tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12403636388062573492024-02-19T10:10:11.030-06:00Uttering NonsenseMusings, rantings, and stuff.Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.comBlogger118125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-69655442177954487442011-06-03T22:27:00.003-05:002011-06-03T23:11:55.142-05:00By the way, I claim this as my intellectual propertyI spend a lot of time thinking of names for things (especially recently, for some reason. Hoo-hah, procrastination!). Books I'm unlikely to write, (containing artfully named characters I'm unlikely to write about. . . I really should try to hone my writing/blogging frequency over the summer. Over the past few months I've had the excuse of being actually busy, but no more. This is going to change.) bands I know for a fact I will never be in, things like that. It's a shame, I think, that all these brilliant titles are put to no use and eventually are forgotten. So for this blog post I'm going to be focusing on the latter.<div><br /></div><div>Decent names for hypothetical bands: (see also <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xocKCimxwQU&feature=player_embedded">this video</a>)</div><div><br /></div><div>1.<b> </b><b>Freaky Lemon</b></div><div><i>Style:</i> Electronic dance-y music, what they play in clubs nowadays.</div><div><i>Additional gimmick: </i>All song titles must include a color. When a song is played in da club, corresponding color strobe lights are flashed.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. <b>The Pun-ishments</b></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Style:</span></i> </b>Pun-based musical comedy/parody</div><div><i>Explanation:</i> Por ejemplo, a song called "Bad Hare Day" would be this epic storytelling hard-rock ballad about a rabbit attack. For a converse example of punning, both the title and tune of "Comfortably Numb" would be used, but the lyrics would describe having a tooth pulled.</div><div><br /></div><div>3. <b>The Electric Collective</b></div><div>Okay, I had originally thought of this just because it sounded cool, and apparently I'm not the only one who thinks so. <a href="http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=122769005489">They're a real band</a>, from Switzerland nonetheless. The <b>Eclectic <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Collective is even famous enough to have their own Wikipedia page. And here I thought I was clever.</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">4. <b>Them They Suck</b></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><i>Style:</i> Old-school punk rock</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><i>Additional gimmick:</i> The verbal confusion caused by The Who, The The, The Band, etc., plus a hearty sense of self-deprecating humor.</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">5. </span>Indigo Solitude</b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><i>Style:</i> Anything moody/indie/suitably hipsterish. The sort of thing that gets put on the soundtrack to a movie featuring Michael Cera. (Note: As with #3, this returned some Google results. It's apparently the title--separated by a slash--of an old Duke Ellington EP.) The words just sound good together.</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Thoughts? If any musicianly types are browsing this blog: 1.) Out of curiosity, would you use any of these? 2.) This indicates to me that you are of the Internet nerd/Google-randomly-and-see-where-it-takes-you type, and you identify as musicianly. Marry me now, please and thanks.</span></b></div>Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-37741254010261048822011-03-19T18:03:00.005-05:002011-03-20T19:06:29.180-05:00The Feasibility of Romance in Mental Institutions<div>Teen mental hospital romance is kind of becoming a genre. And, as formulaic as they kind of are, I like them. (More than, say, Sarah Dessen's brand of formulaic-ness.) Examples:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>It's Kind of a Funny Story</i>--Ned Vizzini (possibly started this whole thing)</div><div><i>Get Well Soon</i>--Julie Halpern</div><div><i>Recovery Road</i>--Blake Nelson</div><div><br /></div><div>The first and last are arguably more serious, and the second is the funniest ipso facto the best (did I even use that correctly? Dammit Latin, why do you make things sound better without making any logical contextual sense?). It's so good that I'd kind of like to commit myself because it's gotten in my head that I will meet a cute/unstable boy there. This is probably untrue, I'd be too busy trying to get my shit together to notice any attractive Joey Ramone lookalikes. (More bonus awesome points for this book. Anachronistic music nerdiness FTW.) None of it seems realistic to me, but I wouldn't say no to something like this conversation:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>A Sample Dialogue Between Teenaged Crazies</b></div><div>"Hey."</div><div>"Hey."</div><div>"What're you in for?"</div><div>"Bipolar. You?"</div><div>"OCD."</div><div>"Mmm, sexy. You wanna make out?"</div><div>"Sure." <b>*commence kissing*</b> <b>*stop kissing* </b>"Wait, now I have to kiss you six more times or my lips will be unbalanced." (Note that this would either be a fantastic excuse to kiss this hypothetical guy more, or a mortifyingly probable situation.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes I do honestly think I have a slew of mental illnesses: OCD, Schizotypal personality disorder, dysthymia. . . (I could go on from here and I know this is mostly irrational and ineffective but I'd venture to guess at least the OCD diagnosis via Dr. Internet is correct) *music plays* The More You Know. Thanks, Google! And then some part of my brain goes "It's hormones, bitch. Get over your damn self, the fictional characters are worse off than you."</div><div><br /></div><div>On a "this is the Internet"-type level, I also like that I managed to find <a href="http://juliehalpern.blogspot.com/">Julie Halpern's blog </a>(and that it's relatively frequently updated) instead of my only recollection of the author as a person being something like this:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Amanda McPseudonym lives in Wyoming with a pack of wolves and a man she claims is her husband. This is her first novel. You can read more about the book by going to the publishing company's website but you're probably going to forget it in a day and a half anyway. You read it already, what are you nosing around the back cover for? Piss off.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Because, you know, most of them <b>*do*</b> sound like that. Who even writes author blurbs? (. . .to Google!)</div>Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-80049046916437690772011-01-30T19:41:00.002-06:002011-01-30T20:18:42.780-06:00PopularCrap, I haven't blogged in more than a month. So, fixing that now. iPod meme, anyone?<div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>MY LIFE IN ITUNES</b></div><div><br /></div><div>**NOTE: Format stolen from Libba Bray's Livejournal. All song titles and subsequent comments courtesy of my taste in music/brain.**</div><div><br /></div><div><div>1. Put your iTunes/iPod, Windows Media Player, etc. on shuffle.<br />2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.<br />3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS.<br />5. Everyone tagged has to do the same thing. (Except only if you want to, adds I.)</div><div>(<i>But whatever happened to four?</i>, the inquisitive, observant readers will ask. You'll never know. *sinister*)</div><div><br /></div><div>IF SOMEONE SAYS 'ARE YOU OKAY' YOU SAY? <i>Do You Believe in Magic?</i> (Yeah, I can answer a question with a question, what of it?)</div><div><br /></div><div>HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOURSELF? <i>That's Not My Name</i> (Identity crisis. Ask again later.)</div><div><br /></div><div>WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL? <i>Glass Onion</i> (Hmm.)</div><div><br /></div><div>HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY? <i>What a Wonderful World</i> (Yup. Today is awesome. =))</div><div><br /></div><div>WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE? <i>I Can't Decide</i> (You have. No idea. How accurate this is. Lulz.)</div><div><br /></div><div>WHAT'S YOUR MOTTO? <i>Don't Stop Me Now</i> (Hell yea.)</div><div><br /></div><div>WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU? <i>The KKK Took My Baby Away</i> (What are you implying? That I'm a white supremacist, or that I'm likely to be abducted? Either way I take offense. :P)</div><div><br /></div><div>WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU? <i>I Will</i> (. . .will what?)</div><div><br /></div><div>WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN? <i>Crazy Little Thing Called Love</i> (Oh, so true. I'm a teenage girl, what did you expect?)</div><div><br /></div><div>WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND? <i>Firework</i> (*cough*<b>pyromaniac</b>*cough* This is our sense of humor in a nutshell, really.)</div><div><br /></div><div>WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY? <i>I Wanna Be Sedated</i> (XD. Accurate, yes.)</div><div><br /></div><div>WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP? <i>You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile</i> (Dentistry? *shudder*)</div><div><br /></div><div>WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL? <i>I'm Going Home</i> (I'd seriously consider this. Hands down.)</div><div><br /></div><div>WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST? <i>A Well Respected Man</i> (Heh. Hehehe. . .)</div><div><br /></div><div>WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST FEAR? <i>No Children</i> (Meaning, my hypothetical infertility, or the possibility that humanity will be destroyed and there will eventually no children in the world? The latter.)</div><div><br /></div><div>WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET? <i>For Good </i>(Wait, what?)</div><div><br /></div><div>WHAT DO YOU WANT RIGHT NOW? <i>Maybe</i> (The best non-answer in the world. Maybe I want some unspecified thing, maybe I don't, and you'll never know.)</div><div><br /></div><div>WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS? <i>Blackbird</i> (I must save your poor broken souls! *heroic music* Nah, this one is complete nonsense.)</div><div><br /></div><div>WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS? <i>Popular</i> (Sure.)</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Things you know about me from this:</div><div><br /></div><div>1. I am a huge nerd for music older than I am, and musicals.</div><div>2. I am easily bored.</div><div>3. I am undecided and apathetic and all manner of other things, sometimes.</div><div>4. I might be a closet member of the Klan.</div><div><br /></div><div>And with that, I bid you adieu. :D</div>Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-41060888318070441982010-12-17T23:44:00.004-06:002010-12-19T21:40:58.732-06:00Conversion Successful, Achievement Unlocked!Remember <a href="http://crazybrainedrena.blogspot.com/2010/07/movie-recommendations.html">this charming little anecdote</a>? About that:<div><br /></div><div>I. . .</div><div><br /></div><div>have created. . .</div><div><br /></div><div><b>a fangirl</b>.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Wait 'til you're eighteen" my ass.</div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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:</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://quizilla.teennick.com/user_images/T/tornvelvet/1054783100_squi-gackt.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 238px; height: 147px;" src="http://quizilla.teennick.com/user_images/T/tornvelvet/1054783100_squi-gackt.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a> </div><div><div></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://wherearetheynow.gophercentral.com/images2/timcurry-then.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 159px; height: 199px;" src="http://wherearetheynow.gophercentral.com/images2/timcurry-then.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a></div></div><br /><br />The resemblance is uncanny, is it not? Even <span style="font-style:italic;">better</span> examples exist, but they screw with Blogger's formatting.<br /><br /><br />England wins again, bitches.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>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:</div><div><br /></div><div><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/kayE-w6naZA?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/kayE-w6naZA?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></div><br /><br />"Let's go rub it in a single crippled man's face!" xDRenatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-33657564119360017892010-11-18T21:09:00.003-06:002010-11-18T22:08:26.229-06:00A Definitive Choice and Explanation on What I Will Name My Hypothetical Daughter<div><br /></div>**PRE-Footnote: Yes, this is the topic that made me go completely internally rageballs months ago.**<div><br /></div><div>Re: Title-- Joanne.</div><div><br /></div><div>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).</div><div><br /></div><div>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. <b>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</b>. Joanne. Kathleen. Rowling, people. Is kind of goddess of my childhood.</div><div><br /></div><div>3.) I just like the name Joanne. Admittedly I like Joanna more--some kind of phonetic thing--but hey.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>.</div><div><br /></div><div>(Secret number 6.) DEATHLYHALLOWSDEATHLYHALLOWSDEATHLYHALLOWSOHMYGODDEATHLYHALLOWS</div>Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-932780116138062462010-11-04T17:01:00.001-05:002010-11-04T17:03:10.398-05:00It'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.Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-69882273674443908312010-10-28T19:49:00.003-05:002010-10-29T17:52:50.381-05:00Embarrassing Story Hiatus-CompensationStory time! (Because embarrassment always makes up for not blogging in weeks. Also this may be kind of gross. Enjoy?)<div><br /></div><div>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).</div><div><br /></div><div>Yesterday, this happened.</div><div><br /></div><div>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!</div><div><br /></div><div>At the beginning of next period, I managed to get to the door and mutter, "May I please go to the nuh"--*<i>heave</i>*--"nuh"--*<i>heave</i>*--"nuh"--*<i>guess</i>*, 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, <a href="http://-pedowill.tumblr.com/">click for the best tumblr you have ever seen in your incomplete life</a>.* **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.)</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>(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--<b>freaking delicious</b>. Thanks for existing too, food.)</div>Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-51019048805586216002010-10-09T04:04:00.002-05:002010-10-09T04:11:22.333-05:00Because, 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:<div> <a href="http://www.showmyface.com/search/label/6WS"><img src="http://i395.photobucket.com/albums/pp35/showmyface/guts/6wsButton.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">I </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">don't </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">care </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">if</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"> I</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"> go</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"> crazy</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">(And yes, that's indeed seven. Nonconformists unite.)</div>Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-83337831833161093602010-10-08T19:35:00.005-05:002010-10-08T22:06:26.915-05:00A Series of Unfortunately Deep Thoughts as I Search for the Holy Grail<div>*FYI: The title is a mishmosh of about 4 different pop-cultural entities. Oh media, how you permeate my consciousness.*<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 <s>NINE</s> 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:</div><br />"humorous YA fiction books with narrators who have autistic siblings"<br /><br />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.<br /><br />(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 <em>*cough*mostimportantly*cough*</em> being written by me.)<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><div> </div><div>Copious footnote time!</div><br /><div>* i.e y'alls, if you found me via the MJ Ning. It's a term of affection. :)</div><div>** Currently reading <i>help me, jacques cousteau. </i>Yes, the title is in all lowercase. You know how I feel about these types of things.</div><div>*** Call me, Google. My product (service?) placement coupled with my huge audience and clever slogan skills definitely deserves some cash.</div><div>**** <i>Rules</i>, and <a href="http://crazybrainedrena.blogspot.com/2010/04/soapbox-sadie-six-words.html">the book that sparked my wrath awhile ago</a>. Though, the latter was more the fault of my English class.</div>Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-31150672655776536192010-09-29T21:09:00.003-05:002010-09-29T21:32:23.033-05:00Most Idiotic Question Ever (via me)"Did dimes exist before Franklin Delano Roosevelt was president?"<div><br /></div><div>"Yeah. They just said '10 cents'."</div><div><br /></div><div>*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 <i>An Abundance of Katherines. </i>It's like the Internet IRL.)</div><div><br /></div><div>(Why is half this post in parentheses? Whenever I ask a question like that I always end it with "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LZ0epRjfGLw">The world may never know</a>." in my head.)</div>Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-90344407234484975312010-09-17T12:50:00.008-05:002010-09-17T22:49:06.889-05:00The Mosh Pit Experimentation<div><div>(Or: My Life Is One Long Gender-Flipped Episode of <i>The Big Bang Theory</i>.)</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>Widescreen extended edition-- for people who give a crap:</div><br /><div>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 <i>really</i>, high school. Then-- <b>mandatory dance partying</b>.</div><br /><div>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.</div><br /><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>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.)</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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:</div><div><br /></div><div><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/EGC09B810Yk?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/EGC09B810Yk?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></div>Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-43503489159800664962010-09-10T16:01:00.003-05:002010-09-10T16:42:01.843-05:00Reintroduction. (You may just want to skip this one, honestly)Hello!<div><br /></div><div>Again.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>Transitions, I have none. Carrying on. . .</div><div><br /></div><div>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.) </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Laughter ≠ Pain.</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>(look, I used a math symbol!)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">Blargh, says the apathetic pirate.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">. . .</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Look, cats!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://freecodesource.com/myspace-graphics/images_db/810/FunnyCat.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 745px;" src="http://freecodesource.com/myspace-graphics/images_db/810/FunnyCat.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a></div>Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-76411607639840741522010-08-01T19:53:00.001-05:002010-08-01T21:09:01.941-05:00BEDABlog<div>Every</div><div>Day</div><div>August</div><div><br /></div><div>. . .is what I'm planning on doing. <a href="http://maureenjohnson.ning.com/profiles/blog/list?user=1ombuazzksjef">Here</a>. 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.*</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>* That's what she said.</div><div><br /></div><div>FIPOGI:</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://ursispaltenstein.ch/blog/images/uploads_img/visual_puns.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 341px; height: 445px;" src="http://ursispaltenstein.ch/blog/images/uploads_img/visual_puns.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a></div><br />The picture is pretty, and a pun. Alliteration yay.Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-47964153292920991042010-07-30T12:28:00.005-05:002010-07-30T22:16:02.347-05:00New stuff and schizophrenia (back to normal...)New background! And stuff. In progress. Two-word fragments!<div><br /></div><div>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). </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>Functional self with a desire for human interaction: **Maybe I didn't miss you, bitch.**</div><div>**Must you punctuate your sentences with "bitch"?**</div><div>**It's for emphasis, bitch. It's necessary to make my point. Anyway, weren't you <i>enjoying it</i>?**</div><div>**Why the hell did you italicize that? It looks suggestive.**</div><div>**Because I knew <i>you'd think that</i>.**</div><div>**Isn't this a tad schizophrenic?**</div><div>**Eh, schizotypal. There is a <i>mild difference</i>, bitch.**</div><div>**That's getting old. But, this is just an exaggeration for the benefit of the readers. . .**</div><div>**You think anyone read all this, bitch?**</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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. . .)</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.motifake.com/image/demotivational-poster/1001/visual-puns-visual-pun-demotivational-poster-1262635964.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 300px;" src="http://www.motifake.com/image/demotivational-poster/1001/visual-puns-visual-pun-demotivational-poster-1262635964.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a></div>Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-59663320396770080792010-07-28T16:35:00.001-05:002010-07-28T16:35:43.261-05:00Movie RecommendationsSo. 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 <s>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 </s> guy, even. ('nerdy' here being a requirement, not a detraction) This is good. But I enjoy being a recluse.<div><br /></div><div>Because I have no original ideas, here's (the middle of) a conversation held with the near-exclusive purpose of <a href="http://crazybrainedrena.blogspot.com/2010/06/people-more-awesome-at-blogging-than-i.html">creating an awkward situation</a> (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.)</div><div><br /></div><div><b>*long discussion resulting in the fact that the perceived quality of movies is directly proportional to the number of times you see them*</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Rena: "My mom's one of those people who've seen <i>[title]</i> like 50 times..."</div><div><br /></div><div>N/Conservative mother of T: <b>*disdainful*</b> "That's a cult."</div><div><br /></div><div>R: <b>*turning to confused T*</b> "It's really just a charming musical-comedy slash parody about a wholesome fifties couple. . .</div><div><br /></div><div>T: <b>*blank face*</b></div><div><br /></div><div>". . . except that almost everyone ends up killed or raped. . ."</div><div><br /></div><div><b>*squick face*</b></div><div><br /></div><div>". . . by a cross-dressing sex-starved mad-scientist alien. . ."</div><div><br /></div><div><b>*WTF?!??-face*</b></div><div><br /></div><div>". . . who is in turn killed by his incestuous alien servants. Dancing, yelling and throwing things are encouraged."</div><div><br /></div><div>T: <b>*laughter*</b> "I have to see this movie."</div><div><br /></div><div>N: "Not until you're 18."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://royalflushmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/rocky-horror.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 358px; height: 340px;" src="http://royalflushmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/rocky-horror.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a></div><br /><br />Is every bit as weird as it sounds. The awesome kind of weird.Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-18693867143948552422010-07-09T22:20:00.002-05:002010-07-10T00:22:17.916-05:00Manly 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.**<div><br /></div><div>There's a name for (and a country associated with) the way I shower. And I don't know how to feel about that.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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 <b>serious manly men. </b>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.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>The Tune Is Lovely But The Lyrics Are Disturbing</b> (part 1 in a series)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/wRP6egIEABk&hl=en_US&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/wRP6egIEABk&hl=en_US&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></div>Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-90944994670100651192010-07-08T17:24:00.006-05:002010-07-08T22:44:48.863-05:00Ann M. Martin: Killer of DreamsHello, 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!)<div><br /></div><div>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 <b>THE DISTANT FUTURE</b>--, 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!</div><div><br /></div><div>. . .</div><div><br /></div><div>None of this happened.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Why in the world is this entertaining?</div><div><br /></div><div> <object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/LUYbu5DJA1U&hl=en_US&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/LUYbu5DJA1U&hl=en_US&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></div><br />Anyway, enjoy!Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-82103050796639555522010-06-26T06:29:00.002-05:002010-06-26T06:33:32.569-05:00Early Blog (6WS)Good book makes all-nighter equal <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;">conquest.</span></b><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;"><b><a href="http://www.showmyface.com/search/label/6WS"><img src="http://i395.photobucket.com/albums/pp35/showmyface/guts/6wsButton.jpg" /></a></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;"><b><br /></b></span><div>PS: (Yeah, that was how I spent my Friday night.)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>PPS: Booknerd pride.</div></div>Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-60622344989431749922010-06-24T15:11:00.002-05:002010-06-24T15:19:33.935-05:00How Toy Story Scarred My ChildhoodToy 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...<div><br /></div><div>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).</div><div><br /></div><div>3 fixes this logic. <i>Thank you for that</i><i>, movie</i>. 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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>At first I thought that 3 was the darkest/most depressing of the trilogy, but the other two are pretty on par with it. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iy-1xI1nbao">Holy</a>. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=px0j1EHF8Y0">Crap</a>. But that's what makes these movies compelling, there are things you only notice upon repeating viewing years apart. <b>Other example</b>: 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. <i><b>Bwahahaha</b></i>.) 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, "<i>Let's pity the obviously mentally ill woman</i>" sad, but sad. My explanation makes no sense.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>EDIT:</b> <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/8024301.stm">It's being remade</a>. >:P At least Russell Brand is English...</div>Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-37108926565486863672010-06-23T22:02:00.003-05:002010-06-23T22:26:35.960-05:00Why I Like WikipediaNo matter how pointless/informal/random the subject is, it just <i>sounds</i> like Wikipedia. And it provides a blog topic with little research and even less thought, while remaining Wikipedially educational.<div><br /></div><div>Examples: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pointless_babble">here</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Colorless_green_ideas_sleep_furiously">here</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charlie_Bit_My_Finger">here</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/31_(number)">here</a>, and just because I like odd numbers: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poncho">here</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>That is all.</div>Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-7884042978763281122010-06-21T00:58:00.007-05:002010-06-21T21:10:40.330-05:00Starts 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.)<div><br /><div>Paragraph breaks, I should add some.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know what to add after the paragraph break. Damn On The Willows is sad. *food break*</div><div><br /></div><div>*television break*</div><div>*sleep-esque break*</div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>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?) </i>hanging on the wall over the toilet. Staring at it is not fun because it's like he's<i> watching you</i>, dammit.</div><div><br /></div><div></div></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://wpcontent.answers.com/wikipedia/en/thumb/3/3c/Big_top_pee_wee.jpg/200px-Big_top_pee_wee.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 307px;" src="http://wpcontent.answers.com/wikipedia/en/thumb/3/3c/Big_top_pee_wee.jpg/200px-Big_top_pee_wee.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />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.<div><br /></div><div>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:</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Nevermind, the picture is huge. <a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/01/m-is-for-moderation-and-s-is-for-stop.html">Go here if you want</a> (it's old, but I love the caption).</div>Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-10870872268383790462010-06-17T21:12:00.004-05:002010-06-17T23:14:09.511-05:00Awkward 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:<div><br /></div><div>a.) Hello. I just shot your neighbor's daughter and raped her bloody corpse, do you have any stain removal products I could borrow?</div><div><br /></div><div>b.) Hello. I'm a pirate. I also have free Oreos. Would you like some?</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>ANYWAY. . .</div><div><br /></div><div>Speaking of children, here's an awkward conversation I'd like to preserve for future generations--if there *are* any. *rubs hands conspiratorially*</div><div><br /></div><div>*End of a long, long car ride, inhabited by me, my close-enough-to-be-weird-and-somewhat-offensive-to friend and her aunt*</div><div><br /></div><div>A: *<b>breaking long silence</b>* "Sooo, what do you girls want to be when you grow up?"</div><div><br /></div><div>T: *<b>quick and assured</b>* "Forensic pathologist."</div><div><br /></div><div>R: *<b>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</b>* "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."</div><div><br /></div><div>A & T: *<b>stunned back into silence. T at least half-laughing internally. Probably.</b>*</div><div><br /></div><div>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:</div><div><br /></div><div>*<b>part of a discussion of hypothetical names for hypothetical children</b>*</div><div><br /></div><div>A: "Oh, I love the name Phoebe. Or Bianca. Or Lola."</div><div><br /></div><div>R: "The last two are strippery. Depends on the middle name though."</div><div><br /></div><div>T: "I'm going to name my daughter either Skylar or Kaylee."</div><div><br /></div><div>R: "Ugh. Don't do that to a child, please. They don't sound like names, all "Y"-y and "Ee"-y. Too trendy."</div><div><br /></div><div>T: "And you like?"</div><div><br /></div><div>R: "Long, melodic names that sound Victorian English-y, or that start with vowels: Elizabeth, Violet, Lillian, Catherine, Abigail, Amelia... stuff like that."</div><div><br /></div><div>T: "I don't know what I'd do if I had a son, boys' names aren't as pretty."</div><div><br /></div><div>R: "This is assuming you ever <i>have</i> kids..." *<b>adultlike restraint shown by using this ending instead of "if a guy ever knocks you up" in front of staunchly religious aunt</b>*</div><div><br /></div><div>A: *<b>empathetic and firm</b>* (read: scary) "You will. You <i>both</i> will."</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, instead of FIPOGI or anything at the end, just <a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/">go here</a>. Hilarious blog with crazy awesome drawings. Better than mine by far.</div>Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-39757698724121851642010-06-11T14:10:00.005-05:002010-06-12T01:56:08.283-05:00Questions!List! (Single! Word! Exclamations!)<div><br /></div><div>--In "Eenie Meenie Miney Mo", is it "eenie *point* meenie *point*" or "ee *point* nie *point*"?</div><div><br /></div><div>--Did Greg (y'know... the yellow Wiggle) die of lupus or something?</div><div><br /></div><div>--Is there a job that entails only the naming of colors of paint, or does that fall to the person who created the color? </div><div><br /></div><div><div>--What's the best way to move (and extract coins from) a 35 year old gigantic glass jug?</div><div><br /></div></div><div>--Why is it so bleeding hot?</div><div><br /></div><div>--Did I seriously just use the word bleeding to describe something other than a wound? Yes.</div><div><br /></div><div>--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.</div><div><br /></div><div>--Why, come summer, do I have as much motivation and energy as an impregnated gnu?</div><div><br /></div><div>--Did I seriously just use "impregnated gnu" as a descriptor? Yes.</div><div><br /></div><div>--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.</div><div><br /></div><div>--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?</div><div><br /></div><div>--Will any of the non-rhetorical questions in this list be answered? (*Googles*... Nope, Greg's alive. Yaaay. There's one.)</div><div><br /></div><div>--Should I stop now? Yes.</div>Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-26425057367390731952010-06-09T13:47:00.002-05:002010-06-09T14:29:21.140-05:00Hometown SHAME.Seriously, guys?<div><br /></div><div>The whole country, really?</div><div><br /></div><div>What?</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks a lot.</div><div><br /></div><div>(BUT, Utah has the highest porn <i>subscription rate</i>, if <a href="http://www.onlinemba.com/blog/the-stats-on-internet-pornography/">this diagram</a> is reliable. Pick on Utah.)</div><div><br /></div><div>FIPOGI:</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.dailycuteness.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/funny-cute-hamsters-6.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 399px; height: 294px;" src="http://www.dailycuteness.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/funny-cute-hamsters-6.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a></div><br /><br />This isn't so much funny as it is just palate cleanser. Enjoy.Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1240363638806257349.post-55510950834972651752010-06-08T14:21:00.006-05:002010-06-08T23:09:49.102-05:00Good Television Inspires HypocrisyA 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:<div><br /></div><div>R: "Hel--"</div><div>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*</div><div><br /></div><div>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 **<b>The finale is tonight ZOMG!!1!one!</b>** **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:</div><div><br /></div><div>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?"</div><div>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?"</div><div>D: *suspiciously laughing tone* "Ohhh my God that must hurt! GROSS! Look. LOOK!"</div><div>R: "Why? You just said it was gross."</div><div>D: "But it's<i> science</i>."</div><div><br /></div><div>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, <a href="http://crazybrainedrena.blogspot.com/2010/06/why-im-tired.html">I am still not over this</a>.), 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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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. :))</div><div><br /></div><div>VOCEW:</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/UiHl8MO0-nc&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/UiHl8MO0-nc&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Renatahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08194473368324348393noreply@blogger.com0