Conversion Successful, Achievement Unlocked!

Remember this charming little anecdote? About that:

I. . .

have created. . .

a fangirl.

"Wait 'til you're eighteen" my ass.

Oh, fun times were had. Will continue to be had. Flinch reflex totally eradicated (Beginning of movie: Shirtless males! Must not see! By the end: Watching with rapt attention). Dancing, line memorization commenced. Also, our own punny/vulgar references to things, declaration of ourselves as Magenta/Columbia respectively.

But, as with anything, the debate of England vs. Japan comes up. Bonded by a mutual love of androgyny/transvestites, parallels were drawn between Dr. Frank and Gackt **for the horribly uninformed: Frank = main character, mad scientist, voice like sex. Gackt = Japanese, pop singer, likes to pretend he's a vampire. I find it disturbing that the icon describes him as "Everybody's playmate". NO JUST NO.** See for yourselves:

The resemblance is uncanny, is it not? Even better examples exist, but they screw with Blogger's formatting.


England wins again, bitches.

To make up for my gloating, I will admit I only know/obsess over aspects of British pop culture, not necessarily geography. I honestly thought Stonehenge was in Chile. (Confused it for Easter Island, which, even so, is not IN CHILE, rather on an island **Hence Easter ISLAND, dumbass** governed by Chile. Whatever. For the recently-neglected video ending segment of this blog, this should be seen by everyone and so I am embedding it here:

"Let's go rub it in a single crippled man's face!" xD

A Definitive Choice and Explanation on What I Will Name My Hypothetical Daughter

**PRE-Footnote: Yes, this is the topic that made me go completely internally rageballs months ago.**

Re: Title-- Joanne.

Why? 1.) My fantastic(ally insane/amazing/witty/sarcastic/kind) grandmother, who deserves to have a hypothetical small relation named after her hypothetically, and the naming convention is charmingly traditional (though thankfully not applied to me, because then my name would most probably be Lourdes. Eeesh).

2.) Check what day it is. Just check. Apply your knowledge (if any--if none, you should expand upon it, and in the process remove the boulder from your living quarters.) of Harry Potter. Deathly Hallows Part 1 ahhhhg must see why the hell can't it be Friday now I'm jealous of all y'all who get to see it today arrrrrrg. Joanne. Kathleen. Rowling, people. Is kind of goddess of my childhood.

3.) I just like the name Joanne. Admittedly I like Joanna more--some kind of phonetic thing--but hey.

.

(Secret number 6.) DEATHLYHALLOWSDEATHLYHALLOWSDEATHLYHALLOWSOHMYGODDEATHLYHALLOWS

It's the most wonderful time of the year. . .

NaNoWriMo, suckers! I'm off to further the process of my going insane. Wish me luck, and I hope your November is awesome.

Embarrassing Story Hiatus-Compensation

Story time! (Because embarrassment always makes up for not blogging in weeks. Also this may be kind of gross. Enjoy?)

So, up until now I've held a pretty good streak of not vomiting (5-6 years). I've also never been sent home from/been sick at school (absent, yes, and there was that time I got my face busted open on school property, but that's different).

Yesterday, this happened.

Beknownst to me, I'd caught a virus that my brother had had the day before. I was determined to get through as much school as possible, then nobly opt out before the actual sickness began. That didn't work. I was going to go to the nurse during Driver's Ed (because it's easy to make up completely useless busywork. . .), BUT there was a presentation being given by a married couple whose son had been killed by a speeding driver. It seemed inconsiderate to leave in the middle of it, and more importantly, I didn't want to draw attention to myself. DAMN MY CRIPPLING CONSIDERATENESS!

At the beginning of next period, I managed to get to the door and mutter, "May I please go to the nuh"--*heave*--"nuh"--*heave*--"nuh"--*guess*, to the teacher I would have least liked to puke in front of. (Not because of some creeptastic hot-for-teacher thing *IMPORTANT DISTRACTING SIDENOTE: Glee fans, click for the best tumblr you have ever seen in your incomplete life.* **OTHER RANDOM TANGENT: I hate when people say "in your entire life", because your life is clearly not over. There could possibly be better X's to Y in the life you have yet to live.**, just a sort of "EVERYTHING YOU SAY MAKES COMPLETE SENSE THANK YOU FOR EXISTING" way.)

And/but/so, that happened. Then I got to be wheelchaired to the nurse. Which would have been fun, but see previous note about not wanting to attract attention. The end, hope you enjoyed this because in some deep corner of your mind you are a sadist (it's okay, I won't tell), and this specifically didn't happen to you.

(You know the saying "Absence makes the heart grow fonder"? It applies to food. Not only is food essential to life and all that jazz, food is also--usually understatedly, mind you--freaking delicious. Thanks for existing too, food.)

Because, why not?

My (since I haven't done this in awhile and am looking at FIRST PLACE in the Mr. Linky thing--a MAJOR ACCOMPLISHMENT, of course. . .) Six Words for Six Word Saturday:

I

don't

care

if

I

go

crazy

(And yes, that's indeed seven. Nonconformists unite.)

A Series of Unfortunately Deep Thoughts as I Search for the Holy Grail

*FYI: The title is a mishmosh of about 4 different pop-cultural entities. Oh media, how you permeate my consciousness.*

I've started thinking about NaNoWriMo, folks. In order to do it proper seriouslike this time, instead of making a snap desicion on about the 20th of October to just WRITE about WHATEVERTHEHELL because the Internet* was doing it. Granted, it was fun, but not fruitful.

I'm at the library (surprise there. Even when half of my peers in a two-mile radius are cramming themselves into a stadium for some kind of record-breaking-attendance-at-a-high-school-football-game-type thing. OVER NINE AN ESTIMATED TEN THOUSAND!!! No joke.), looking for books**, when this impulse Google (Google is good for impulsive, impatitent people. Options. Answers. Random crap to get distracted by. All at the click of a mouse.***) found its way into the search bar:

"humorous YA fiction books with narrators who have autistic siblings"

Only two books**** were mentioned in the results, both of which I've read and overall kind of disliked. Why I disliked them, I now realize, is because they were not my life on a silver platter (in a silver binding?). Their voices weren't mine. Which isn't any fault of the authors, I'm just particular. So, instead of waiting around for it, I'm setting out to write the fricking Holy Grail of books.

(I.e: A coming-of-age tale very loosely based around my own life, whilst being more interesting/wittier/heartwarming and such. Being issue-oriented but entertaining, and *cough*mostimportantly*cough* being written by me.)

Why not? Write what you know, as they say. And I'll get to write my avatar a love interest plot, the one thing I was decent at in NaNo '09. (Actually, I still have those bits cut-down and stored somewhere. . .it's not plagiarism if you take it from yourself, is it?) Win-win? Yes. I really should hone my narrative skills, 50,000 is 50,000 and other excuses not to be mind-bogglingly creative.

Copious footnote time!

* i.e y'alls, if you found me via the MJ Ning. It's a term of affection. :)

** Currently reading help me, jacques cousteau. Yes, the title is in all lowercase. You know how I feel about these types of things.

*** Call me, Google. My product (service?) placement coupled with my huge audience and clever slogan skills definitely deserves some cash.

**** Rules, and the book that sparked my wrath awhile ago. Though, the latter was more the fault of my English class.

Most Idiotic Question Ever (via me)

"Did dimes exist before Franklin Delano Roosevelt was president?"

"Yeah. They just said '10 cents'."

*headdesk* Noob self. Almost as bad as Googling "how to adjust side mirrors". (I bet the instructor thought I was stalling. He'd fail me if he knew I wasn't.) (BUT, on the plus side of social-interactions-among-peers for today, Doctor Who was mentioned twice in random conversation, and I saw a different random person reading An Abundance of Katherines. It's like the Internet IRL.)

(Why is half this post in parentheses? Whenever I ask a question like that I always end it with "The world may never know." in my head.)

The Mosh Pit Experimentation

(Or: My Life Is One Long Gender-Flipped Episode of The Big Bang Theory.)

Condensed version: I have not learned anything academic today. Blasphemous, I know. I HAVE learned, however, that mosh pits are not for me, and that one should never make assumptions regarding. . . well, anything.

Widescreen extended edition-- for people who give a crap:

Even though there was a scheduled half day of school (to fill a meaningless requirement of hours physically in the building), there were no classes. There were 3 "surprise" "presentations", one being basically a pep rally with groups vying to be voted for, to win some ridiculous football-related tradition (it involves a badly reupholstered couch, who knows). Then, a motivational speaker, which was a refreshing change but really. Just really, high school. Then-- mandatory dance partying.

So I did. A mosh pit of sorts (can I even call it that? According to Wikipedia, moshing was generally done violently to rock music, but is now considered a standard form of audience participation--so yes.) formed in the center, with me on the outskirts yet surrounded by friends/people I know and like. Fun timez could now be had, if I wasn't shit at moshing. How can someone be shit at jumping up and down and waving their arms? The only two requirements are a.) a basic grasp on the concept of musical rhythm and b.) enthusiasm.

I rarely possess a.), and in that particular moment I didn't have much of b.). Hence shitiness. So I retreated to the bleachers, and spotted the only person who could have possibly hated this experience more than me, and with whom I could share snarky comments if we were in an area quiet enough for normal human conversation--my best friend, to put it shortly. I've shared little anecdotes involving her on this blog before--and her male counterpart walking towards the exit. Here I foolishly assumed that she was going to the nurse-- for a migraine or something--and he was playing a gentleman and escorting her.

This was not a sufficient occasion to risk personal injury by scrambling down the bleachers again. So I waited. At dismissal, I found the *counterpart* near the door and asked if she was okay. Response (oozing a certain infuriatingly smarmy satisfaction): That she hadn't been to the nurse and they'd been just outside the door talking.

End of story (and oh, so many questions). Editorial time! (Note if you're reading this and may be offended: What's taken you? ;) I read you on DevianTart.)

I'm all conflicted. I'm happy for her being happy even if it's with a guy I can't stand, andbutso I also take it as a personal failure that she has Asperger's and is more relationshippily advanced than I am.

Crap, my life just turned into Big Bang Theory. Big Bang Theory minus the doctorates. And replace references to Marvel Comics with various manga and Star Trek with Doctor Who. THEN my life is EXACTLY pretty much parallel to it. This makes me Leonard (sorry if my pop culture reference is alienating, but I'm kind of currently in love with it.). Sigh. Enjoy whatever I can find to put here:

Reintroduction. (You may just want to skip this one, honestly)

Hello!

Again.

Did you miss me, universe? I MISSED you. I haven't blogged since the last day of August. Which was a long time ago, in blog-years. I am ill.

Transitions, I have none. Carrying on. . .

I don't know why I used the word "ill", other than the fact that it sounds more proper. I don't know why I'm worrying about sounding proper in a blog, but so I am. Being ill is unpleasant, as I am sure I do not need to tell you all. My throat is absolutely raw, meaning, while I do have the next 2 days to squander watching Youtube videos and drinking tea, I cannot laugh at said Youtube videos (or really anything) lest I bring upon myself MOAR PAIN. Pain = Bad. Laughter = Good. (Metaphorical MEDICINE, even.)

Laughter ≠ Pain.

(look, I used a math symbol!)

Blargh, says the apathetic pirate.

. . .

Look, cats!

BEDA

Blog

Every

Day

August

. . .is what I'm planning on doing. Here. Rather than remember to cross-post (on days other than Tuesday and Saturday, when I'd have to cross-post to yet another blog), I'm just going to leave this up here for the month, and anyone who wants to can stalk me over there. Oh, and this also means I'm not going to manically manipulate the layout until September, so there's a plus? I've sufficiently promoted this blog there, so if you're here from there, thanks for coming. :D There's more interesting stuff down below.*

* That's what she said.

FIPOGI:

The picture is pretty, and a pun. Alliteration yay.

New stuff and schizophrenia (back to normal...)

New background! And stuff. In progress. Two-word fragments!

Okay, enough of that. I'm a bit disappointed in the background, because it looks much better full-screen (I'm assuming. Even maximized Safari doesn't show all of it. But it's in the proportion that leads me to the conclusion that there's nothing inherently wrong with it, I just can't see all of it. I was partially right. It looks marginally better. Pun not--you know what, screw it. I'll just let you think the pun was intended even though I had to re-read that sentence to notice that it could be considered punny. I'm leaving it).

Curse you, Alex, for planting this idea in my head! I was going to change it soon anyway, though. The old background was kind of drab and looked like it was from a scrapbook. Not that I have anything against scrapbooking. I didn't really like it to begin with, it just reminded me of pajamas. I don't know why I'm angsting over this, because I'm just going to spend hours tweaking/rearranging the layout anyway. **I WIN, bitch. You said that when you started this and then you spent the whole day obsessed with baking cookies. Hypocrite.** Come back later and it will be perfect, I promise. (Oh, anal-retentive self with hours to squander on the Internet, how I've missed you.

Functional self with a desire for human interaction: **Maybe I didn't miss you, bitch.**

**Must you punctuate your sentences with "bitch"?**

**It's for emphasis, bitch. It's necessary to make my point. Anyway, weren't you enjoying it?**

**Why the hell did you italicize that? It looks suggestive.**

**Because I knew you'd think that.**

**Isn't this a tad schizophrenic?**

**Eh, schizotypal. There is a mild difference, bitch.**

**That's getting old. But, this is just an exaggeration for the benefit of the readers. . .**

**You think anyone read all this, bitch?**

Anyway, that was yesterday. I got ravaged by mosquitoes in the middle of the night--despite sleeping inside and with closed windows, I might add--and today I'm going to read and bake cookies. More accurately, heat cookie dough, but whatever.

Because you've read to the end of this: (Or you've skipped to the end. Or you were going to read my last post and this caught your eye, because it's a picture at the end of a bunch of text, because that's what you're accustomed to looking at by now. . .)

Movie Recommendations

So. I haven't blogged in forever, I am alive, you may or may not have missed me. I've been doing things. Talking endlessly and eating chips and being generally sociable. With a nerdy and who I have also known for a while and who lets me forget his name and he could possibly also even be the love interest in a Sarah Dessen book and even though I think those books are sappy wish fulfillment I like that he is like that guy, even. ('nerdy' here being a requirement, not a detraction) This is good. But I enjoy being a recluse.

Because I have no original ideas, here's (the middle of) a conversation held with the near-exclusive purpose of creating an awkward situation (again). (some parts edited for reading audiences. Guess the film based on the descriptions. Should be easy if you've seen it. If not, the descriptions are the fun of it. Consider this a recommendation.)

*long discussion resulting in the fact that the perceived quality of movies is directly proportional to the number of times you see them*

Rena: "My mom's one of those people who've seen [title] like 50 times..."

N/Conservative mother of T: *disdainful* "That's a cult."

R: *turning to confused T* "It's really just a charming musical-comedy slash parody about a wholesome fifties couple. . .

T: *blank face*

". . . except that almost everyone ends up killed or raped. . ."

*squick face*

". . . by a cross-dressing sex-starved mad-scientist alien. . ."

*WTF?!??-face*

". . . who is in turn killed by his incestuous alien servants. Dancing, yelling and throwing things are encouraged."

T: *laughter* "I have to see this movie."

N: "Not until you're 18."

Is every bit as weird as it sounds. The awesome kind of weird.

Manly Showering Techniques

**VERY IMPORTANT: This entry is nowhere near as wrong as the title makes it sound. It made sense in my head. Having a moderately perverted mind while at the same time being unable to think about things before I say/type them is problematic.**

There's a name for (and a country associated with) the way I shower. And I don't know how to feel about that.

Backstory: I am not a morning person. The only way I've figured out to snap myself into functioning like a human being at six in the morning is to shower most of the way with a reasonable temperature maintained, and then force it to as cold as possible for the last 20 seconds. It is unpleasant. That's the point. There is no way in hell I can think about how it's six in the morning and that sucks and that I'm probably going to go back to bed. Because I would, if I were thinking about that and not an egregiously long string of profanities.

I've been doing this for a while and today I decided to see if I might be slowly killing myself in the process (because DAYUM that's what it feels like). Google knows everything. The second result for "hot to cold shower benefits" is from artofmanliness.com. (It's huge. *Heh, the manliness is huge. Heheheheh...** The WEBSITE, I mean. There are many articles on how to become more manly/subjects of interest to serious manly men. And probably beard grooming. I didn't care to look further, I just found it amusing. Amusing that such a website exists, and that I--of all people--shower like a badass/scotsman/James Bond/man. Irony FTW. Are all the James Bonds Scottish? Annnd, with that statement I have reestablished my girliness. Sean Connery is Scottish, I know that, but there's been like 20 of them. Like the Doctor but without the pseudoscientific reasoning and fictional species-ness. Or James Bond is a Time Lord. Yeaaah...) and there are. Including improved circulation, energy and mood. And sperm. Yeah.

The Tune Is Lovely But The Lyrics Are Disturbing (part 1 in a series)

Ann M. Martin: Killer of Dreams

Hello, interwebs! Long time no blog and all that. . . (The last 5 or so times I tried to start a blog post like that I just abandoned it halfway through. . . I haven't said anything of reasonable note in two weeks, coming back from this little hiatus is going to be awkward regardless of if anyone reading this cares. My skills in expressing coherent/complete/relevant ideas have vanished. I try to be witty/interesting/thoughtful on the Internet if for no other reason than that I frequently lack those abilities in reality, so whenever I write a blog like this that's completely awful and then made worse by the fact that I'm lengthening it only by pointing out its flaws, I see it as a personal failure. . .and dear god that was a run-on. Okay, actual topic commence! Rid this horrible, almost-entirely-in-parentheses paragraph of its awkwardness and self pity! This would be better if you read it in your head with the voice of someone who works at a Renaissance fair with an affected English accent! Huzzah!)

I LOVED The Baby Sitters Club books as a kid--"kid" in this instance meaning "absurdly younger than the target demographic"; they were pure wish-fulfilment for a 9 year old. Here's the lesson I saw in them: "By the time you're 13--i.e in THE DISTANT FUTURE--, small naive child, you will be independent, responsible, and organized. Enough that adults will trust with the lives of their small, naive children! And you will have a super awesome, very large group of friends! And loads of free time in which to supervise children! By choice! There will also be guys! Whom you will use even MORE of your endless free time to date! And it's gonna be TOTALLY AWESOME!

. . .

None of this happened.

At least, not to the extent or in the time period I was expecting. Independent? Responsible? Organized? PAH! The care of other children? I didn't care about them, nor was I particularly capable. Friends? Some. Free time (choosing for it to be spent babysitting, no less)? Hellz naw. Seventh grade is the freaking hardest thing ever when you're still in it. Dating? What are you even talking about? The only girls who dated in middle school were kind of slutty. Or maybe I was just bitter.

In conclusion, I realize most of the books I read were written circa 1989, different times and such, but come ON, Ann M. Martin. You cannot make adolescence sound this cool.

Why in the world is this entertaining?

Anyway, enjoy!

Early Blog (6WS)

Good book makes all-nighter equal conquest.

PS: (Yeah, that was how I spent my Friday night.)

PPS: Booknerd pride.

How Toy Story Scarred My Childhood

Toy Story 3 was awesome. Epic in the traditional, non-overused-on-the-Internet sense. It made my dad (and everyone else in the theater) cry, and it kept Evan's attention. Both difficult things, at least in terms of movies. I'm probably going to see it again, it is That. Good. As it should be, taking 11 years...

The first movie kind of scarred me, though. Not "scared", emotionally scarred. I cannot remember the period of time in my life I had not seen Toy Story. I cannot remember ever owning a humanoid toy. These are related. The eyesss, they watch. Every toy (minus stuffed animals) is alive and has feelings and actions and can, if mistreated, effectively KILL YOU IN YOUR SLEEP (or, y'know, so I thought. Past tense). I only extended this to dolls/plastic things, because they were the only type of toy in the movie (and if I was forced to either live in fear of or get rid of my massive collection of stuffed animals I would die).

3 fixes this logic. Thank you for that, movie. A film managed to make me feel almost guilty over the treatment of my inanimate possessions. Not exactly guilty, but curious. Knowing that these things have an opinion of me is nervous-making. I think I was a pretty okay (if strange... I didn't even really play with them--or other kids for that matter, probably explaining my aversion to social activities--I slept with a mountain of them... stuffed animals, I mean. And you probably knew that but now I'm just distracting myself in this parenthetical statement...) owner, but it's more just the "having an opinion of me" part.

Aforementioned hoard has dwindled, but I still have ones I've either won or been given as gifts. I don't know why I feel compelled to keep gifts, but I never win things. They (Shalom, Orange, Cupcake, Oliver, and Mei... I still know the exact dates/occasions I won them, too.) are my trophies, dammit. I know "never" is disproved by that list, but consider that I will never win an actual sporting trophy in my life. And that those five are the work of 8 or 9 years of carnivals.

At first I thought that 3 was the darkest/most depressing of the trilogy, but the other two are pretty on par with it. Holy. Crap. But that's what makes these movies compelling, there are things you only notice upon repeating viewing years apart. Other example: I honestly thought the movie Drop Dead Fred was a fever dream until a few months ago. I saw it at my cousin's house (I think), while I was sick and falling asleep sporadically. I was young and impressionable and only aware of the psychotic leprechaun. (Imagine what would happen if Willy Wonka took amphetamines with Mountain Dew, was allowed to swear, and was placed in functioning society. Bwahahaha.) But Google knows everything, so I was able to plug in seemingly random words and come up with an actual movie. Re-watching, fully conscious: Childish (still really funny, I'll admit. :P), yeah, but sad. Not, "Let's pity the obviously mentally ill woman" sad, but sad. My explanation makes no sense.

EDIT: It's being remade. >:P At least Russell Brand is English...

Why I Like Wikipedia

No matter how pointless/informal/random the subject is, it just sounds like Wikipedia. And it provides a blog topic with little research and even less thought, while remaining Wikipedially educational.

Examples: here, here, here, here, and just because I like odd numbers: here.

That is all.

Starts Out -ish And Gets Progressively... Moreso.

Ehhh, so it's late. It'll probably say I posted this on Sunday (err, really early Monday. I don't count days as starting from midnight, they start when I wake up. There has to be sleeping to distinguish them in my mind). I don't know. I'm always up at these ungodly hours (actually, why does "ungodly" in that phrase just mean "I should not be up at"? It's very godly. Seriously, I'm listening to Godspell--because I hate silence when I'm browsing websites and stuff without sound, so I tab YouTube and just listen. I'm good at multitasking. I choose this because it's awesome. *stops blogging for Alas For You.* Jesus snaps and beats up a (symbolic-)robot. And then all the quiet/depressing parts. Whoo. (If not awesome, distracting. I need distracting, my stomach feels weird. Like I don't know if it hurts because I'm hungry or because it legitimately hurts mildly. Or both, so either way it's a lose-lose. Rar. Will eating something make it better or worse? Whatever, I'm just going to eat because I like food.)

Paragraph breaks, I should add some.

I don't know what to add after the paragraph break. Damn On The Willows is sad. *food break*

*television break*

*sleep-esque break*

Okay, so, food = WORSE-MAKING. Suffice to say I spent most of the early-morning hours in my bathroom staring at the ceiling. I managed to not vomit, because my brain likes winning more than my stomach likes not feeling gross. I have not thrown up in over 4 years. I want to uphold that streak, and I also hate throwing up. It's hard not to notice everything when you're confined to a small room with nothing else to do except not puke and notice things. My mother has hung a huge framed poster for Big Top Pee Wee (usually italics are the right thing to do to movie titles, just because. But these italics have the added function of questioning my mother's sanity. Really?) hanging on the wall over the toilet. Staring at it is not fun because it's like he's watching you, dammit.

I haven't seen this movie, but in character he reminds me of a cheerful pedophile, and out of character he got arrested for wanking in public. . . so yeah. And, this came out in 1988. When my mom was 27. It's a movie for children, apparently. *Wikipedias* The plot summary makes no sense. Whatsoever. Most things, though, if they are trying to be explained, sound horrible/make no sense whatsoever. I shouldn't judge, I'm the one who was talking about what could best be described as "ZOMG Afro-Superman-Jesus! Awesomely 70s everything!". Campy movies usually turn out to be pretty entertaining, though.

Anyway, here's something that made me laugh, stolen from Allie's blog I linked to before. I've read almost all of her posts, I wish I knew about this blog when it wasn't famous because I would gladly sell cookies door-to-door for her. Or tattoo the URL onto a koala. I'd feel useful (and cool because I knew about an unknown blog). But it doesn't need that kind of promotion anymore. Whatever, here's the picture:

Nevermind, the picture is huge. Go here if you want (it's old, but I love the caption).

Awkward and Awesome Other Blog FUN!

Hello. [hell-oh-- if you don't know how to pronounce it I don't know what the hell I'm going to do with you.] (noun.) The most basic greeting in the English language, it could really be the beginning of any conversation or statement:

a.) Hello. I just shot your neighbor's daughter and raped her bloody corpse, do you have any stain removal products I could borrow?

b.) Hello. I'm a pirate. I also have free Oreos. Would you like some?

I'd pick the second one, but this is all beside the point. What *I* mean to say is, hello, thank you for wasting your time reading this blog. Let's continue.

You see, "let's continue" implies that no more time should be wasted because there is an IMPORTANT POINT to get to. There isn't. I've been rearranging the blog sidestuffs a bit, deleting the people who never update their blogs and once again marveling at how I follow tons of blogs chronicling the lives of small children.

ANYWAY. . .

Speaking of children, here's an awkward conversation I'd like to preserve for future generations--if there *are* any. *rubs hands conspiratorially*

*End of a long, long car ride, inhabited by me, my close-enough-to-be-weird-and-somewhat-offensive-to friend and her aunt*

A: *breaking long silence* "Sooo, what do you girls want to be when you grow up?"

T: *quick and assured* "Forensic pathologist."

R: *it was hot. I was not going to bullshit through whatever sounded good, rather, I was dryly honest and thought it best to always finish with humor. Aunt is not familiar with my sense of humor* "Erm, something English-y. You know. I want to just stay in school for as long as I can, so I don't have to get an actual job. And then, like, become a starving poet-activist who lives off cookie dough and ramen noodles. Or travel. Travel is cool. . . I could go to Uganda undercover as a missionary and hack up babies for their limbs."

A & T: *stunned back into silence. T at least half-laughing internally. Probably.*

I'm not going to lie, I reveled in that silence. I like confusing and/or disturbing people. In truth, only the last sentence of that was purely facetious. Cookie dough and poetry = funtimez. Real work and responsibility and having to cook food = NOTFUNTIMEZ. Of course, I must deliberately acknowledge at this point that I'm writing this at 15, things change, I could very well morph into a responsible adult with a college degree and a clear plan for my life/how I'm going to make money, et cetera et cetera. . . Another conversation that gives more evidence to the "living in a shopping cart" future for me, same people:

*part of a discussion of hypothetical names for hypothetical children*

A: "Oh, I love the name Phoebe. Or Bianca. Or Lola."

R: "The last two are strippery. Depends on the middle name though."

T: "I'm going to name my daughter either Skylar or Kaylee."

R: "Ugh. Don't do that to a child, please. They don't sound like names, all "Y"-y and "Ee"-y. Too trendy."

T: "And you like?"

R: "Long, melodic names that sound Victorian English-y, or that start with vowels: Elizabeth, Violet, Lillian, Catherine, Abigail, Amelia... stuff like that."

T: "I don't know what I'd do if I had a son, boys' names aren't as pretty."

R: "This is assuming you ever have kids..." *adultlike restraint shown by using this ending instead of "if a guy ever knocks you up" in front of staunchly religious aunt*

A: *empathetic and firm* (read: scary) "You will. You both will."

This was the point where I wanted to stomp my feet in defiance. Or at least politely inform her that I do not want kids. Seriously. I mean, maybe, but committing it to a "will" freaks me out. Especially having that commitment verbalized by someone who is not me. It's not 1950, go childless females! And Ramen! But I (again, showing responsible, smart restraint) picked this as the time to shut up.

Anyway, instead of FIPOGI or anything at the end, just go here. Hilarious blog with crazy awesome drawings. Better than mine by far.

Questions!

List! (Single! Word! Exclamations!)

--In "Eenie Meenie Miney Mo", is it "eenie *point* meenie *point*" or "ee *point* nie *point*"?

--Did Greg (y'know... the yellow Wiggle) die of lupus or something?

--Is there a job that entails only the naming of colors of paint, or does that fall to the person who created the color?

--What's the best way to move (and extract coins from) a 35 year old gigantic glass jug?

--Why is it so bleeding hot?

--Did I seriously just use the word bleeding to describe something other than a wound? Yes.

--Why do the British have better curses(/interjections/whatever)? I could have used "freaking" in the same context with the same meaning, why does "bleeding" sound better? I pick up these phrases when I watch British television, particularly late at night, actually, and a lot from my mother. Accents. For no reason. It's how we roll. Moreso in mock-shouty situations.

--Why, come summer, do I have as much motivation and energy as an impregnated gnu?

--Did I seriously just use "impregnated gnu" as a descriptor? Yes.

--Why, when there are 3 coins in my presence, must I arrange them into a Mickey Mouse shape? I hadn't even noticed this until I stared at my desk in impregnated gnu-state for 5 minutes.

--Do these questions even really matter to people other than me who may have been under the unfortunate assumption that the questions mentioned in the title would be somewhat intelligent and thus chose to waste time reading this?

--Will any of the non-rhetorical questions in this list be answered? (*Googles*... Nope, Greg's alive. Yaaay. There's one.)

--Should I stop now? Yes.

Hometown SHAME.

Seriously, guys?

The whole country, really?

What?

Elmhurst, Illinois (whoop whoop here. Yeah. This was too weird not to disclose my location for.) is the number one town in the ENTIRE UNITED STATES to search for porn on the Internet. I'm sad. Also creeped out. Also adding this to the list of reasons I really want to get the fuck out of here for college. Which is a shame, I've heard it's a good school but I want to leave more than I value my higher education I suppose. Damn that's creepy though.

So... yeah. That's this town's claim to fame. Great. A (up until now) nice, little, respectable predominately white upper-middle-class (read: BORING. AS. HELL. Nice enough but like, Upper Leadworth bad. Wait, does that town actually exist? It sounds enough like it does. And it's foreign. Will I stop with the Doctor Who references? Nope. Give me the Illinoisan equivalent of frozen TARDIS of death, kthnx.) Chicago suburb, which is now famous for it's pervs.

Thanks a lot.

(BUT, Utah has the highest porn subscription rate, if this diagram is reliable. Pick on Utah.)

FIPOGI:

This isn't so much funny as it is just palate cleanser. Enjoy.

Good Television Inspires Hypocrisy

A strange phenomenon I've witnessed (Rule Of Three counts as witnessing enough to note...) recently. The following (very much recurring) conversation, Tuesdays, 9:04 pm:

R: "Hel--"

M: *genuinely irritated* "I'm just calling to tell you it made me cry, and I'm never watching this fucking show again. I mean it. Goodbye." *hangs up*

This is regularly proved to be hypocritical, so the rationale offered is something like "I was only going to watch the beginning but then they did BARBRA, so I had to." (thus proving the theory that the only people who watch Glee **The finale is tonight ZOMG!!1!one!** **UPDATE: Phone call received. I cried a little too though, so in my mind it's justified.** are teenage girls, their mothers, and gay men. We've also managed to convert my grandma.) Similar conversation between my mother and me, (but she was basically narrating...) regarding some extreme medical procedures show:

D: "Awww, LOOK at that thing! It's gone almost all the way through his head! Auugh, how the hell are they going to remove that? Why am I watching this?"

R: "Because you're a depraved sadist who can't bring yourself to inflict pain on others, so instead you rely on equally sadistic television producers to broadcast it for your sick entertainment?"

D: *suspiciously laughing tone* "Ohhh my God that must hurt! GROSS! Look. LOOK!"

R: "Why? You just said it was gross."

D: "But it's science."

And to round out the rule of three, this is most of my own thought process during any given episode Doctor Who. It is within the realm of my physical ability to just stop watching this, but will I? Naw, of course not. I could/should spare myself quite a bit of confusion (Time and ensuing traversing of it is complicated. Crazy awesome British humanoid alien regularly saves universe, interchangeable companions, from various monsters. Everyone/thing else dies. With a screwdriver that looks like a laser pointer that can do things beyond the capabilities of either of those two objects.), fright (no, I am still not over this.), even tears on a few occasions (Father Octavian, damn.), but it's compelling and enjoyable. I can't credit science or musical obsession, it just IS.

FIPOGI: (scratch that, since it's almost 8 and I can't find anything on Google Images worth pilfering, NEW ACRONYM TIME! Video Of Current Ear Worm, henceforth known as VOCEW. Songs get stuck in my head, I feel it's my duty to *share* them. You're welcome. :))

VOCEW:

Seinfeldian Observations (Or, the blog earns its name)

NOTE: Shortly before starting this post I was called upon to Google the spelling and meaning of Taekwondo (one word, yes, and it's spelled right, automatic spellcheck). Thought you should know that it's the national sport of South Korea and has been an Olympic sport since 2000 under WTF regulations. Hah.

(Maybe the Internetz have corrupted me, but What The Fuck regulations sound a lot more interesting than World Taekwondo Federation regulations, wouldn't you agree?)

Anyway, I pose a question:

Is there any way to scientifically prove the benefits of stripy toothpaste? Does each stripe have a specific function, or is it just general toothpaste colored into bands? (Which would be a clever marketing ploy, but would probably result in lawsuits...) The twisted together stripes in the center of the cap also kind of turn a light purplish, which in theory if mass produced would have the same results, but be more visually appealing. In my opinion.

And just because that point needs more informational nonsense to go along with it:

HAPPY CHIMBORAZO DAY!

Chimborazo is a volcano in Ecuador, its claim to being-famous-enough-to-have-its-own-holiday is that it pokes farther out into space than any other mountain on EARTH. Yeah. The BOLD makes it look awesome. Wouldn't the mountain with this title be Mt. Everest, though? Unless because it's in Ecuador it's not weighed down by snow or the atmosphere is thinner because it's warmer. I don't know. I don't write the facts (or even throughly research them), people, I just steal them from the Internet. **Disclaimer: Of course, I just mean in the context of blogs, not important schoolwork related pursuits. This is not to say I don't value the importance and informationalness of this blog... ;)**

FIPOGI!

Why I'm Tired.

(Incredibly stupid and avoidable reasons ahead!)

So. I'm trying to blog at 11 in the morning, just because I'm awake and this counts as carpe-ing diem, no? Yes. Yes it does. One problem with that...

less than six hours of sleep. Fun. Recap:

In keeping with my unreasonable summer schedule of wakefulness and unconsciousness, I was awake and very frankly kind of bored at 1 in the morning. Instead of going to bed like a normal person, I decided to catch up on Doctor Who (and was getting all excited because I hadn't seen it in weeks... ah, the rare occasion my social life interferes with my nerdy pursuits-- viva el on demand, sí). Sure. Fine. Overall, creepy yet throughly enjoyable and awesome. Except that it was raining, hard. Thunder, lightning, et cetera. Sure, fine. . .

The major plot involved sentient angel statue things that can only move (/thus effectively kill people...) when they aren't being seen, have the power or energy or whatever to flash lights, and can also inhabit people's minds and come out of screens. Great. Important facts:

1. I am a very easily frightened person.

2. There is an ongoing thunderstorm.

3. The Weeping Angels are pretty much the fucking scariest things ever.

*cue light-flicker, 20 second power outage*

*. . .*

I died a little.

Things I Should Do, Preferably Soon

1. Publish some blogs, I have a dozen drafts of posts that never wound up getting published even though they contain points I'd like to blog about eventually, so I should devote some time to editing them/lengthening them. Eventually.

2. Clean my closet. Much like with the first one, I've started a few times but never finished. I operate around this under the Mantra Of True Lazy Slobs: "As soon as I finish, it'll get disorganized again, so what's the point?" Oh, look. A *random noun at the end of this set of asterisks that is implied as being in my line of sight and has thus distracted me, proving to the Internet via the *action stars* how easily distractible I am. I may or may not be exaggerating my distractibility level, but you'll never know if you're just reading this, now will you? Fantastic, my asterisk-actions have gone all meta again, this is turning into insane babbling, yet I've suckered you into reading it. You really shouldn't have started. In fact, go back to the beginning of this tangent and just don't read it at all. You have my permission.*

3. Wow, I realize how damn vague the title of this is, so I could list hundreds of goals such as "Remember to blink occasionally when staring at computer screen" "Eat" "Uncross legs because left foot is currently falling asleep" et cetera... "soon" is too subjective. I suppose I mean "hopefully in the course of the next week but probably extended to the entire summer".

Aaaaand this is a wonderful demonstration of why I cannot set goals. I find a way around my own goals. I want to accomplish them but I don't. This may be my subconscious differentiating the really important goals from the ones I just *think* I want/have to do, or my subconscious is a lazy asshole. I'm going with the latter.

I'm entirely aware of a.) how whiny and pointless this is, b.) how sadly ironic it would be if I drafted this and never posted it. So, I am c.) totally ignoring a.) in favor of eliminating b.) and accomplishing point 1.

I've barely edited this. . . think of it as a raw glimpse into my scatterbrained mind. Aren't you glad you don't have to live here? :D

FIPOGI!

I kind of want to be an elderly Austrian man just so that I could do this to my facial hair.

Summer! (Or, Cake at a Funeral)

It.

Is.

Summer.

Eff Yeah.

What I'm Probably Going to Do All Summer:

Sleep during unreasonable hours.

Eat food with no regard for time-appropriacy. (Croutons and ranch dressing for breakfast!)

Watch movies. (This part doesn't have anything to do with summer, just gives me more time to devote to it.) Memorize them, possibly. (This, of course, is summer-centric. Boredom and juuuust the right amount of OCD, a quotes/trivia addiction, heat and the time in which to do this? I will.)

Read. (Again, for fun. With more time. There's also some school-required summer reading, which leads me to my next point: . . .)

In Which My Plan Actually Works

What's been keeping me from reading Pride and Prejudice for a while has been the following logic: "We're going to be forced to read that at some point. It's so school-y, yet it sounds awesome. Who is this Darcy fellow, and why does he inspire such literary lusting? Might as well wait it out and be surprised then."

Oh, lookie. Two birds flying parallel to each other. I have a stone. Guess how many of the metaphorical birds end this tale dead? Two.

I win.

The Social Acceptableness of Mixing Sad Occasions with Cake

Think about it. Your loved one has just died (hypothetically). Which do you want more right now, to wallow in your own misery, or eat cake? I'd choose cake. (I've been to 3 funerals in my life. Actually, one was a memorial service. And the other was a wake. And the real one was when I was six. None for anyone particularly close to me, either. What do I know?) And yet no one has combined the two. Or have they? *Googles* Alright so they have. It's an Amish thing though. The dead person's relatives were given food (including sometimes cake, which they had their own recipe for, like everything Amish) by their friends/neighborhood/Amish community so they didn't have to cook in their time of mourning. How sweet. But that's not what I'm talking about. Say someone dies. Their immediate family is presumably pretty damn depressed. Make them a cake. Not a sympathy cake, don't frost words onto it, that's cheesy. Their favorite flavor of cake, just give it to them to do with whatever they want. Cake makes people happy. Or at least is a comforting type of food, don't you think?

An unrelated video about Hitler being a painter that segues into cake/death. Maybe this is why I love Eddie Izzard. Our segueing technique is similar. And he is British. And unexplainably attractive.

Things Which Keep My Brain From Melting

Ahhh, I haven't blogged in so long. Every attempt at explaining WHY I haven't blogged in so long prior to this has turned into just completely awful nonsense, and I'm not going to try to make much of a point with this particular post except to say I might not be blogging as frequently here because brain-comsuming finals are-- as their name suggests-- consuming my brain. So, having run out of coherent thoughts for today, I present you with various distractions:

Nerd rap. Yeah. w00t.



Are you scared for your sanity yet? VEGETABLES!!!



Hooray, physical violence!



Horrifyingly adorable, this is.



. . . xD. If you haven't seen this movie, I suggest you fix that.

Pants vs. Shakespeare

I know I haven't blogged here in a while, sooo...

HAPPY NO PANTS DAY!

Not that I participated. Just thought you should know. I wonder if this is international, sort of a "make of it what you will" situation. Because in the UK/other English-speaking foreign lands possibly, "trousers" and "pants" are not synonyms. (I've watched enough britcoms to have figured this out... See? Television is educational, children. *nods knowingly*)

Aaaaannd that's why I haven't blogged. Because now the first post will be THIS instead of a brilliantly deep quote-related blog. **side, since I'm thinking about it: There are certain words that I will always pronounce with a British accent, whether in my head or in speech. Words include: (1.) Any Shakespearian preposition e.g "hast" "wilt" "dost" "thou/thine/thy etc. archaic words that I use to just be melodramatic. (2.) Brilliant-- referring either to exceptional smartness or an intensified version of "good" and (3.) Rubbish. Just. . . rubbish. (4.) Others I use sporadically but am lumping under this number that I can't think of, because there are a lot more than that. I like having an excuse to speak with any accent, it just so happens that my "British" accent is the one I perceive as best. And it's fun. I'm a lunatic, but I'm happy.** There was no point to this except to ease my own carefully-crafted bloggy-guilt, and as you can tell by now this blog is about nothing in particular. Yet I've suckered you into reading it, so let us continue:

Ummm.

Would you like a cookie?

No I didn't make them. I thought they were cool. Thank you, Google Images, for providing VIRTUAL REWARDS. Nomnomnomnom.

"There is nothing so self-righteous nor so right as an adolescent imagination."

(The above: a quote from the wonderful Stephen Fry, who is probably better at most things than a vast majority of people, but who is too polite to say so. And whose voice sounds like *insert simile here*... I am in love with it. That is all. Anyway, besides being eloquently written and beautiful, it's true. I found it on Wikiquote, which I also love, and have been searching for free access in some way to the autobiography it is from. Which, given his style of writing and my obsession over biographies, should be superb.)

The longer version of this quote (I'm paraphrasing. And over-dramatizing. And adding bits that apply to me that I see as universal.) is that all teenagers by nature have somewhat the self-perception of "Nonconformity! Yay! I am an individual, a loner; society is flawed and I'm the only one who can see it. Woe be to they who cannot see above the world they all live in, but I am awesomer than them. If they don't like me, screw 'em. I CAN and I MUST fix this for the good of everyone else. If, in that process, I cease to be a nonconformist, then I am nobly willing to do so. And then they will love me, because I have inspired deep thoughts within the very rawness of their souls and illuminated them to the error of their ways. I CAN and I MUST leave a permanent scar of triumph on the beautiful face that is humanity. *humble bow* *thunderous applause*"

Which is also true. Personally... yeah, it's true. Just because I'm aware of this doesn't mean I'm going to change it. It's probably a violently skewed view of my role in the universe, but this is derived from necessity. Reality is a heartless bitch. It's incredibly probable that I may amount to nothing significant in the big picture of things, history, the world, et cetera. Graduating from U of I with a BA in English, writing, getting published occasionally and having a part-time job at an indie bookstore/coffee shop but being a virtual unknown. (Or worse, which very literally frightens me. The words "Wal-Mart" and/or "desk job" come up.) But I am very important in my own universe, glancing into the universes of people I know from time to time. Seeing how small I am, now in particular, would make my head explode. I acknowledge this, and then gratefully crawl back into my hole of informed nonconformity.

I often make light of how *awful* my life is and how when I am famous, yet educated and traveled and philanthropic and living as a recluse in a cabin in Wyoming somewhere, watching snow fall non-picturesquely (because pretty snow is cliche), and grayly and dimly ponder the light flurries of February in Wyoming whilst typing on a secondhand vintage typewriter the ensuing memoirs encompassing this period of time in my life will be dramatically heart wrenching and inspiring and all the other adjectives truly good memoirs actually are. This is partly to be satirical of all the other teenage stereotypes, and partly because it's something I desperately want.

So, did that just inflate my ego a little? Of course. Stephen Fry used the word "right" whilst describing something applicable to me.

FIPOGI:

A Soapbox-Sadie Six Words

It's 6WS! So, my six words:

Good judgement: proofreading posts while calm.

The explanation for this is I wrote a particularly long and curse laden and incoherent blog post ranting on about people who underestimate/mislabel kids with autism. (or who are just generally twits whom I don't like anyway, but whose chronic verbal vomiting on this subject gives justifiable proof to this opinion...) Which I suppose is my "cause" if I had to pick one other than the universal type ones (E.g world peace and the environment and so on). Which I think is understandable because my brother has autism, so it affects me and the people I care about, moreso than like, being an amputee does. I don't know any amputees, even though there are probably charities for them and it kind of sucks (being an amputee, not having charities... God, why am I even using this as an example?). I'm strongly against the likes of Jenny McCarthy and the people that treat autism like it is WRONG and should be CURED, like it's that black and white. (And here's where it gets into the rant-y points about conformity and the things that are wrong with society in its treatment of disabled individuals and other cliches, so I'm stopping. I feel that way, yes, but I can't say it in an interesting and eloquent enough manner to allow myself to let the Internet see it.)

Okay, original point round-up time: I'm spectacularly glad I proofread for once.

FIPOGI!

THIS: When even blatant Photoshoppery can't detract from the awesomeness.

April (Month) and Fool (Me)

Well hello, cyberspace. Happy April Fool's Day.

. . .

I was going to turn this post into some kind of trick, as per the goal of the holiday states, but I am in no mood or mental capacity to do so. I feel like death in a can. It's a beautiful day outside.

Why I chose "in a can" as an intensifier I have not a clue. I Googled it to see if it was some kind of expression or something, but most of the results claim that either Red Bull or processed food is the above mentioned--it's not a more eloquent synonym for "OMFG *drool* *spazz* *headsmack* *die*" as I had hoped. Bleagh. In other news: today is the first day of Script Frenzy. (like Nanowrimo for scriptwriting. We'll see if my failure at novelwriting is any indication of the results of this...) Which I will foolishly be attempting. Which means I may not blog as much in April. I have a few drafts of posts I may finish just to give this blog an air of consistency, but otherwise, see you in May.

FIPOGI:

Just in time for Easter! LULZ! :-D


(I get it, not funny. . . April Fools. Yes! I got at least one in before I die a whiny and flu-related death. In a can.)

News From Geniusland

Without further ado, Six Word Saturday:

Thirteen, genius, ecology major. I'm jealous.

And now, further ado:

Is it so wrong to be jealous of this kid? I mean, come on. Prodigies make for humorous subjects of movies and books and other works of fiction, but in real life graduating from Stanford at age 11 is... amazing. Incredible. Improbable. I don't mean to moan, but, yeah, screw it, I'm going to moan. When *I* was 11 I was memorizing state capitals. That's pretty much it. Certainly NOT even dreaming of my college major. I hardly am NOW. He's likely to be a million or some crap before he's 25. And not letting him go to South Africa is "discrimination"? It's pretty basic safety. Sorry dude, the school is not going to be held liable when you get eaten by a Venus flytrap or something. You probably have a high enough IQ to know that there aren't man-eating Venus flytraps in South Africa, but can a school trust that some other accident isn't going to happen? It's risky.

I may be pointlessly whining, but I think he should just be glad to be where he already is. It's possible to keep "moving forward" or whatever, he has his whole life to go everywhere and get PhDs and make money and save the Earth or whatever he plans to do. Sheesh. So, I pose a question, my dear readers:

I am I really just being envious and evil? Does he deserve to go regardless of the consequences?

More Meaningless Moaning About The Weather

My Six Words:



Spring starts tomorrow. Today: snow. WHAT?!!

Other news in brief: I'm making over the blog a bit, trying to find a properly fitting header. Non-blog-life-update: .... reading, essaying, procrastinating and cursing the weather. Have a nice day. (I usually hate that phrase, because it sounds insincere. I'm not going to insist that of course, coming from me it's sincere; but I at least hope your day is more interesting than mine.)

FIPOGI:

Under Construction

If you've seen this blog in the past few days, it's probably really weird looking and hardly readable. I've been toying around with backgrounds, first trying to manipulate my own and then switching to the freebies made by nice internet people with an eye for design. (which I fully admit to not having.) Going through tons of these has made me realize one thing:

I am picky.

Despite having no grounds to be as such.

Anyway, hopefully it will be normal looking by the time I post my 6WS. (later today, hoping to be last again. There's already 60-something entries.)

EDIT: Alright, I'm stopping here for a while. It's very earthy-looking now. The stripes remind me of pajamas or something. This is a good thing, yes? Yes. (European statement endings, no? Why do I slip into these affectations while I'm blogging?) I really don't like changing the entire configuration of my blog constantly, so it might still be changing by the time anyone reads this, but once it's done I probably won't do this again for a while. Thoughts on the current layout, anyone?

And the rest of the day to yourself

The traditional response to "Top of the morning to you." that I guess fewer people know. If someone ever says that to you, you now know how to respond. Even if you already knew that, I like to feel informative.

So it's Saint Patrick's Day. w00t.

Why is St. Patrick's Day (patron saint of Ireland) popular in America?

Two seconds after I asked this semirhetorical question, I've come up with my own nonsemirhetorical answer: Beer and theme colors. It makes sense. BUT, this is not a blog about St. Patrick's Day. *cue point where I stopped blogging for quite a bit to do something marginally more important, so when I came back to this draft that statement wasn't finished... I forgot what this was going to a blog about. So yes, it's going to be a blog about St. Patrick's Day.*

The KGH had "Rueben pizza" as some kind of lunch special. Corned beef, swiss cheese, and sauerkraut. On a pizza. Wow. I'm not going to comment on the sheer absurdity and repulsiveness of even the thought of that, but who thinks of Rueben pizza? Was it dyed green, too? You can dye any random foodstuff green, isn't that enough celebratory faux-Irishness? But the best part of this was after to announcement was made, the announcer had to say some teleprompted line like, "MMMM! That sounds good!" She couldn't do it with a straight face. :-D

Other than that, my St. Pat's Day was rather uneventful. Have the day to yourself and all. You deserve it.

FIPOGI!:

**I've always thought leprechauns were the coolest of the mythical creatures. Devilishly clever, rich and annoying. Terrific qualities not found in the standard werewolf.** (Excepting the latter. Why am I typing this with an Irish accent running through my head? Ah well. If this were spoken, imagine it with an Irish accent, so that my oddity shan't've been in vain.)

Age IN-appropriate crushes

My six words:

Oscar Wilde: YUM. Dead men = attractive.

Hi, my name is Rena and I'm a reverse-cougar.

All: Hi, Rena.

Are there support groups for this? Nearly all of my *celebrity* crushes are (at the very least) double my age. Some triple. Some dead. A list, in no particular order. *Hell, it's getting really long, just scroll to the end and then marvel at the length*: (Don't judge me... it's not like I'm going to stalk the not dead ones, or go after any average, nonfamous grandfatherly-aged dude. Because that would just be scary. Self: Oh, right, like THIS isn't... Self: Why must you talk to me while I'm blogging? When typed it looks even weirder. On with the list!)

Gregory Peck

Steve Martin

Gene Wilder

Stephen Colbert

Stephen Fry

Jon Stewart

Alan Rickman

Any of member of Monty Python

Hugh Laurie

Victor Garber

Gordon Ramsay

Charlie McDonnell (from the Internet.)

Anderson Cooper

Tyler Oakley (also from the Internet)

Helena Bonham Carter

Ryan Stiles

Neil Gaiman

Hank Green

John Green

Tom Felton

Daniel Radcliffe

Ralph Fiennes

Demitri Martin

Neil Patrick Harris

Julie Andrews

Chris Colfer

Anthony Bourdain

John Lennon

British sexy Jesus. I've said this before and I will say it again. BRITISH. JESUS. IS. HOT. It sounds so, so wrong... but so, so attractive.

Matthew Broderick. (Compared to that last one, this seems a bit anticlimactic...)

The Explanation Comes First (A 6WS)

I've been contemplating which direction I could (or should) take these proceeding 6 words in this week. I could just minimize a statement on how I'm really grateful to not have a virus everyone else in my household has, regardless of having to go to school. (because even *I* have limits as to when being sick sucks...) Or maximize a statement on how cold it is right now. Something ludicrous, or thoughtful. Hmm.

Going back through my previous 6WSes, I have a tendency NOT to be thoughtful at all. Topics have ranged from: Christmas, Milanos, band names, the last week in review, my restraint from swearing, breakfast, being last. Mostly I just think of something off the top of my head, because I feel like I shouldn't be wasting people's time with a whole bunch of rambling before I get to the Six Words part. So it usually turns out sounding at least a bit vapid. Not to say that even the thoughts on the bottom of my head (...? What's the opposite of that expression? Oh, this doesn't prove my point, now does it?) are vapid. I hope not.

Actually, the whole premise (of the book anyway) is to describe your ENTIRE LIFE in six words. This requires thought, and the ability to be concise. And presumably to have an interesting life. The latter two I'm still working on. Still alive and looking for my own endings. (Wait, that sounded vaguely suicidal...) Yes, as a plural. Endings to some things that I'm still probably in the middle of that are far off and out of mind, the happy ending everyone (I'm generalizing?) works towards. Endings that lead to beginnings, oh dear god that's so cliche. Not going to edit it now. It's some kind of continuum. A loop of sorts.

In conclusion, there are no conclusions.

(I was going to put that as my last sentence and then leave the six words as something like "I like puppies. They are shiny.", for the sake of irony. But I think that was more fitting, don't you?)

(But I do like puppies. :D)

Spring, pre-Sprung

I know I'm probably jumping to conclusions but:

SPRING IS HERE!!!

(cue angelic choir and adorable baby animals and overuse of pastels and such)

Seriously. It is:

41 degrees

Sunny (ALL of today)

Still light out

Excuse me while I go skip through a meadow while I can, because by Monday it'll probably snow. :P Here's where the equivalent of blog smalltalk would go, some obligatory statement about "Chicago weather" that everyone's already heard, so I present a summary:

If you don't like Chicago weather you either:

a.) Live here and love to complain.

b.) Live somewhere else and are glad you don't live here.

(Actually, by pointing out the obligatorily cliched remark, and wasting space in this blog to ramble on about it, it should be clear by now I have little else worth blogging about...)

School has turned into arts-n-crafts hour, (in between units or something until the end of the quarter, w00t.) really:

-- Testing the velocity and acceleration of paper airplanes.

(Actual activity: Throwing them. That is all. Also on occasion, aiming to get them lodged in the skeleton's eye. No idea why there's a skeleton in an Earth Science/Physics classroom, but it's a good target apparently.)

-- Preparing an "interactive story-hour" for preschoolers. *hypothetical preschoolers, meaning the age group. We're also going to be the ones watching the storyhour and being read to.*

(Actual activity: Building puppets. This means glue, crayons, feathers, googly eyes, glitter, the whole lot. And IT. IS. FUN. Even better when the substitute let us abandon the puppets and just color. Coloring is fun. :D Also, after the presentations we're going to watch Charlotte's Web to kill a few more days with a substitute. No idea why we have a sub so much, but it's awesome. The animated version pwns.)

--Learning this song. Click if you dare, it gets stuck in your head forever. CURSE YOU MEXICAN WIGGLES! Catchy, if designed for the listening pleasure of 5 year olds...

-- Even though it's academic, I'm enjoying Cry Freedom, because it's a movie, and all the white South Africans have gloriously British-y accents. Mmmm.

FIPOGI:

(Because the extra "on" was completely necessary...)

Meem vs. Meme

Whenever I go to type "Meme", I usually end up typing "Meem" instead and then I have to correct it. Stupid spelling. Are there memes that aren't Internet memes? (A la the Rickroll, or random tasks that I "stole" from another blog that I do based on the fact that I have nothing of note to blog about but feel like I should, because I'm procrastinating and this may prove to be somewhat productive...?)

From the New Oxford American Dictionary: *an application stored within AJ, though the physical pocket dictionary is in my desk*

an element of a culture or system of behavior that may be considered to be passed from one individual to another by nongenetic means, esp. imitation.

From Wikipedia: (as always)

"a postulated unit of cultural ideas, symbols or practices, which can be transmitted from one mind to another through writing, speech, gestures, rituals or other imitable phenomena."

Oh, and the word was invented in the 1970s by a British guy. And everything that exists in media/culture/life kind of started as a meme. Nothing is an original, just a series of mutations to things that already exist. (Ex: melodies, racism, genes, religion)

ANYHOW... I'm not going to bore whoever may be reading with my Wiki-hunt findings, but that's an interesting thing to think about to me.

A quote from Dr. Laurence J. Peter-- "Originality is the fine art of remembering what you hear but forgetting where you heard it."

Now that I'm past that, and almost completely positive no one is still reading this: The actual meme I intended to do before I got sidetracked by the oddness of the word and had to hunt Wikipedia for answers and Google who said stuff about originality being the art of forgetting your sources BECAUSE I had forgotten the source of this quote.... (oh, irony. Thou dost amuseth much.)

The Friday 56!

Instructions:

* Grab the book nearest you. Right now.
* Turn to page 56.
* Find the fifth sentence.
* Post that sentence (plus one or two others if you like) along with these instructions, or (if you do not have your own blog) in the comments section of this blog.
*Post a link along with your post back to this blog.
* Don't dig for your favorite book, the coolest, the most intellectual. Use the CLOSEST.

I had to wrap my arm around my desk and randomly pick one of the books *ever-so-neatly* (in this case the stars do not signify footnotes, but instead signify complete bullshit) stacked and waiting to be read for English later in the year. Out of that pile, mixed in with random papers and stuff and whatnot was The Odyssey (said to have been written by Homer, translated by some guy. It sounds intellectual and probably is, but I swear I didn't dig for it. I haven't even read it.) The fifth sentence on the 56th page is this:

"This is a brilliant and attractive reading, but like many other interpretations, it does not take full account of the fact that Penelope does not have a choice in the matter."

It's still in the INTRODUCTION. This is sure going to be a fun read. On the 56th page of the actual poem part (page 133), the 5th sentence is this:

"Then all the rest of the troops kept stock-still, all but Anticlus."

And that, dear readers, was yet another example of how I can belabor a point of utter nonsense (Title drop!) into a blog-length post.

FIPOGI!

Wednesday

It is Wednesday.

(Or, if you happen to be reading this on Thursday, or Friday, or perchance in THE NEXT MILLENNIUM, it was Wednesday.)

Wednesday is a pretty awkward name for a day. It's long and strange and kind of out of sequence. Which is how Wednesday IS, though, so it's appropriate. I also dislike that it's called "Hump Day", meaning it's downhill for the rest of the week, school/work/whatever is more than halfway over... but the day in and of itself is never particularly exciting. And Wednesday's child is the one whose life sucks. (paraphrasing, of course)

In an attempt to make a day of the week more exciting, I have turned to Wikipedia. (all-knowing source of all that is interesting) Long story short: (this may be one of the FEW things not even Wiki can make an interesting point of...) Wednesday is either named after a German god of wood, or Mercury. (In other languages it makes sense, but not English...) The wood god is all bearded and goblin looking, bitter that he couldn't be the god of something cool. In other religions it's regarded as a day of fast and blah blah, and Friday is too, so Thursday is like "AHHH MEAT FOOD OM NOM NOM!!".... and then back to fasting. Hah. Religion + Diet = does not make sense, as I have noted. Actually most religions spell it out that you're not supposed to eat humans. This is common sense, but whatever stops people from trying... I've always thought it would taste like salmon. (not chicken, that's too cliche. But I think the texture would be like salmon...)

Wikipedia is doing nothing to zestify this post with excitingness. Random useless holidays to the rescue! (Brownielocks is an awesome resource when you're looking for something to celebrate.)

WHAT.

That is not even a punctuationally correct fragment, that's how flabbergasted I am. Are you ready for this?

The only holiday listed for Wednesday, February 24th is.... *sarcastically anticlimactic drumroll please*

Inconvenience Yourself Day

How utterly crap is that? I missed all the good ones: Chocolate Mint Day, Pancake Day, Read in the Bathtub Day, International Snow Sculpting Week, ... though I DID celebrate World Nutella Day. Oh yes.

**NOTE**: I looked up the calendar for '95, and guess which day I was born on? *long-suspenseful-pause-though-the-answer-is-obvious drumroll please* Wednesday. I find this very funny in a twisted way. But really, none of the other lines fit me, implying respectively: Pretty, graceful, EMOTASTIC, some journey or something, loving, hardworking, "bonny and blithe and good and gay" L-O-L. Oh the irony.

Oh, and of course no homage (I like to pronounce it "HOMM-aj", British and odd-sounding. :D) to all things Wednesday would be complete without

That sums it up pretty well.

A Non-6WS

So my Internet randomly stopped working between my last post and when I tried to do Six Word Saturday. In lieu of 6WS, I'd like to steal a different topic from the wonderful Cate, (or kind of two, going back a while...) Lent. So yeah.

I have a lot of Christian friends, who a.) faux-nag me for eating a turkey wrap on Friday, b.) Do not know the answers to my *trivial* questions about the random aspects of their religion. Not any of the important ones, meaning of life/life after death and so on, i.e: "Why is the symbol for Jesus that fishy thing?" They didn't know, but Wikipedia DOES. Google and Wiki are the closest things there are in the world to a known omnipresence. Contains most of the answers to life's questions, in a neutral, multiple-choice kind of way. c.) Go insane without the thing they gave up. It's funny. Even Teresa, who only drinks soda when she is not in the presence of her caffeine-restricting parents, gave up soda. (another gave up candy, but a last year gave up Facebook. HAH. I don't have one, but people get attached to it...)

Biiig sacrifice there. Is the point to give up one of your BIGGEST temptations? Or like give to charity instead? That sounds nice and all Jesus-y. Give something instead of taking away from yourself. Ease suffering and do stuff for other people, instead of making yourself more miserable so as to match them.

MORE suffering than currently exists in the world isn't going to help anything. Is that what Lent promotes? Suffering so that you can say you felt the pain and suffering and crap Jesus did? Hmmm, being stranded in the desert with no one to talk to but the SATAN *dun dun dun*... or not drinking coffee for a month and a half. *makes invisible scales with hands* Yep, pretty sure Jesus had it worse than those people just suffering from withdrawal syndrome, and it's not like any divinity would force us to suffer for them. "Yeah, I HATED it, and I'm mentally stronger than you or whatever probably, so why don't YOU give it a try? >:D" Naaaw...

Different point: Isn't weird how only Hispanic people feel free to use the name Jesus (with an accent)? It's not like Spanish-speaking countries aren't Christian, the name holds the same meaning. (Jesucristo, again with an accent somewhere. Maybe the suffix is the difference?) But if someone named their kid "Jesus" in English there'd be some kind of uproar. If not an uproar, definite confusion considering the fact that "JESUS!" is a common interjection. (most interjections/expletives fall under 4 categories: Religious, Sexual, Parental, Scatological. None of them happen to be inherently insulting, just kind of nonsense.) Example: "Jesus, come out of the PlayPlace!" "Jesus, will you please listen to me? It is NOT okay to stick jellybeans up other people's noses!" Which would probably lead to people thinking the parent/legal guardian/namer of this kid had anger-management problems of some sort...

FIPOGI!