attract even taller than them yet? Hell, for all I know, it's not even for the guys as much as it is for the drama, and for the shock value--and that's just pathetic.
If they want to make a statement, they could always just learn how to krump. Either way, they'll look like idiots.
Monday, March 31, 2008
DragonForce Unite!!
Ah, those Brits. Once again, they have come up with something that makes me do a doubletake and go "WTF". This time, that magical thing happens to be a band called DragonForce.
No, I'm not kidding. If I was going to make up a band, I'd give it a better title. They're not all that good, but they play, according to themselves, "extreme power metal". This is BS. You can TOTALLY understand what they're singing. And they are extreme only because they have a who looks like a long-haired Rodney Yee on guitar, which is too badass for words.
More proof of their badassery: Their song "Through the Fire and Flames" is reputed to be the hardest song on Guitar Hero EVER. Clearly, these guys are hardcore.
Naturally, they're no match for Ingrid the Vertically Challenged Viking, but these guys are working on it. They've got the long hair and the bad clothing and an Asian guy (which actually takes away Viking Points, but whatever), but they're not quite there yet. So you should all buy a DragonForce CD to support their quest.
This post had no point. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Comment. Meow. Meow.
No, I'm not kidding. If I was going to make up a band, I'd give it a better title. They're not all that good, but they play, according to themselves, "extreme power metal". This is BS. You can TOTALLY understand what they're singing. And they are extreme only because they have a who looks like a long-haired Rodney Yee on guitar, which is too badass for words.
More proof of their badassery: Their song "Through the Fire and Flames" is reputed to be the hardest song on Guitar Hero EVER. Clearly, these guys are hardcore.
Naturally, they're no match for Ingrid the Vertically Challenged Viking, but these guys are working on it. They've got the long hair and the bad clothing and an Asian guy (which actually takes away Viking Points, but whatever), but they're not quite there yet. So you should all buy a DragonForce CD to support their quest.
This post had no point. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Comment. Meow. Meow.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
In Memoriam (WARNING: Mope-fest ahead)
I must admit, first off, that as a drama teacher Mark Sheppard really bugged me. We spent class last year playing games and practicing scenes with little to no help on actual acting technique from our teacher. The class was exasperating; I was disappointed but not heartbroken when I didn't get into Drama I this year.
I also knew, somewhere in the back of my head, that Shepps had cancer. He'd gotten treatment for it last year, but when he came back he was as loud and as round as I'd ever seen him. In fact, I never saw him again after very early this year--I'm glad, in a way, that I can remember him the way he was, "appliance" and all. I don't think he would have wanted to hear goodbyes from Lakeside-he was a part of the community for two decades, and I can't imagine how painful it would have been to have people look at him and know he was dying--writing him off before he was ready to leave. His life was all about his work, and it will be comforting, weeks from now, to know he was teaching until his last day. To Mr. Sheppard himself, I only wish I had gotten to say thanks for an awkward scene with Bailey, the ball toss game, and especially for making Schmidt kiss Danny Abrams in Merchant of Venice.
And to all the people who I cried with (or on) today--no matter how often we snark and fight, you guys really came through. I promise I won't be quite so melodramatic and mopey tomorrow, but today I offer a heartfelt thanks.
I also knew, somewhere in the back of my head, that Shepps had cancer. He'd gotten treatment for it last year, but when he came back he was as loud and as round as I'd ever seen him. In fact, I never saw him again after very early this year--I'm glad, in a way, that I can remember him the way he was, "appliance" and all. I don't think he would have wanted to hear goodbyes from Lakeside-he was a part of the community for two decades, and I can't imagine how painful it would have been to have people look at him and know he was dying--writing him off before he was ready to leave. His life was all about his work, and it will be comforting, weeks from now, to know he was teaching until his last day. To Mr. Sheppard himself, I only wish I had gotten to say thanks for an awkward scene with Bailey, the ball toss game, and especially for making Schmidt kiss Danny Abrams in Merchant of Venice.
And to all the people who I cried with (or on) today--no matter how often we snark and fight, you guys really came through. I promise I won't be quite so melodramatic and mopey tomorrow, but today I offer a heartfelt thanks.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Chickens and why you're about to hate me
I was listening to the radio this morning, and they were talking about how some people will pay obscene amounts of money to take care of their pets. So of course I assumed that they were going to mention the people who pay tens of thousands of dollars just to build their dogs mini-mansions, people who take their cats to all-day spas, etc.
But I was wrong. This is a trend in my life.
Instead, they give as an example a British couple who are paying $2800 to try and cure their pet chicken of cancer. Yes, you read that right. A pet chicken. With cancer. I'm surprised the couple isn't deaf, blind, and mute, because this is worthy of a tragic screenplay.
Weirdly enough, the average lifespan of a chicken is 7-15 years. And here we must ask Nature what the fuck she was thinking, giving chickens a lifespan that long. We know chickens can do fabulous things like be trained to push buttons; they are also incredibly useless animals except for their eggs. In comparison, ostriches are also incredibly useless except for their eggs, which are delicacies, but they are also pretty badass for how ugly they are AND they can kill people, so they get more points than chickens.
Honestly, anything that can kill people gets points, just because there's only one way to end overpopulation (mass murder).
This is why I'd never succeed in politics. Also, somehow I got to genocide directed at useless people from a thirty-second radio blurb on chickens. I blame Mussolini. Everything's his fault anyways.
And even as I'm writing this, I just realized something. If people can cure chickens of cancer, why can't they cure other people of cancer? Or is there some sort of chicken-chemo treatment center over there in Britain? God, this is sort of like the comment about sending my dog clubbing. It has all become a useless ramble and at some point I shall probably just explode from superfluous rambling.
Which reminds me that I am a vocabulary snob. I use words like superfluous (especially in writing) because I think they're fun. I'm weird like that. I also use "cannot" in my essays, which is pretty much the snobbiest thing ever. So you see why I look down on people who have chickens with cancer. I am, not so deep down, an elitist, and it really doesn't help that I go to an superior school.
Plus I'm Asian. So I'm automatically smarter than you (unless you happen to be Korean, in which case I bow before you).
You are now allowed to hate me. And you should leave comments expressing your hate. Or just leave comments.
But I was wrong. This is a trend in my life.
Instead, they give as an example a British couple who are paying $2800 to try and cure their pet chicken of cancer. Yes, you read that right. A pet chicken. With cancer. I'm surprised the couple isn't deaf, blind, and mute, because this is worthy of a tragic screenplay.
Weirdly enough, the average lifespan of a chicken is 7-15 years. And here we must ask Nature what the fuck she was thinking, giving chickens a lifespan that long. We know chickens can do fabulous things like be trained to push buttons; they are also incredibly useless animals except for their eggs. In comparison, ostriches are also incredibly useless except for their eggs, which are delicacies, but they are also pretty badass for how ugly they are AND they can kill people, so they get more points than chickens.
Honestly, anything that can kill people gets points, just because there's only one way to end overpopulation (mass murder).
This is why I'd never succeed in politics. Also, somehow I got to genocide directed at useless people from a thirty-second radio blurb on chickens. I blame Mussolini. Everything's his fault anyways.
And even as I'm writing this, I just realized something. If people can cure chickens of cancer, why can't they cure other people of cancer? Or is there some sort of chicken-chemo treatment center over there in Britain? God, this is sort of like the comment about sending my dog clubbing. It has all become a useless ramble and at some point I shall probably just explode from superfluous rambling.
Which reminds me that I am a vocabulary snob. I use words like superfluous (especially in writing) because I think they're fun. I'm weird like that. I also use "cannot" in my essays, which is pretty much the snobbiest thing ever. So you see why I look down on people who have chickens with cancer. I am, not so deep down, an elitist, and it really doesn't help that I go to an superior school.
Plus I'm Asian. So I'm automatically smarter than you (unless you happen to be Korean, in which case I bow before you).
You are now allowed to hate me. And you should leave comments expressing your hate. Or just leave comments.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Postlets? Postitos? The mini-toast-post
Gandhi was a sad, sad little man. Almost as sad as Winston Churchill, who was often right but so fat that no one ever listened to him.
Guys, despite their many flaws, are way better at keeping secrets than girls, who tend to last all of three seconds when pressured. I could probably try to over-interpret this, but I'm secretly shallow and don't really care.
When I grow up, I know that I am doomed to become a co-tyrant with Jake--we will, of course, send assassins after each other shortly after we take power. Wanda, on the other hand, is doomed to grow up and become a short Japanese pop star.
This post isn't actually about toast. I'm sorry if I've crushed your dreams. I find plain toast too dry anyways. It needs marmalade.
I think cross-dressing might be fun to try one day--it'd be really funny to physically be able to pass for a guy. For this reason, guys who cross-dress make me laugh, but guys who wear tacky makeup bug me, if only because there is no reason for guys to not apply makeup tastefully, and garish makeup is just ugly.
There is also no excuse for Hitler's moustache. It is an awkward looking moustache. Someone who limps (there's no other word for the way he looks) his rolling backpack up stairs is probably going to grow a moustache just like it.
You cannot run and not look stupid. Either you're slow and you look tired and out-of-shape, or you're fast and simply look like one of many animals. Like a turtle. Or a wounded duck.
Short people who feel the need to make up for their short, mole-like appearance by having midget-battles are to be pitied. They should also be given warm pancakes with laxatives in them.
I know I'd laugh. And then probably feel guilty. But I'd laugh first.
Likewise, girls who wear shirts that make their boobs look like water balloons should be sent, skimpy clothes and all, to Finland, land of the power walkers.
I am horrible at staying focused on one thing. Not only am I distracted by my own brain, but I am a total magpie. I love shiny things!
I don't care how goofy the name sounds, Scaramouche has probably THE hottest main character who isn't a total romance-novel hero. End of story.
And if you don't comment, I won't kill you. Instead I'll make sure the ninja security guard who is also a Russian spy EATS YOU ALIVE.
Guys, despite their many flaws, are way better at keeping secrets than girls, who tend to last all of three seconds when pressured. I could probably try to over-interpret this, but I'm secretly shallow and don't really care.
When I grow up, I know that I am doomed to become a co-tyrant with Jake--we will, of course, send assassins after each other shortly after we take power. Wanda, on the other hand, is doomed to grow up and become a short Japanese pop star.
This post isn't actually about toast. I'm sorry if I've crushed your dreams. I find plain toast too dry anyways. It needs marmalade.
I think cross-dressing might be fun to try one day--it'd be really funny to physically be able to pass for a guy. For this reason, guys who cross-dress make me laugh, but guys who wear tacky makeup bug me, if only because there is no reason for guys to not apply makeup tastefully, and garish makeup is just ugly.
There is also no excuse for Hitler's moustache. It is an awkward looking moustache. Someone who limps (there's no other word for the way he looks) his rolling backpack up stairs is probably going to grow a moustache just like it.
You cannot run and not look stupid. Either you're slow and you look tired and out-of-shape, or you're fast and simply look like one of many animals. Like a turtle. Or a wounded duck.
Short people who feel the need to make up for their short, mole-like appearance by having midget-battles are to be pitied. They should also be given warm pancakes with laxatives in them.
I know I'd laugh. And then probably feel guilty. But I'd laugh first.
Likewise, girls who wear shirts that make their boobs look like water balloons should be sent, skimpy clothes and all, to Finland, land of the power walkers.
I am horrible at staying focused on one thing. Not only am I distracted by my own brain, but I am a total magpie. I love shiny things!
I don't care how goofy the name sounds, Scaramouche has probably THE hottest main character who isn't a total romance-novel hero. End of story.
And if you don't comment, I won't kill you. Instead I'll make sure the ninja security guard who is also a Russian spy EATS YOU ALIVE.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Culture being batshit (a list)
1. I was watching a Youtube video of this Japanese talkshow, wherein a guy whose lung had collapsed apologized to his fellow band members for troubling them. Because his lung collapsed. And all I could think was that following that logic, people with cancer should just write apologies to the world for all that expensive research we've done. I mean, in case it's troubled us. People with lung cancer should just be taken out and shot.
2. My parents have the horrible habit of randomly inviting fourth cousins twice removed over to our house for dinner without telling me. Yesterday, a lady and her husband showed up, and I had no clue who they were. Apparently, I was at their wedding. And left early, because it was a traditional Indian wedding and the ceremony was more than six hours.
3. There is something wrong with the Austrians. Mostly Falco, who thinks that a hot pink paper with his signature on it constitutes a CD cover. One day, I would like to see Falco remake Schnappi, because he'll wear a pink crocodile suit, complete with rainbow croc-fro, and it will be more high than Jake on mint ice cream.
4. There is no race/culture/ethnicity that can ACTUALLY pull off an afro. Black people just fail a little less at it than everyone else. For proof of the hairstyle horror, I point you at the world's only J-fro, on a guy who apparently goes by Hidden Fish. I have no words.
In the end, the only thing I can really conclude from this post is that I hate culture (among other things). I hate having to write about culture in English class, and I firmly believe that culture is on drugs. Austria's on meth, India's on Ecstasy, Japan's hallucinating that it's Africa and I have no idea what it's on.
But Sweden wins. I mean, who else pickles HERRINGS? (After looking this up on Wikipedia, I was terrified to notice that apparently everyone pickles herrings. But Sweden is still crazy.)
2. My parents have the horrible habit of randomly inviting fourth cousins twice removed over to our house for dinner without telling me. Yesterday, a lady and her husband showed up, and I had no clue who they were. Apparently, I was at their wedding. And left early, because it was a traditional Indian wedding and the ceremony was more than six hours.
3. There is something wrong with the Austrians. Mostly Falco, who thinks that a hot pink paper with his signature on it constitutes a CD cover. One day, I would like to see Falco remake Schnappi, because he'll wear a pink crocodile suit, complete with rainbow croc-fro, and it will be more high than Jake on mint ice cream.
4. There is no race/culture/ethnicity that can ACTUALLY pull off an afro. Black people just fail a little less at it than everyone else. For proof of the hairstyle horror, I point you at the world's only J-fro, on a guy who apparently goes by Hidden Fish. I have no words.
In the end, the only thing I can really conclude from this post is that I hate culture (among other things). I hate having to write about culture in English class, and I firmly believe that culture is on drugs. Austria's on meth, India's on Ecstasy, Japan's hallucinating that it's Africa and I have no idea what it's on.
But Sweden wins. I mean, who else pickles HERRINGS? (After looking this up on Wikipedia, I was terrified to notice that apparently everyone pickles herrings. But Sweden is still crazy.)
Monday, February 4, 2008
Male fashion (doesn't exist)
It was really sad when I felt guilty getting caught laughing about how a testosterone-fueled male in my 9th grade history class flashed his manboobs to his sniggering cohorts across the room.
Even sadder is that it's a true story. So let's get one thing straight--if you, as a male, have boobs, accept that it is a part of puberty and DON'T WEAR WIFEBEATERS. You'd think it'd be simple, obvious. But no--apparently, it's now a fad for guys to advertise the fact that they need bras, on account of all the jiggling going on in PE. It's disgusting.
In a totally shallow way, I feel obliged to admit that if hot guys wander around without their shirts, I'm not going to be screaming and covering my eyes. But the guys at school?
Don't qualify as hot. Don't even qualify as better looking than, say, Christopher Walken. Pasty white thighs and manboobs do not an Abercrombie model make, so don't dress like one, idiots.
And while I'm on the topic of male fashion, I'm just going to throw this out there: sagging sucks. Last I checked, underwear is meant to be covered by outer-wear. As in, you know, PANTS. Kinda defeats the purpose if the pants are halfway down your ass, don't you think? Granted, I'd take boxers over butt-cleavage any day, but I never needed to know that a boy in my advisory wears Calvin Klein boxers.
I know that girls too are guilty of exposure--but at the same time, strapless bras are a pain in the ass, and sometimes tanktop straps slip. If there was a way to guarantee that the bra straps would stay hidden, God knows I'd use it (I cannot speak for the girls who expose scalloped-edge cups in their school photos). HOWEVER.
Belts are easily available. Even easier, of course, is to buy pants that fit. Scandalous. I know that some guys have an issue with finding the right size of jeans--so buy for length and use a belt that works.
I've also heard the argument that boxers slide up--and okay, this may be true. But why do they look like they're around the guy's hips--not his waist? Where do they start at??? And regardless, that doesn't excuse the guys I've seen walking around school with their pants BELOW their asses, tugging them up every few steps because if they didn't, their jeans would simply fall around their ankles. Talk about awkward. It's like you're stuck in that moment when you're changing and you're halfway through getting your jeans on, only then you just randomly decided to leave the house like that because clearly, you're an idiot.
Actually, that'd explain a lot.
Even sadder is that it's a true story. So let's get one thing straight--if you, as a male, have boobs, accept that it is a part of puberty and DON'T WEAR WIFEBEATERS. You'd think it'd be simple, obvious. But no--apparently, it's now a fad for guys to advertise the fact that they need bras, on account of all the jiggling going on in PE. It's disgusting.
In a totally shallow way, I feel obliged to admit that if hot guys wander around without their shirts, I'm not going to be screaming and covering my eyes. But the guys at school?
Don't qualify as hot. Don't even qualify as better looking than, say, Christopher Walken. Pasty white thighs and manboobs do not an Abercrombie model make, so don't dress like one, idiots.
And while I'm on the topic of male fashion, I'm just going to throw this out there: sagging sucks. Last I checked, underwear is meant to be covered by outer-wear. As in, you know, PANTS. Kinda defeats the purpose if the pants are halfway down your ass, don't you think? Granted, I'd take boxers over butt-cleavage any day, but I never needed to know that a boy in my advisory wears Calvin Klein boxers.
I know that girls too are guilty of exposure--but at the same time, strapless bras are a pain in the ass, and sometimes tanktop straps slip. If there was a way to guarantee that the bra straps would stay hidden, God knows I'd use it (I cannot speak for the girls who expose scalloped-edge cups in their school photos). HOWEVER.
Belts are easily available. Even easier, of course, is to buy pants that fit. Scandalous. I know that some guys have an issue with finding the right size of jeans--so buy for length and use a belt that works.
I've also heard the argument that boxers slide up--and okay, this may be true. But why do they look like they're around the guy's hips--not his waist? Where do they start at??? And regardless, that doesn't excuse the guys I've seen walking around school with their pants BELOW their asses, tugging them up every few steps because if they didn't, their jeans would simply fall around their ankles. Talk about awkward. It's like you're stuck in that moment when you're changing and you're halfway through getting your jeans on, only then you just randomly decided to leave the house like that because clearly, you're an idiot.
Actually, that'd explain a lot.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
No one loves you, Winston
Ah, World War II. Bane of all history students. Why?
Two words: Winston Churchill. No one actually knows what Winston Churchill did other than stand up and declare how much he hated communism, but for some reason, he's famous. And he gave a speech with one particularly memorable bad metaphor: The Iron Curtain.
Apparently, this refers to Russia. I'm not sure why the curtain is iron, or why there's a curtain at all, but there is one. And it makes my history teacher growl, "Good stuff, group. Good stuff."
Frankly, it scares the crap out of me. There's nothing like seeing a 60-year-old bald guy flame with enough passion to star in a dime store romance novel. Or possibly in a Bollywood movie.
If any of you have yet to experience the true beauty of Bollywood, I suggest starting ASAP. There's nothing quite as magnificent as a man with fluffy hair and manboobs singing to a woman with fluffier hair (but smaller boobs). Generally, they're both singing their way through Egypt, Switzerland, and London in the space of five minutes. You gotta admit--that's talent.
And then of course there's the obligatory death, generally of the kind-hearted great-grandma or the noble, tragic hero. Don't you miss them oodles (not at all).
Also, if I see one more guy flash his manboobs in PE, I'm going to barf. That's just tacky.
Two words: Winston Churchill. No one actually knows what Winston Churchill did other than stand up and declare how much he hated communism, but for some reason, he's famous. And he gave a speech with one particularly memorable bad metaphor: The Iron Curtain.
Apparently, this refers to Russia. I'm not sure why the curtain is iron, or why there's a curtain at all, but there is one. And it makes my history teacher growl, "Good stuff, group. Good stuff."
Frankly, it scares the crap out of me. There's nothing like seeing a 60-year-old bald guy flame with enough passion to star in a dime store romance novel. Or possibly in a Bollywood movie.
If any of you have yet to experience the true beauty of Bollywood, I suggest starting ASAP. There's nothing quite as magnificent as a man with fluffy hair and manboobs singing to a woman with fluffier hair (but smaller boobs). Generally, they're both singing their way through Egypt, Switzerland, and London in the space of five minutes. You gotta admit--that's talent.
And then of course there's the obligatory death, generally of the kind-hearted great-grandma or the noble, tragic hero. Don't you miss them oodles (not at all).
Also, if I see one more guy flash his manboobs in PE, I'm going to barf. That's just tacky.
Monday, January 14, 2008
In an unfair and hypocritical display....
Now, finally, I'm pissed off. It's been a while, huh?
See, recently I've had this little issue with people (and no, it's not just YOU, you special someone, you) telling me what classes I should take, what clothes I should wear, and even what I should post about on this blog.
And my answer to that is: Stay the hell out of my life, please.
I know, in my more rational moments, that most of you have only my best interests at heart, but I am surrounded by people who think they know what is best for me, and apparently my own opinion matters not at all, because clearly I am just a young, stupid, teenager who thinks it's "cool" to rebel.
Bullshit.
No matter how much I may claim stubbornness, when push comes to shove I am NOT going to screw myself over in something important. And for all you kind folk out there--what I choose to wear and what I choose to write about are NOT important. So I'm allowed to write posts that everyone hates, because honestly, I'm pretty sure my life and future happiness is not going to depend on it. I am also allowed to wear comfortable shoes, even if they are old and ratty, instead of squishing my feet into shoes that I'll trip in anyways. And for God's sake, I am allowed to listen to whatever the hell I want.
And there's nothing any of you can do to change that. Because if any of those things really matter in life, I want no part in it. I had thought that we, as a group of people, had built our odd little identity on being different--and being different means not following every damn expectation people have of you, even if they are people you care about. I may love you all dearly, but asking me to follow your advice 100% of the time is unrealistic, because guess what? Sometimes, you're wrong. Sometimes, I'm wrong, and when I'm wrong I'll take the flak for it because it was my bad choice, but if I choose not to listen to you, that too is something I take responsibility for.
I'm not asking you to be responsible for me--that is your decision, and I'm not going to be sulky and ask you to not offer advice. But don't throw a fit if I don't take it, please.
You never know, I might ignore it just to spite you...
See, recently I've had this little issue with people (and no, it's not just YOU, you special someone, you) telling me what classes I should take, what clothes I should wear, and even what I should post about on this blog.
And my answer to that is: Stay the hell out of my life, please.
I know, in my more rational moments, that most of you have only my best interests at heart, but I am surrounded by people who think they know what is best for me, and apparently my own opinion matters not at all, because clearly I am just a young, stupid, teenager who thinks it's "cool" to rebel.
Bullshit.
No matter how much I may claim stubbornness, when push comes to shove I am NOT going to screw myself over in something important. And for all you kind folk out there--what I choose to wear and what I choose to write about are NOT important. So I'm allowed to write posts that everyone hates, because honestly, I'm pretty sure my life and future happiness is not going to depend on it. I am also allowed to wear comfortable shoes, even if they are old and ratty, instead of squishing my feet into shoes that I'll trip in anyways. And for God's sake, I am allowed to listen to whatever the hell I want.
And there's nothing any of you can do to change that. Because if any of those things really matter in life, I want no part in it. I had thought that we, as a group of people, had built our odd little identity on being different--and being different means not following every damn expectation people have of you, even if they are people you care about. I may love you all dearly, but asking me to follow your advice 100% of the time is unrealistic, because guess what? Sometimes, you're wrong. Sometimes, I'm wrong, and when I'm wrong I'll take the flak for it because it was my bad choice, but if I choose not to listen to you, that too is something I take responsibility for.
I'm not asking you to be responsible for me--that is your decision, and I'm not going to be sulky and ask you to not offer advice. But don't throw a fit if I don't take it, please.
You never know, I might ignore it just to spite you...
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Being sugar-high is like being drunk without the hangover
You know, I really shouldn't be surprised that when push comes to shove and I have absolutely nothing to write about, I fall back on that old standby of topics: absolutely nothing in particular.
I know this annoys some (one) of you, but honestly it's not like I COULD stay on topic if I wanted to. Which I don't. My brain just sort of rambles around from place to place. It's like a rusty old tractor, and occasionally it works but most of the time it doesn't. So I kick it, it spouts a bunch of smoke, and I get a half-rant. But no corn. Perhaps if I had a newer tractor, I'd be able to grow corn in the recesses of my brain (although I don't see why I'd want to), but I don't.
I do, however, want to grow imported chocolates. And vodka, so that I can get my friends drunk and take incriminating pictures of them humping barstools and making out with what might be a history textbook, if I can time it right.
I'd also like a pony, and perhaps a really sexy convertible. Neither of them need to come down my chimney, because the pony would probably poop everywhere and the convertible would land on the leather couches, which frankly I don't really care about, because my cat peed on those couches and then my dog peed on those couches and I'm just waiting for my friends to pee on those couches because brain-wise, they're about a step down from my dog.
And I'm only half kidding too. Aren't you glad you love me so much that you'll forgive me anyways?
Perhaps instead of this weird, useless, tactless, underwear-less blog post, I should eat chocolate. Then again, considering how much chocolate I've already ingested today, perhaps not. It does explain my mood, and why I commented with "andala andala squeak squeak" on a friend's blog. Naturally, I wrote more than that, but I'm pretty sure that was the highlight.
See, when I'm really, really sugar-high but haven't quite noticed it yet, I tend to sort of say anything that pops into my head, ranging from You brought the smackdown to MLK! to They can go screw themselves. Without lube. <3
Neither of which is particularly intelligent. But the guys I was talking about CAN go screw themselves, and then maybe they'll be able to pull their little bigot minds out of their asses and stop being such backwards idiots and I'd really prefer it if I was the one who got to kick them so hard they can't spread their stupid genes to their poor kids but I know there are other people who probably got first dibs.
...Right. Done.
Enough about them! I shall change directions with much shifting of gears and I know I'm taking the bad analogy way too far but I'm not in English class, dammit, and if I want to post rough onigisniggys and sentences like "He whizzed in the parking lot of Paco's Tacos" I am damned well going to. And then cry when no one leaves me a comment.
Although honestly, I had an idea for semi-revenge on the #$(!&#@ guys and granted, maybe it was a bit much and I'd have to create another email account and if the school found out who was behind it I'd be dead twice over, but it'd be worth it just to see the looks on their faces when they found their inboxes full of something I probably shouldn't mention because it appears that sanity has made its short return, and I know I'll offend people.
Not that I care (I do).
Still, people piss me off. Chocolate is much more agreeable. So are horses, unless they bite your boob and draw blood in front of a class of six-year-olds. That's got to suck mold.
Which reminds me, oddly enough, that the first time I ever saw the phrase sucks mold, it was following my name. On a whiteboard, in big fat letters. Aren't my old friends fabulous?
But I'm running out of steam (and time, and interest, and money, and I already lost sanity, but I'm searching), so I think I need to stop.
And remember kids, taking meth makes you uglier than you already are. Take chocolate. That only...makes you fat.
God, I'm doomed.
I know this annoys some (one) of you, but honestly it's not like I COULD stay on topic if I wanted to. Which I don't. My brain just sort of rambles around from place to place. It's like a rusty old tractor, and occasionally it works but most of the time it doesn't. So I kick it, it spouts a bunch of smoke, and I get a half-rant. But no corn. Perhaps if I had a newer tractor, I'd be able to grow corn in the recesses of my brain (although I don't see why I'd want to), but I don't.
I do, however, want to grow imported chocolates. And vodka, so that I can get my friends drunk and take incriminating pictures of them humping barstools and making out with what might be a history textbook, if I can time it right.
I'd also like a pony, and perhaps a really sexy convertible. Neither of them need to come down my chimney, because the pony would probably poop everywhere and the convertible would land on the leather couches, which frankly I don't really care about, because my cat peed on those couches and then my dog peed on those couches and I'm just waiting for my friends to pee on those couches because brain-wise, they're about a step down from my dog.
And I'm only half kidding too. Aren't you glad you love me so much that you'll forgive me anyways?
Perhaps instead of this weird, useless, tactless, underwear-less blog post, I should eat chocolate. Then again, considering how much chocolate I've already ingested today, perhaps not. It does explain my mood, and why I commented with "andala andala squeak squeak" on a friend's blog. Naturally, I wrote more than that, but I'm pretty sure that was the highlight.
See, when I'm really, really sugar-high but haven't quite noticed it yet, I tend to sort of say anything that pops into my head, ranging from You brought the smackdown to MLK! to They can go screw themselves. Without lube. <3
Neither of which is particularly intelligent. But the guys I was talking about CAN go screw themselves, and then maybe they'll be able to pull their little bigot minds out of their asses and stop being such backwards idiots and I'd really prefer it if I was the one who got to kick them so hard they can't spread their stupid genes to their poor kids but I know there are other people who probably got first dibs.
...Right. Done.
Enough about them! I shall change directions with much shifting of gears and I know I'm taking the bad analogy way too far but I'm not in English class, dammit, and if I want to post rough onigisniggys and sentences like "He whizzed in the parking lot of Paco's Tacos" I am damned well going to. And then cry when no one leaves me a comment.
Although honestly, I had an idea for semi-revenge on the #$(!&#@ guys and granted, maybe it was a bit much and I'd have to create another email account and if the school found out who was behind it I'd be dead twice over, but it'd be worth it just to see the looks on their faces when they found their inboxes full of something I probably shouldn't mention because it appears that sanity has made its short return, and I know I'll offend people.
Not that I care (I do).
Still, people piss me off. Chocolate is much more agreeable. So are horses, unless they bite your boob and draw blood in front of a class of six-year-olds. That's got to suck mold.
Which reminds me, oddly enough, that the first time I ever saw the phrase sucks mold, it was following my name. On a whiteboard, in big fat letters. Aren't my old friends fabulous?
But I'm running out of steam (and time, and interest, and money, and I already lost sanity, but I'm searching), so I think I need to stop.
And remember kids, taking meth makes you uglier than you already are. Take chocolate. That only...makes you fat.
God, I'm doomed.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
WTF, mate (why no one likes Australia)
1. Steve Irwin. Hell, even the Australians are probably pissed at him, because now everyone thinks they say "Crikey!" in that accent that only Sydney International Airport PAs use. No one should say crikey. Not even George Lucas, who has done some pretty stupid things in the past (like Episode 2).
2. They eat their roadkill...Sort of. They eat kangaroos. They also hit kangaroos, all the time, on the highway. I mean, more often than we hit deer. I have seen more dead kangaroos in one 2-week trip to Sydney than I've seen dead deer in my total of 16 years here in the US.
3. The barramundi. It's one of the uglier fish--and Australia, having the Great Barrier Reef, has a lot of really ugly fish. But it also has a lot of really colorful, gorgeous fish. So what do they put in pools in hotel lobbies all over Sydney? Yeah, that's right. Barramundi. Which apparently they also serve up to hotel diners. "Oh look, Ma! That man in the funny white hat is spearing one of the fishies!!" "Don't worry, little Fred! That's just dinner!"
4. I have seen a sign on a Chinese place that said "Authentic Chinese cuisine. Warning: There may be bones and feathers in chicken dishes." I have no words for this. Hygienic food laws, anyone?
5. Despite all that BS they feed you about really hot weather, Sydney is pretty much a larger version of a city in western Washington. The scorching desert and wild animals, they save for the really hardcore tourists. Which we're not. So what we saw in Australia, other than some smushed kangaroos and really ugly fish, was almost a copy of what I see every damn day. Except for the newspapers, which were all covering Nicole Kidman's wedding. Here in the US, no one really cared about Nicole until her husband started having drug problems.
6. Lethal jellyfish. End of story.
Honestly, I really don't mind Australia. I spent a lovely 10 days lying in bed with a stomach flu and a fever there, so I have learned that their public libraries have quite the nice selection of cheesy spy novels. But other than that, I think I'll stick to non-edible roadkill, thanks.
2. They eat their roadkill...Sort of. They eat kangaroos. They also hit kangaroos, all the time, on the highway. I mean, more often than we hit deer. I have seen more dead kangaroos in one 2-week trip to Sydney than I've seen dead deer in my total of 16 years here in the US.
3. The barramundi. It's one of the uglier fish--and Australia, having the Great Barrier Reef, has a lot of really ugly fish. But it also has a lot of really colorful, gorgeous fish. So what do they put in pools in hotel lobbies all over Sydney? Yeah, that's right. Barramundi. Which apparently they also serve up to hotel diners. "Oh look, Ma! That man in the funny white hat is spearing one of the fishies!!" "Don't worry, little Fred! That's just dinner!"
4. I have seen a sign on a Chinese place that said "Authentic Chinese cuisine. Warning: There may be bones and feathers in chicken dishes." I have no words for this. Hygienic food laws, anyone?
5. Despite all that BS they feed you about really hot weather, Sydney is pretty much a larger version of a city in western Washington. The scorching desert and wild animals, they save for the really hardcore tourists. Which we're not. So what we saw in Australia, other than some smushed kangaroos and really ugly fish, was almost a copy of what I see every damn day. Except for the newspapers, which were all covering Nicole Kidman's wedding. Here in the US, no one really cared about Nicole until her husband started having drug problems.
6. Lethal jellyfish. End of story.
Honestly, I really don't mind Australia. I spent a lovely 10 days lying in bed with a stomach flu and a fever there, so I have learned that their public libraries have quite the nice selection of cheesy spy novels. But other than that, I think I'll stick to non-edible roadkill, thanks.
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