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!