UPDATED - Video. Or Not.

I tried to upload a video, because we got a webcam for Christmas.

It didn't work, obviously.

So I shall attempt again tomorrow.

All of you will be amazed at how charming I am.

UPDATE: Obviously I haven't posted a video yet. It's a process.

Give Me a Puppy, Please. Look, I Even Asked Nicely.

Well, I'm baking cookies today and they are fantastic. Now the only problem rests with trying to decide what other types to make - I've got snickerdoodles and the classic sugar cookies, but I think I need something else. Not gingerbread. I learned that lesson a couple years ago. So what to make? This is going to take some heavy thought.

In other news, I've got some random guy falling for me via Facebook. He's never met me, and I've never met him, and yet he's being all gooey over me. His name is Matt, and he keeps trying to get me to say I'm interested in him too, but I have standards. I have to have at least MET a person before I like them. Matt seems decent enough, but there are several factors working against him.

Anyway. Christmas is nigh, and that's the reason I'm baking all those cookies. (I should have about nine dozen with just the two batches I've already done, so who knows how many I could have if I decide to make more.) I've only got one person a present, but I do have some books for another person. That counts, right? I'm not very good at present giving.

There really isn't much more to say. I've cleaned my room, I'm trying to find a new bookshelf, and I desperately want a Rottweiler puppy.

Get Me a Present. Now.

Christmas approaches! If you don't celebrate Christmas, then whatever holiday you DO celebrate this December approaches! Yay!

In unrelated news, I've begun training for Warrior Dash in May. Thankfully the training fits in perfectly with my Survivor training, so it's not even like I have to change anything!

But back to Christmas. I've actually started getting presents for people this year, beyond just baking cookies. I'm still baking cookies, but now there are actual GIFTS involved! All of my friends are going to be so surprised. Of course, I've only gotten one thus far, but that's beside the point.

I've created a list of things I want, so any of you who want to get me a present, here you go. Maybe you could all collaborate so that I don't get the same thing twice. That can get pretty awkward.

1) Injinji toe socks

2) A laptop

3) Silver nailpolish

4) iTunes giftcards

5) Tracphone minutes

6) A jaguar cub

7) A male rottweiler puppy

8) A blanket

9) A million dollars

10) Something awesome

It's a pretty easy list. If you feel the need to get me two things off it, go right on ahead. I won't think you're being silly.

November is Over! Let's Celebrate with Cake.

November is over! I succeeded at NaNo, although the story itself isn't finished. The ending has to wait until I edit all the rest of it, because I feel like this year's was far too rushed, and nothing turned out right at the end. Hopefully everything can be rectified soon.

But now that December is upon us, we must prepare for Christmas. This is going to be the first year I actually give real presents along with cookies, so we shall see how that goes. I'm not one for remembering to buy things, even things I myself need or want, so it should be interesting. I've already got one (thanks to a little shopping with my mother), so I think I might actually manage it.

In other news, I think I might be getting a cold. This is unfortunate, because I hate sneezing. Mostly because my sneezes are ridiculous. For whatever reason, I squeak after I sneeze. Not during the sneeze. After. People either find them cute or disturbing. I find them annoying.

Well Then. I Don't Like You Either.

Two days ago, the views of this site peaked. Not as high as that one time - only to 30 views - but still. Since, I've had 1 view.

I'm feeling the love, guys. NOT.

But it's okay. I've got NaNo to distract me, and then I can feel more put out by this.

Dear Smeyer, I Hate Your Books.

With all this hysteria about Breaking Dawn, I thought I'd share my opinions with you.

Then I started typing, and realized I had too many things to say.

The post would be ridiculously long. As in, I was only on the second book, and it was longer than my post with all the pictures. I hadn't even begun to think of my tirade on the biology of Smeyer's vampires.

So just know that I think it's stupid, annoying, and biologically impossible.

That will be all.

Cake. NaNo. Barns. I Almost Typed Brans instead.

The little stats bar for the number of views looks like a barn, kinda.

Oh, and Week Three has begun.

I'm on track, and everything's going well in the story. It's 76 pages long at the moment. I'm feeling rather proud.

And now I'm going to go to the gym. Once I'm back from there, I'm going to reward myself with cake. No, I do not see a problem with this.

Aaoigtpaornhiahnauinha

Yes, indeed.

NaNoWriMo is driving me insane. And not just because my main character is in an asylum. More because it's Week Two (dun dun DUN) (that was supposed to be scary and dramatic. So if you didn't read it that way, fix it NOW) and I made it all the way until today, Thursday, without falling into the Week Two Rut.

If you don't participate in NaNo, then you do not know what this Week Two Rut is. This makes you very, very lucky. But everyone else who DOES participate knows about this horrid aspect of NaNoWriMo. It's when you sit there and can only type like 50 words at a time, because you just don't have the faith that you can do this. It's 50,000 words in one month. More, if you're crazy. That SHOULD frighten you, but Week One was full of joy and promise and interesting characters you had just met.

By Week Two, you know your characters and (most of) their motivations. It's no longer exciting. You've got at least a vague idea of what will happen, and you can sort of see how to get there. Getting there is a whole other creature entirely. It takes a lot of boring to get to that interesting. (Boring for the writer, anyway.)

Maybe if I rant about it enough on here, I'll be able to get to wordcount today. That'd be nice.

Hey look! It's Sasha! The spider that lives next to my desk! He/she/it had been gone for a while, but no worries. He/she/it has returned!

Oh, and one more random thing: I'm seriously contemplating trying out (signing up?) for Survivor. I've already begun my training regimen, which includes running, climbing, stretching, balancing stuff, playing sudoku, and working on my photographic memory so that it's even better. Thus far I've run two miles, climbed a couple trees, solved three expert level sudokus (in under ten minutes each!), and done handstands. Not sure how the last one helps, but it's fun so, hey. I do what I want.

That's pretty much all I've got. I have to finish wordcount now. Wish me luck.

Oh, and Guess What...

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!

On this day, at 7:58 AM, I was born.

Yes, this is certainly a cause for celebration.

Thus far I've gotten a free meal at 1 in the morning (and some delightful eye-candy via the managerial staff at the restaurant), two decks of cards (total win, I'm a card shark according to a certain history teacher), a box of chocolate caramels (so the combination of the two greatest things ever), and a  $10 Tropical Smoothie gift card. And I haven't even gotten anything from my parents yet, or my best friends, or my co-workers... this is going to be a good haul, I can feel it.

NaNo's coming along as well, but that's not quite as important as this.

So That You Know I Haven't Forgotten You

1) NaNo is coming along rather well. The first day was rough, but things have picked up and I think the idea is pretty stellar.

2) Ozzy Lusth is perfection on earth, and if I ever met him I would seduce him and get him to marry me. It shouldn't prove too hard, as I'm rather amazing. But honestly, I can't even express how much I adore Ozzy. He's just... perfect. Perfect perfect perfect. As to why he's still single, I don't understand.

November: Best and Worst Month of the Year

November swiftly approaches, and with it comes two things. One is good. Great, even. Okay, it's fan-freaking-tastic. The other... not so much.

The most phantasmorical part of November: on November 5, it will be my birthday. Everyone shall gloriously praise the day of my birth, the day I graced the world with my presence. At 7:58 AM, I shall officially be 19 years old. True, this means nothing in our society. But who gives a rip? It's me, and I'm amazing, so that should be enough.

As for the other part of November. NaNoWriMo. Also known as National Novel Writing Month. Best known as simply "NaNo". This time of year strikes both excitement and fear into the hearts of novelists everywhere.

For those of you completely ignorant of this special time of year, it's when you write a 50,000+ word novel in exactly one month. What is the point, you say? To prove that you can do it, of course. There aren't really any prizes (though if you upload your word count on the official site you get a certificate), and most people think we're all idiots for doing it. They might be right, but it's not like we care.

Pretty much, November becomes a time of little sleep, lots of random crying jags, and incessant muttering. You go insane, basically. For those of us with lives (aka school and work), we have to find a way to write 1,667 words a day in between classes and working. This may not SEEM very hard to those of you who have never tried it. Trust me, it's a bitch.

Think about it. Most essays for scholarships or even class cap out at 500 words. That's not even half of what we have to do. It takes people DAYS to write a mere 500 words. In the span of three days, we have to write 5,001 words. Let that sink in for a moment. 5,001 words. That's 100x more words than your lengthier essays.

So I'm warning you now that there might not be any posts during the month of November. Of course, there might be short ones like "Still alive. Five days behind. Please kill me." But something of substance... nah. I'll be far too busy trying to keep from falling too far behind.

Wish me luck. If you're also participating, I wish you luck. We're all crazy, and probably should get locked up. Oh well. Let's roam the streets with foam swords and attacking/chasing cars while we can.

Howl-O-Scream! Craziness! Whoo!

Ah Howl-O-Scream. It's easily one of the most enjoyable parts of Fall. Possibly the only enjoyable part of Fall, other than my birthday, as I hate the cold. My extreme hatred for the cold makes it difficult to enjoy the other aspects of the season.

Anyway. Back to that delightful little adventure known as Howl-O-Scream. For those of you who are unaware, it is when Busch Gardens, an amusement park, decorates for Halloween and creates haunted houses and scare zones and all that jazz. It's supposed to be frightening, and for some people it is, but to me it's just amusing.

You see, I don't get scared. After that brief stint of my childhood where I hated masks, I lost nearly all fear. People can jump out at me and such, and I just say hello. Or something along the lines of "Really? Go somewhere." So while everyone around me screams, jumps, and runs away, I snicker and applaud the workers who scared the average people.

Last night, I went with a few friends. Krystal, my brother Kyle, Carter, Maddie, and Chelsea. We were a motley crew, and horribly crazy. I think we legitimately worried people.

In line for one of the haunted houses, we played the knot game. You know, where you cross your arms and link hands with two other people, and then you have to untangle yourselves without unlinking your hands. It's super fun, especially with the variety of sizes we had: monstrous, tall, and tiny. When you try to get a 6'5'' man-boy to duck under a 5'2'' girl's arm, you create a very... interesting dilemma.

In the haunted houses and scare zones, we were no better. We talked, laughed, and generally created a ruckus. A vampire insulted my height, saying that short people are easier snacks. For five minutes I yelled at him, the prime quote of which was, "I'M A FEISTY LITTLE BITCH." Poor guy. Kyle laughed the whole time, being the 6'5'' man-boy mentioned earlier.

The best part of the night easily was after I got my lunchbox from the Festhaus. We filled it with change, and whenever one of the workers would hop beside us and make noise (usually shaking or honking something), we would shake my lunchbox right back at them. The first guy got freaked out, obviously not expecting someone to do it back to him. I believe I said, "That's right, we can make noise too! Wut!"

Several other things happened that I can't or won't remember. At some point I had Dippin Dots, as I must unless you want to deal with me whining all night. If you're friends with me on Facebook, you already know that I think melted Rainbow Ice flavour with sex would be great. Because that flavour is fucking delicious.

Pretty much, if you're ever in Williamsburg during October, visit Howl-O-Scream. You'll get a good laugh, and if you try hard enough you can make the workers drop character. Then they get mad at you, which is amusing in itself.

A Present for Those of You I Like

And if I don't like you... well, here's a peace offering. At least until you prove your stupidity yet again.


You're welcome.

UPDATED And Right About Now is When I Wish I Were a Velociraptor

Because then I could kill him, and it wouldn't even be against the law. Everyone would be so excited about a velociraptor being alive in today's era that they wouldn't want to harm me all because I killed some human guy.

Corin, as I'm sure there's a possibility you're going to read this in the near future, you are a complete and utter idiot. Also a jackass, bastard, jerk, degenerate, and reprobate.

You see, everyone, it turns out that Corin never liked me. He was just pretending because he wants as much attention as he can get.

What's worse is he keeps apologizing, as if that helps things. Here's a clue: IT DOESN'T. In fact, it makes me want to stab him even more.

And the worst part is, a small, itty-bitty little part of me keeps screaming, "He might be lying! He might be saying all this so you'll not want to talk to him anymore so that he won't hurt Juliet!"

That part needs to die.

Because it's just making me feel even more screwed up and angry and utterly, unbelievably sad.

I sure know how to pick 'em, don't I?

If anyone knows how one goes about getting over this sort of thing, please let me know. I'm fairly certain that punching holes in the wall, kicking doors, and ripping random objects in half isn't really that effective. As it hasn't proved to be yet.

UPDATE: Guys, Corin unfriended me. AND blocked me. As I don't think I've done anything to merit this (I'm not the one who lied, and manipulated, and was basically a capital reprobate), I'm doubly mad. Overeating isn't helping, nor is running or exercise. At this point, I think I'm stuck.

Trauma Drama

Haognaoprhnapernaeriotpah.

That is the noise I am making right now. Don't try to pronounce it. It's one of those things where you either just randomly spurt it out, or you feel exactly the way I do right now. Which is a mixture of confused, sad, angry, and hesitant.

Why do I feel this way, you ask? You get three guesses. Nope, wrong. It has nothing to do with a sudden decision to join clown school to save money. It has to do with Corin. Of course. Gosh, you guys are thick.

There are a few things that are creating this lovely mixture of emotions. One of which is the fact that he ignored me for... 13 days, essentially. Near the end of that period he sent sporadic messages, but nothing like what we're used to. Only yesterday did we begin messaging each other for real again. So that caused the usual paranoia: he doesn't like me, he's changed his mind, I'm too annoying, etc.

Friday he was supposed to call me. Instead, he went to a party and got drunk. So we arranged for him to call this upcoming Wednesday. It now is not going to happen.

You see, he's decided to tell Juliet everything. Now, as to what "everything" is, I have no real idea. He said it meant everything that I said, and everything that he said. Now, as long as he doesn't tell her my name, that's fine. Whatever. But if he gives her my name, I'm ruined at college next year. So hopefully he won't mention it, either on purpose or unintentionally.

Now I'm sure you're wondering WHY he is going to tell her now, after it's been almost two months, and he's ignored me for nearly two weeks. I wondered myself, and asked. Corin's response, "I realized that I need to stop making mistakes in what I do... and when I do, I need to own up to them." Okay, OUCH. I mean, I know all of this wasn't good and could technically be classified as a "mistake," but still. That hurt. A lot. Like a lance through my heart.

This didn't make sense to me. After all, what made him realize this? Something had to. But I didn't ask, because I'm aware that most people find my incessant questions annoying. Also that it would make me come across as obsessive, when really I'm just very curious as to the motives behind people's actions. I DID ask "why now?" and he just said some nonsense about thinking this is the right time to say something.

Right time... to tell your long-term girlfriend that you've been interested in another girl... when she's driving 3+ hours to come stay with you for the weekend... huh. That certainly sounds like the right time to me. Any other time just wouldn't be right.

But anyway. I'm kind of freaking out. What in the world could this mean? My mother thinks I need to just wash my hands of him - there's no point to him telling Juliet about this. Either he should break up with her, or stop talking to me. It's that simple to her. I cannot keep things that... neat. I wish I could, because then I wouldn't be fretting over all of this.

I'm very worried that he's going to spin everything so that it looks like I initiated all of this. Corin isn't that bad of a guy, but still I worry. It's what most guys would do, especially when their girlfriend is going to be VERY angry with them.

And besides, telling her will result in one of two things, as far as I can see. Either she will break up with him and he'll blame me and stop talking to me, or she will stay with him and he will stop talking to me to preserve what little trust she has left. No matter which one happens, I lose someone that I really enjoy talking to, someone who can somewhat keep up with me. No matter which happens, I get hurt.

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad he's telling her. She deserves to know the truth, and to hear it from him instead of someone else. I just wish it wouldn't bring so much pain to me.

Anyway. That's pretty much everything. It's why I'll be extra snippy toward everyone I talk to, and why I'll randomly look queasy. Oh well. I'm going to try to distract myself with Peter Pan stories and exorbitant amounts of food and running.

Haven: The Best Show Ever

This is why I love Haven.

Nathan's Dead Dad: You buried me in a cooler?

Nathan: Yeah.

Dead Dad: Which cooler?

Nathan: The blue one.

Dead Dad: ...... What a waste of a good cooler.

10 Reasons I Nearly Stab People at Work

I work as a birthday party host at the local bowling alley. Usually, this is a fairly easy, stress-free job. However, I have a list of things that would make everything a lot better for all of us.

1) SHOW UP.

2) When you show up, don't say "We've changed our minds, we're just going to bowl. No party. You can go."

3) Show up ON TIME. I can't change the time the lanes turn on for you. You get two hours. If you're scheduled for 6, your lanes turn off at 8, even if you show up at 7.

4) I'm aware you think I'm a babysitter. I'm not. You see, I have to get you food, shoes, balls, and anything else you fancy at any time. This doesn't leave me time to stop your child from getting the notion to throw five balls down a lane at one time.

5) Kids, grow a brain. If the sweep is down, YOU CAN'T THROW A BALL. IT WILL BOUNCE BACK. And then I have to go get it, and you get the clever idea of throwing yet ANOTHER ball and nearly killing me.

6) If I mess up an additional order of yours, tell me IMMEDIATELY. Don't wait until it's been eaten almost entirely. I can't do anything at that point. You ate it, you pay for it.

7) At the end of the party, it's polite to tip me. I've pretty much been your slave for the past two hours. Longer than that, actually. I come an hour early to set up, and I'll be staying at least another thirty minutes to clean up. So yeah, I'd like a little something. But when you won't give me even the thirty cents change you get when you pay your bill, it's a slap in the face.

8) Realize I can't do five hundred things at once. If I'm refilling a pitcher for you, I can't rescue that ball your idiot child somehow managed to get in between the gutter and the bumper. So don't get an attitude with me over it. I'm only one person, trying to watch 10+ kids and their adults, plus get everything you need.

9) Kids, don't talk back to me. I'm definitely older than you, and if you mouth off I will take you aside and let you know it's not acceptable. You keep acting up, and I'll cut your lanes off. That's my perogative. Management won't care if your parents complain, because once I tell them you were acting like ignorant fools, they'll take my side.

10) That's it. I have nothing else. I just like numbers that end in five and zero. It's a little bit like OCD.

Short Story and Psychology

I'm writing a short story at the moment.

It's not funny, unfortunately. It's rather serious. As of right now, I haven't even finished the rough draft. Once I do that, though, I'm going to look through it and make sure I've got all sorts of symbolism and other pretentious English nonsense.

Originally it was for a writing contest for the critique website I belong to, but I'm not sure it will fit in any of the categories. Oh well. I need to write it, as it's helping to REALLY clear my head.

In other news, my psychology class seems to only exist to show how I'm not normal. Every subject we've done thus far has proved that 90% of the human population is different from even my most normal tendancies. Surprised? Not really.

Back to the short story for a moment. I might post it on here, as it's not like I have anything better to do, but I'll wait until after the awards for the contest. Just in case, you know. But I'm putting it up here so that a certain person might read it. I shan't tell who, as anyone on the critique site might then know which story is mine, and that's not how it's supposed to work.

Anyway.

That's all I really have today. I'm working until the wee hours of the morning tonight, so I probably won't post for like three days in an attempt to get back on a regular sleep schedule.

Tramp Stamp Ponies and Google+

Oh Facebook. It used to be cute when you tried to update and make things faster and cooler and whatever else you were trying to accomplish. Now it's just getting out of hand. No one approves of this new interface. If anyone does, then they are obviously creepers who want to know what you're doing when you're doing it, and you should unfriend them IMMEDIATELY.

And yet, most people will complain and just continue using Facebook. I'm one of those people. The only difference is that I'm now also on Google+, which in all honesty is kind of better. All of Facebook's updates have been attempts to both reach and surpass the options on Google+. Needless to say, Facebook is failing.

Of course, being rather new to Google+, I don't know how to work it quite yet. There's also the fact that pretty much no one I know is using it. At the moment, there are TWO. As Google+ said when I tried to continue with only two people able to stream things to me, "You might get lonely". Thankfully I still have Facebook to fall back on. For now, Google+ is only a back-up for when, not if, Facebook implodes on itself.

If you people know what's good for you, you'll create your own Google+ account. It's less creepy than Facebook, with better privacy settings and such. Plus, I need more friends. If I don't get more, I'll be stuck singing blues songs in my man voice, which really just sounds like a girl on steroids. No one wants that.

In other news, I spent a lot of my spare time colouring lately. Here. You'll appreciate these amazing pictures. My church has the best colouring books.

UPDATED Facebook Only Perpetuates Stupidity and Misery

It's true. No matter who you are, the second you get on Facebook, you lose all semblance of dignity. Some are more obvious about it than others. Some keep it confined to private messages and chats. I am most certainly the latter.

Really, I need to work on my impulse control. As I don't have any whatsoever. This usually only creates a problem with people who have anger issues like David or people who are overly sensitive. Unfortunately, this has now permeated into causing me trouble with Corin. If you don't know who Corin is, go here. Educate yourself on my idiocy, so that when you return you know exactly why I shouldn't be allowed on Facebook.

On Saturday, Corin and I hung out. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Perhaps I'd find him repulsive in person, and there would no longer be any drama. Obviously I was already well down the Road of Inanity. We had a magnificent time, and what with his knee and face touching, I came away even more infatuated than before. Because I'm a stupid girl with stupid feelings, and really it would better if I didn't have any.

We didn't really talk the next day, which kind of bothered me, because what if he didn't have as much fun as I did and no longer felt anything for me? I'd already had to deal with that with Jackson, my ex who is now engaged to another girl. With Jackson, after our first official date, he changed his mind and said he no longer liked me. He then changed his mind again, and I let him. That will NOT happen again, because I don't fall for things twice.

Anyway. So I was worried that he would be all "Eh" about me now, so I started thinking about the entire situation. Anyone who knows me realizes that this can only lead to worse things. And it did. Giant Adult said some things that really struck home. Corin couldn't possibly care about me all that much, as he DOES have a girlfriend who he won't tell about me, and he doesn't want to be with me enough to leave her. I'm essentially a mistress, which I was hoping so much to avoid.

Last night, I told Corin that I probably shouldn't continue talking to him or seeing him or have anything to do with him. Admittedly I did mention that the chances of me following up on that are slim to none, as I have no impulse control and I do what I want when I want. In my long message, I also said he should at least tell Juliet that he has/d feelings for another girl. Then I sent more messages that mentioned pictures of an octopus playing an organ, and I'm fairly certain he thinks I was drunk or high, but I really DO have a picture of an octopus playing an organ.

He still hasn't responded, which is making me stress out even more. More than likely I've come across as desperate and clingy, and he's feeling rather put out by it. Well. I'm quite used to men seeing the... extremity of my craziness and deciding that it's too much to put up with. Jackson did that too. It seems to me that when things get too difficult, men run away and want nothing to do with the girl causing all the issues.

Really, if Facebook didn't exist, none of this would have happened. I would be happily unaware of my attraction to Corin, I wouldn't have sent those messages and looked insane, and I wouldn't be spending every waking moment wondering if my status is cool enough.

I hate you, Facebook.

UPDATE: Corin and I are talking again, and I've figured out that all of my issues were based on other people's opinions. So I will continue talking to him and hanging out with him, regardless of my feelings, until I no longer want to. It's selfish and stupid, yes. But it's MY decision. And someday, this will make a great cautionary tale for my children.

NEWER UPDATE: Corin is in the wind (meaning he's hanging out with his girlfriend and not talking to me), and I've decided that I can't do this to Juliet. It would ruin my future career, as she has the same major as I and even goes to the same school I will be next year. So messing with her = not smart. Yes, I know, I keep going back and forth on this. In like three days there will probably be a newer newer update with me rescinding this decision as well. Here's hoping that doesn't happen!

Advice on Being a Homewrecker

It seems as though many people have differing opinions on the Corin debacle. As a girl who loves listening to advice for the sole purpose of not taking it, this is providing great fun. I thought that perhaps some of you might like to hear these opinions, as some of them are rather ridiculous.

Giant Adult: You're a homewrecker. And he's a dog. Don't kid yourself on that. He'd do the same thing to you. And obviously he doesn't really care all that much about you, as he hasn't told her anything, and he won't be with you. You should tell her what's going on, and see what she says.

Krystal: This is hilarious. You're a homewrecker. I'm going to look up the definition of a date, because you two totally went on one. Seriously, though, he needs to figure stuff out.

Brother: Wow. You really know how to pick 'em, don't you?

Almost Boyfriend: You should make out with him. It's not wrong, really. You should also pursue him. Why deny yourself what you want?

Mother: Just stay away from all this stuff. It can only end badly for most involved.

Corin: Let's not label this.

Drama Friend: Aww, you two are so cute. I wish he didn't have a girlfriend.

Me: Uhm... I'm kind of hungry. And I want to know if it's possible to mate a unicorn and a griffon. That thing would be DANGEROUS.

Obviously I don't really care about any of this, beyond the occasional snicker at the the sillier statements. The adults give the most intelligent advice, which I shall promptly ignore. I've no desire to become rational.

My Future Husband

ZOMG OZZIE IS BACK ON SURVIVOR. THIS IS SO GREAT I THINK I MIGHT DIE. LIKE SERIOUSLY, SOMEONE CALL A PARAMEDIC BECAUSE I THINK I'M HAVING A HEART ATTACK.

Okay. Now I can hopefully talk about this with some dignity. If I randomly spurt love and affection for Ozzie, though, I apologize. I can't help it. He's kind of the most perfect creation ever, so... I get a little overexcited.

For those of you who don't know who Ozzie is, let me enlighten you.

Ozzie appeared on Survivor years ago. From the beginning he was the strongest competitor. He won challenges, he got food, he built camp... basically, he was an all around Survivor badass capable of decimating the competition with his skills and dashing good looks and charm.

Inevitably the other competitors grew wary of him, and decided to get rid of him. They had no chance though, as he kept winning immunity. But the time came for a challenge that didn't offer immunity, and they got their chance. Ozzie was voted off. I cried all week.

The other competitors quickly realized their mistake. None of them had realized just how used to Ozzie's presence they were. He provided 95% of their food. He fixed things when they broke. He pretty much owned them, and they got rid of him. It took like two days for them to figure out that maybe they had made a super dumb idea.

At the end of that season, it came down to two girls who couldn't even start a fire. WITH MATCHES. I forget how many hours it took until someone won, but I'm fairly certain it was over six. When it came to the vote of the people who had lost, Ozzie pretty much said, "Neither of you deserve to win. You can't even light a fire. You've lived on an island for a month, and you can't. Light. A. Fire." That's right, Ozzie. You tell them.

After that fiasco, I stopped watching Survivor. If a girl without basic survival knowledge could win, then the system was flawed. There was no hope for future seasons. When I heard about previous competitors coming back a year or two ago, I got excited. Maybe Ozzie would return! Unfortunately he didn't, so I didn't care.

People talk about Russell being the ultimate player. I'll admit, he knows how to manipulate people. But that's not a survivor in my eyes. Ozzie is the ultimate display of survivor skills. He could actually live on an island and not suffer from malnutrition.

Side note: If Ozzie and I had children, their hair would be PHENOMENAL. It would be brown and curly and shiny and full and lovely.

That's pretty much it. I shall be watching Survivor this season, and if Ozzie gets voted off, there will be hell to pay.

Sex = Grapes

A typical conversation between Krystal and I.

Me: So what do you think sex is like?

Krystal: Hm. Probably like grapes.

Me: Oh. Why grapes? I'd probably think more like cake or something.

Krystal: Nah. It's definitely grapes. You know, it's always there, and there's different kinds, and it's pretty good, everyone likes it. But if there's something better, say like your cake or a puppy or something, it's just not as great.

Me: Huh. I thought you were going to say something about it being juicy.

Krystal: That'd be dirty.

Me: Maybe... But I guess I see where you're coming from.

Krystal: Good.

Me: So is it more green grapes or red grapes? Or those really fat black ones that are all meaty and you can only eat like three before you feel uncomfortable?

Krystal: I don't know. You're crazy.

Me: You're the one who compared sex to grapes.

Krystal: Touche.

Technorati, and Sextraneous Conversation

I am officially on Technorati now! This means that people who troll on there for blogs might come here! That is so very exciting I just squeezed my juice box and got juice all over me. Now I'm going to be sticky all day. Thanks, Technorati.

Unsure of what to put as my "site categories" I just put up Living and Entertainment. They didn't have a "Random Thoughts about Mythical Creatures and Cheese" option, so that was out. Apparently they didn't like my site tags either, which included velociraptors, gremlins, unicorns, griffons, and I don't even remember what else. But that's okay. I forgive you, Technorati. Not everyone can appreciate these things.

In other news, my watch beeps every hour, and I don't know how to stop it. I've tried hitting random sequences of buttons, but all I've managed to do is get it stuck on military time. This morning I was tempted to test out its water-proof feature by taking it in the shower with me, but then I felt I'd A) break it and/or B) end up timing myself on how long it takes to wash my hair. Obviously this was a bad idea, so I refrained from bringing any accessories while I washed my body.

Oh, more blog-related news! Apparently a lot more people are coming on here. As in I've had 107 page views thus far today. That's more than I got in a month. While very confused as to how this happened, I'm rather excited. Except that only one of these people ended up "following" me, and I feel insulted. I'm good enough to look at, but not good enough to follow? Thanks. Now I don't feel stalk-worthy, and that's a hit to my self-esteem. Good job, Internet.

As I have the attention span of a baby gerbil 97% of the time, let's move on. Last night I had the most hilarious and suggestive conversation ever. Basically, we made all words that begin with "ex" begin with "sex" instead. This may sound immature. Just try it. Everything you say will sound inappropriate, and eventually the conversation WILL devolve into intentional innuendos like "You are a sextreme sextrovert" and "sexcursions are my favourite things". In normal conversation, calling someone an extreme extrovert and saying you enjoy excursions isn't suggestive at all. Add an s to the front, and you have a whole lot more fun, plus anyone overhearing you thinks you're writing lines for a porno. It's win-win, really.

Anyway. That's all I have for today. Try not to be too disappointed.

Random Post About Nothing

I bought a watch today.

That's pretty much it.

I wanted to get a Go Diego Go one, but all they had was stupid Dora. So instead I got this one that can go in water. I'm very disappointed.

Pretty much, if anyone finds a Go Diego Go watch, I'd love to trade.

9ZXH4QXKRQ8X

Yup. Look at that beauty. It's a string of letters and numbers. Bet you've never seen anything like that before.

Hatred Isn't Just for Slytherins and Gryffindors Anymore. Apparently Even Hufflepuffs Have the Mental Capacity for it.

There are some people in this world I just can't stand. Like the ones with the voice and faces from some place worse than Hell. But some people have a personality that makes it really difficult for me to remember everything I learned at anger management. Once again I find I need to create that rabid dog, spork, flamethrower hybrid so that I can inflict maximum pain and suffering.

David, a boy from my church, is certainly someone I have never been, am not, and could never be friends with. And yet we pretend to be, even going to the extent of being friends on Facebook. Don't worry, I'm really horrible to him so that everyone knows I don't really tolerate him, but sometimes it's very confusing as to why he even friended me in the first place. He hates me. I hate him. You'd think it'd be simple.

For some reason, we have never been friends. Even when we were in middle school, I just found something about him off-putting. I wasn't MEAN to him, but I didn't go out of my way to bake him cookies or anything. Krystal always thought he had a crush on me, and maybe that's where all this repressed rage is coming from. Cuz seriously, this guy needs to take a chill pill. I've met wet cats nicer than this guy.

As we got older, his longing for my attention grew into something much worse. David hated me. Hates me. I can't make a joke without him cursing at me, or calling me names, or saying something very offensive. Mostly I just laugh at him, because that seems to make him angrier and I'm all for making people upset. Occasionally, though, he legitimately worries me. Like once he sent me a message calling me a female dog and telling me that if I ever went near him he'd break my nose. As if I'd want to come within three feet of him. He looks like Robert Pattinson, and that's just icky.

Obviously, David and I were never meant to be anything more than acquaintances. We can't spend ten minutes together before one of us is scowling and saying things like "I wish a velociraptor would eat your face." Okay, that's me. He's not cool enough to think about using velociraptors as weapons.

Anyway, what brought this on was a VERY nasty comment he left on Facebook today. I had found this hilarious video about the Hogwarts Houses, and how Hufflepuff is kind of dumb (no offense to any Hufflepuffs out there. I'm a Slytherin, I have to be mean). As David is proud of looking like Robert Pattinson (I have no idea why, like I said, icky), he claims to be a Hufflepuff just like Cedric Diggory. As we hadn't been fighting at all, and he's one of the two people who actually wants to be a Hufflpuff, I put the link on his wall and told him he'd probably hate it. You know, as a joke. Because that's what people do on Facebook. They post videos and comments on other people's walls as jokes.

Well, he reacted somewhat normally. He posted on my wall that she is blonde, so it's not the same and doesn't count against Hufflepuffs. I posted on HIS wall that she quite OBVIOUSLY was wearing a wig. Or that she had messed up in Charms, which wouldn't be surprising, because she's a Hufflepuff and we all know Hufflepuffs are only good finders.

This, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. David replied with "f u c k y o u whats it matter? huh? it doesnt." Obviously seperating the letters in "fuck you" makes it less offensive. Or maybe more offensive. It's really ambiguous, and I don't want to ask just in case that makes him say something else with weird spacing. It's as if he thought I was being serious, which is just plain ridiculous as anyone who's known me for at least five minutes knows I'm very rarely serious.

I don't know, guys. Should I be all angry and say "well d a m n y ou because I h a t e y o u" to show him that two can play at this game? Maybe. But I've already told him that he needs to simmer and that I've created this invention called a joke, and you're not supposed to take me seriously. I guess we'll see how THAT goes over. Though I'm kind of curious as to what the adults we're mutually friends with will say when they see this. If they do, that is. I don't know how often they creep on his page.

Pretty much this just means that if you have no sense of humour and an exorbitant amount of rage, you shouldn't talk to me. I'll just make you incapable of saying mean things with regular spacing. Nobody wants that.

PS. Apparently velociraptor isn't a word and should be velocipede instead. I don't even know what that MEANS. And I read the dictionary regularly.

UPDATE: Apparently my jokes are immature and make me look like a b i t c h (he didn't spell it like that this time, but hey, it's all about consistency), and they're annoying. You would've thought someone would have told me by now. Which is what I said to him. He just said that because we haven't talked about Harry Potter for months, it's not funny anymore. Uhm, what? Harry Potter jokes are ALWAYS funny. Though I've apparently made it "unfunny" which is even more ridiculous because everyone knows I'm freaking hysterical. And I've "worn his patience thin" which makes him sound like a middle aged man.

UPDATE: Any Hufflepuffs I may have offended, I'm sorry. I know 99% of you aren't like this guy. I know like two (maybe more, it's not like I keep track) of you that are actually really nice and great. For Hufflepuffs, anyway.

Writing, and Earrings

I keep losing the little clear thingies that go on the backs of my earrings. That's completely unrelated to this post, but I wanted to tell everyone that if you find any of them, they're probably mine. Even if I've never been wherever you find them. Those things can TRAVEL.

But back to relevance. I seem to have lost my flashdrive, which I had put onto a string necklace for the sole purpose of me NOT losing it. Alas, the greatest plans often fall to pieces. This is a huge problem, because without my flashdrive I can't write. Well, I mean, I can, but I can't work on the stories that I think are actually decent. If I can't find it soon, I'm going to launch a full search for it, meaning that the police, military, and small children will be employed. If I have to, I will call the President. I'm sure he doesn't have anything more important to do than search the world's next great novel.

I have this idea for a whole series, not even just a novel and then its sequel like I've been working on for the past three years, but a twelve book series that will be AMAZING. If I can ever get started. All the characters have been discovered, along with their looks and personalites. Yet I can't seem to start writing. The potential is there, waiting, wanting me to start, but every time I start to write or type, I hit a brick wall. Not cool, writer's block, not cool.

Another problem with my lost flashdrive: I can't work on the one novel that I've actually finished. True, I've edited it like three or four times, but I still want to go through it again. Every time, it seems as though I find yet another mistake, with grammar or sentence structure or time frames, and I want it to be perfect before I send it off to an agent. I'm well aware that even if I get an agent the editor will want to change things, but still. If I get it good enough, maybe less changes will be needed.

Anyway. I guess the whole point of this is that I have severe writer's block, I can't find my flashdrive which is essentially my child, and I'm all around miserable when it comes to being a writer at the moment. The only writing I've done has been on here, plus a poem. Not a good haul.

Oh well. Soon everything will be rectified. November is going to be here soon, and with it NaNoWriMo. Hopefully the forced writing from that will spark a fire, and I'll actually be able to write without it feeling like I'm ripping out my eyeteeth with a pair of pliers. A girl can only dream, right?

UPDATE: I found my flashdrive! It was in my bathrobe pocket, from when I took it into the bathroom with me because of my irrational fear that the house will burn down and destroy all my stories.

Ugh Men Part 3

Here is the final edition of Ugh Men. If I remember correctly, I left off talking about gremlins. And wanting a relationship despite the fact that one's not possible even if Corin broke up with his girlfriend (let's call her Juliet. Obviously I'm feeling very Shakespearean today).

Right now, the ball is in Corin's court. He can either lob it back, or he can catch it and never ever return it. As to which is better, I have no clue. Of course, if he sends it back, it could be a really angry serve or a gentle tap, and depending on which he chooses my reaction changes. It seems as though he's holding onto it, and it's making me nervous. I don't want to get beamed in the head. I've gotten enough head injuries, thanks. I'd call him to see what his plans are, so that I can evade if I have to, but I don't know his number and I don't want to call him while he's taking a shower or something and have to leave a message. I'm pretty bad at leaving messages, because I get distracted like halfway through and end up talking about bubbles.

It's not fair. Juliet is much prettier than I. She's got exotic good looks. You know, tan skin, raven hair, brown eyes. Me, I'm a pale brunette with really pretty eyes, but they can't compete by themselves against a whole package. Juliet is closer to his age, and much nicer than I am. As to why he likes me when he has a gorgeous, pleasant girl, I have no clue. It escapes me. He says it's a combination of things - she lives about 3.5 hours away most of the time, he has to watch his roommate be all gooey with a significant other, he loves arguing and no one but me really offers that, and his impulse control rivals mine in its nonexistence. Plus I'm a "bulls eye" to his personality and in all honesty I probably really am a sex druid.

The hardest part about all of this is wondering how to do the right thing without getting hurt. I've yet to figure anything out. Happiness in this case seems unattainable - even if I get him, I'll feel like I stole him, and not getting him will hurt pretty badly. Especially if he just stops being interested. Thinking of it actually makes my chest hurt. It's like Ron said in A Very Potter Musical: "When I think about her my chest hurts, and I just know it's her fault, that BITCH." Except Corin's a boy. But the sentiment is the same. This is why I hate emotions.

It's sort of like T.S. Eliot said in one of his many fawesome poems: "I should have been a pair of ragged claws / Scuttling across the doors of silent seas." With the horrific feelings that I shouldn't have, I would better look as a monster. Probably an underwater griffin, because they're vicious and dangerous and can go both onto land and sea. Corin feels bad for creating such angst, but really, if I were a better person this would be a non-issue. Ugh. 'Twere that I were a little more infallible. He says he really, really wants me to be happy, and he doesn't know why. Well, what would make me happy would probably make him unhappy, so I shan't give voice to it to him. I'm not so selfish - yet. I'm dangerously close, and I have to stop before I fall over the edge completely.

Well, I have no funny quips for the end here. Sorry. I'll go back to regularly scheduled sarcasm and cynicism by the end of the week, so no worries. No more seriousness for a while.

UPDATE: It's all good now. We've talked. So yay! Corin's staying with Juliet, and if I get to a point where I can't talk to him, he'll respect that. Also, he's going to stop saying things he shouldn't.

Ugh Men Part 2

So let's continue. As I said, this is sort of serious, but not really because I'm apparently incapable of being serious about anything, even my own horrible feelings.

Where did I leave off? Oh yeah. How I can't keep from admitting how I feel. I really shouldn't have done that, as it's made things about twelve porpskillion (word courtesy of Hyperbole and a Half) times worse. Obviously I should have stuck with the slightly sympathetic yet still aloof approach. It's much more attractive anyway. Now that he knows how I feel (though not the severity, because I'd never admit something like that to anyone), things are exponentially worse than they could have gotten had I kept my mouth shut. Or my fingers still. Whatever. I can't seem to keep from saying things I shouldn't, which just makes things much more difficult and horrible for both of us. Aren't I a lovely person?

Honestly, I'm far too close to just saying "Screw this, I'll do whatever necessary to keep him." Which is so out of line I'm surprised I haven't fallen over a cliff. I have no desire to become a thing on the side, or the "other woman" or whatever else you call a mistress. Though is it really a mistress if he isn't married? That's a question for another day. But I digress. Obviously I have to cut off these feelings, but that's proving extra-hard because, well, I have no impulse control. Thus the reason I've taken to staying up until 2 in the morning (and I usually go to bed at 10, so that's WAY late), and sitting in front of the computer for hours just to wait to talk to him.

Yesterday I cut myself off, and I think he did too. I went for a run to avoid thinking about anything (and I hate running, so that's a pretty extreme measure), and watched River Monsters so that I could lust after Jeremy Wade and not feel bad about having such feelings for someone. Yet still, my mind would return to the issue of Corin and our non-relationship that wants to join the cool relationship table in the lunchroom.

Ugh. I'm a horrible person. I ask Corin questions I shouldn't, end up saying things that intrigue him and make him want me. If I was a good person, I'd be as boring and non-enticing as possible so that he'd stop liking me. But that would be lying, and this is the Veracious blog, so I try to be as veracious as possible both in real life and online.

Almost Boyfriend (a guy I nearly dated but then we didn't and now we're just friends) says I'm not a terrible person. He purports that this isn't anything I could've foreseen or controlled. When Corin and I started talking, it wasn't my goal to seduce him, or even a possibility. I just enjoyed talking to him. Even when he first expressed interest, I didn't like him or want him. It wasn't until weeks later that I started feeling anything, and then I felt so horrible that I just stuffed the feelings under the Sparklies Box in my brain. It's filled with lots of distracting things, and is really heavy, so I thought it would work reasonably well. I was wrong.

Yet even if he broke up with his girlfriend, it's not likely that we'd be together. He lives 1.5 hours away. We don't really have any mutual friends, and all of his friends like his current girlfriend and are friends with her. I'd essentially be a stranger, and we all know about Stranger Danger. His younger sister is my age, which is kind of awkward, even though he's only like four years older than I am. A relationship is about as plausible as the gremlins returning all the stuff they stole from me. And yet, I can't help hoping. For the gremlins to return my stuff, along with the relationship. But mostly for the gremlins.

Okay, let's move on to part three. I promise, once that one's done, I'm done. I swear it on my copy of the His Dark Materials series, and as that's my favourite series EVER, that's pretty severe. I'd have to cut off my hand or something if I lied to you after swearing on it.

Ugh Men

This is a serious post, for the most part. A few sentences might be amusing, but overall it's just me ranting because I'm upset and I need to vent. As only like 4 people actually come on here (possibly less, I don't know what you people do), I figured no one cares that this is a deviation from the norm.

It's not fair. The one guy that actually interests and challenges me just HAS to be taken. It's like God said, "Ha, Hattie, you get to talk to this guy, but nothing else because I felt like being a jerk. Ha." Thanks, God. I'm feeling the love. Except I'm not.

Of course this guy (let's call him Corin for funsies) likes me too. He's called me "addicting" and exactly his type. Well, Mr. Corin, THAT'S NOT HELPING. In fact, it's making things worse. So stop saying ridiculous things like that.

If he hadn't said anything, I probably wouldn't have even begun to realize that I had feelings beyond "Hey, this guy is pretty smart. Cool." But he just has to go and call me cute, adorable, tempting, amazing... so being a girl with very little impulse control I can't help feeling something. After admitting that he feels this way, he backtracks and says "Oh, but I CAN'T feel this way." Well you do. So deal with it. Figure your shit out, so that I can figure MY shit out. Otherwise I'm going to say/do things I shouldn't, and someone's going to end up eating a pint of ice cream in one sitting while watching The Notebook. Obviously that won't be me, because I'm not THAT big on ice cream, and I find The Notebook ridiculous.

Back and forth we go, like the freaking Battering Ram at Busch Gardens, saying that we'll ignore the tension because we're both very selfish and don't want to stop talking. One little problem with this solution: you can't keep from saying things you shouldn't, and I can't help asking questions of you that I have no real right to ask. The whole situation bewilders me, and I hate being bewildered. I get enough of that trying to drive to the bank, thank you very much. Both Krystal and I think it's pretty simple: Decide who you want more, Corin, and stick with it.

If Corin can't figure things out soon, I'm going to make myself stop talking to him. It'll be horrifically difficult, considering I'm notoriously selfish and tend to not give a flying damn about how other people feel. This is perhaps the worst tug-of-war my mind has gone through since deciding between tigers and jaguars (I picked jaguars, just for future reference). My selfish (and probably stronger side, honestly) part wants him, come hell or high water, even if it doesn't really understand the meaning of that phrase. The moral side says, "Hey, chick, he's TAKEN. So chill." Middle ground is proving elusive, like leprechauns.

More than likely all my worrying and questioning has driven him away. While this is probably a good thing, I'm not happy about it. Even though he thinks I'm clever and funny and a wonderful challenge, I doubt he can deal with my pecking and squawking. If I could stop, I would, but alas I'm a very curious creature (though not a cat, thank goodness. Who wants to die for being curious?) and cannot control myself. My brain is tired of going in circles, and mayhap if he answers all my queries it'll chill out.

Gah. Why does he have to call me "my dear" and "darling" and "my love" in such a serious manner? This sort of behaviour is not acceptable, as it makes me feel all girly and I have no desire to feel that way. Even when we talk about zombies and unicorns and griffins he has this underlying sweetness and sense of adoration. This makes me uncomfortable. I'm not used to getting the dewy-eyed treatment from someone older than 6. I try to remain as non-committal as possible, relying on my sarcasm and cleverness, but I'm kind of failing.

This is getting long, so we'll go make a part two. Possibly a part three as well. And this is turning out a lot more amusing that I thought it would. In that some of the things I say are very ridiculous and clever, not that I'm amused. Because I'm not. I'm ENRAGED.

But Maybe I'm Just a Sex Druid

Love. No matter how you feel about it, there are certain trains of thought that are followed by a majority people. These can be split into three categories: Lovers of Love, People Who Believe in it, but Don't Care All That Much, and Love Sucks. Some people cycle through all three in their lifetime. I'm pretty much stuck in the latter two. That first one doesn't seem all that appealing.

Lovers of Love. People I like to call "idiots". They are characterized by excessively romantic ideas, no concept of reality, and often multiple partners. I have no patience for these people. When someone says, at 16, "I am just so in love. We're going to be together forever," I know that this person probably reads Twilight. And LIKES it. Love isn't all rainbows and butterflies and cupcakes. If it were, don't you think we'd all love just a little bit more? I know I would. Free cupcakes don't get turned down.

The Twilight series really does epitomize this view. A normal, albeit dangerously clumsy, girl ends up dating the most attractive boy at school. She doesn't seem to care that he's dangerously obsessive, or that he's extremely odd. After spending one day with him, and talking to him all of three times, she claims love. He does likewise. People who do this aren't real. How can you love someone you don't even KNOW? Alas. Oh, and when the boy leaves her for her own protection or something equally bull-shitty, she just curls up into a ball. This is TOTALLY healthy. All girls should do this when their boyfriends leave them. It shows that you were completely in love. NOT. It makes you look like a drug addict.

What really gets me is that they constantly compare their love to Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. As a girl who adores this book and reads it at least once a year, this is insulting. Heathcliff and Cathy have a really complex and dark love that is interesting because there is literally nothing else redeemable about them. Plus they have good characterization and aren't annoying.

People Who Believe in it, but Don't Care All That Much. These people are my favourite. Neither completely cynical or dewey-eyed, they have the most level head on their shoulders. I think of myself as one of these. While we don't go actively searching for love, we know it's out there. It'll come when it wants to. There's no use to dramatizing our feelings; they are what they are. If, per chance, they develop into love, then that's great. If they don't, it's not that disappointing.

Love Sucks. The polar opposite of the Lovers of Love. These people think love is to be scorned, and that anyone who claims to love is delusional. I feel almost bad for these people, but I'd never tell them because they might eat me. Heaven forbid they start to feel something -  they might explode.

I know I spent more time on the Lovers of Love, but they really are the more prominent group. Also, they're the group I don't understand in any way. So there's a bit more to make fun of. Personally I want to remain in the middle group. It's safest.

Your Face/Voice Makes Me Want to Kill Something. Preferably You.

Some people just get on my nerves. It could be that their face just makes my brain think, "I HATE YOU FOR NO DISCERNIBLE REASON," or it could be that their voice makes me think, "IF YOU KEEP TALKING I WILL STAB YOU IN THE FACE WITH SPORKS UNTIL YOU DIE." Whatever the reason, some people just shouldn't be around me for their own safety. After all, you can find a spork pretty much anywhere.

One boy in my chemistry class junior year was a prime example of the first reason for immediate, uncontrollable hatred and rage. It's not that he was ugly, or had a lazy eye, or anything distinctly hate-able about his face. But every time I looked at this kid's face, I wanted to a) scream, b) stab him in the face with sporks, c) look away and sneer condescendingly, or d) all of the above. His name was Brandon, but he got on my nerves so much that I decided to call him Beatrice. As a fairly insecure male, he felt emasculated by this, even though he should have been honored. Ten points to Slytherin.

Eventually, his personality proved to be just as irritating. Even though I said horrid things to him that probably shouldn't be said to anyone for fear of making them suicidal, he insisted on speaking to me. He also insisted on trying to hit on me. No matter how many times I told him that he was beneath my notice and I had no desire to date a girl, he KEPT. ON. ASKING.

Thankfully, the class ended and I never had to see him again. I've heard, though, that a variety of other people also call him Beatrice, and that when called such, he twitches. Perhaps I've given him a psychological disorder. That would make me feel really accomplished. Plus, after I finish this introductory psychology course, I'll be able to cure him.

The epitome of the second reason for homicidal tendencies can be found in Jennifer. She went to my high school, and GUESS WHAT? She's also in my introductory psych class. Every time she opens her mouth (which is approximately every .0000001 seconds), I get the urge to find a spork. Or a flame thrower. Or a rabid dog. Or all three. Possibly a hybrid.

In high school, she wasn't popular. At all. People would form a blockade in the hallway just to stop her from going to class, or trip her, or snicker meanly behind her back. I felt bad for her. No one deserves that, I thought. And then I met her. She wouldn't shut up.  With a voice like hers, all you want to do is pull your own ears off just to make it stop. Jennifer kind of sounds like a French person with a severe speech impediment and no knowledge of how loud she is or how much her voice makes people want to murder her. To make things just so much more fun, she's also one of those people who has to comment on EVERYTHING.

So the moral of the story: if you have a face that makes people hate you upon sight, or your voice makes baby birds and fairies die upon you opening your mouth, STAY AWAY FROM ME. I cannot be held responsible for what I do or say.

Lost. As Usual.

My sense of direction = a dying moose on crack. Which translated means: I wander around wondering what the hell is going on and how in the WORLD did I end up here. And this is in my own city/town/neighborhood. I've been this way for as long as I can remember.

And yet my parents insist on me NOT using a GPS. I have to learn how to find my way in COMPLETELY unfamiliar territory armed with only a set of MapQuest directions and my own brain. Needless to say, every single time, I get lost. Eventually I find my way home, but by that point I have tears and snot dripping down my face because I just KNOW that my car is going to break down and then I'll be eaten/raped/killed (in that order) by some psychopath in the woods. Even if there aren't woods nearby.

It's not like I'm asking for much. All I need is a GPS, so that when I get lost I can find an alternate route instead of trying to turn around and drive 5 bajillion miles trying to find my way back onto the road I'm supposed to be on. I wouldn't even use it that much, just when I'm trying to go somewhere that I've only been once. But no. Apparently I'm supposed to go to a place once, and just KNOW how to get there from then on out. Not possible. It took me a year to learn how to walk around my neighborhood.

That's true, too. It took me a YEAR. Granted, I was four and didn't know how to get my way out of a cardboard box, but STILL. I'd start walking around the block, decide it was taking too long so I must be lost, and then I'd sit down on the sidewalk and cry. Hours later my mother would drive up, with a "WTF is wrong with my child?" look on her face. Then we'd go home, and I'd forget it ever happened. Until the next time. And the next. And the next.

Once, I got a guy lost going to my house. I had babysat for him, and as he was about to drive me home, his wife said, "Here, take these directions." His response was, "No thanks, we'll be fine, Hattie knows the way."

I was far too nervous to tell him that I, in fact, did NOT know the way. If I did that, he might not pay me. Or worse, he'd laugh at me and let me get eaten/raped/killed by a psychopath in the woods. So I just bit my lip and nodded.

We headed out, and he knew the general direction to my house. We got to a road that I SHOULD have been able to get us home from. Alas, I couldn't. I ended up taking him to the middle school, because I thought I could find my way home from there. And I could. If I walked. So then we drove past the Portsmouth YMCA, which was the opposite direction of where we wanted to go.

Eventually we ended up in my neighborhood. Except that it was 11 at night by then, and I hadn't been in this part before, and I had no clue it was part of my neighborhood. So we called home. Imagine my mother's surprise at finding out just how mentally handicapped her daughter is when it comes to directions. You would have thought she'd have known after the going-around-the-block-or-lack-thereof fiasco.

I got home, though, and ever since I've not been allowed to live it down. Personally, I'm just hoping to become rich enough to have a chauffeur, that way I don't have to know the way, or even drive. Or at least I could use a husband with a great sense of direction and a love of driving me anywhere I want to go.

Masks Really Shouldn't be Allowed Near Children

I'm not scared of many things. In fact, I can really only think of one thing that truly terrifies me, and only one other thing that makes me nervous. Neither one shall be mentioned here, because I don't trust you people to be nice about it.

As a child however, I had a horrible, paralyzing fear of masks. Not just scary ones, either. Any mask could send me spiraling into a gibbering, wide-eyed black hole of terror. On Halloween, if I saw someone down the street in a mask, I would run into my house and hide under the table. I never dropped my candy, though, because even a four-year-old realizes that some things have priority over fear.

One boy I grew up with knew of my fear, and thought it was a hoot and a half. Jason would chase me around his house, wearing the scariest mask he could find. I never thought about turning around and punching him, but now I wish I had. He was very rude.

Perhaps the worst experience came the first Halloween after we moved to our new house. I was four. The mask fear still ran strong, and it took my mother thirty minutes to coax me out of the house. Finally we started doing the rounds, and I finally relaxed. Mayhaps the people in this neighborhood didn't let people walk around in masks! This truly made my night.

Of course all that joy was destroyed. On the end of the street sat a large-ish house, and the family there put on shows every Halloween. This time it happened to be Frankenstein. The wife played Dr. Frankenstein while her husband was the monster. At first the show didn't bother me. The monster remained under a white sheet, so for all I knew he was just a regular guy. I couldn't have been more wrong.

The monster emerged from the sheet. He had a green mask on. Slowly he trudged among the crowd, handing out candy to the other children. I quivered from terror, finally giving up all semblance of dignity and literally climbing up my mother to perch on her head. From there, I screamed. And screamed. And screamed. The man tried to calm me down by taking off his mask. It was the wrong thing to do.

Now, not only did he have a grotesque green face, but HE COULD REMOVE IT. Underneath he wore a human facade that I just KNEW meant that he was trying to take over the planet. For all I knew, everyone was part of this master race of face-removers. Only my mother was safe, and so I remained on her head. And kept screaming.

People had one of two reactions: laughter at the poor, deranged child, or sympathy. My mother had to walk home with me on her head, and when we got home I immediately scurried under the table. It took her two hours to get me out, and the next year I refused to go trick-or-treating. Good thing, too. I heard that year's show was something involving werewolves.

Now, I am quite fine with masks. They don't frighten me. Except those potato sack ones. Something about those just freaks me out. I don't know why. But when I watched The Strangers, I ended up under the table again. Potato sack masks are just unnatural.

UPDATE: This is a picture of Jason, that evil, evil boy who traumitized me.



I will get you back. One day, Jason, when you least expect it, I will leap onto your head and screech like a velociraptor. It does not matter that I haven't seen you in who-knows-how-long. It will happen. And when it does, you will be very, very sorry.

The Most Brilliant Ideas in the World

You know how you get these strange, amazing ideas that if you actually followed through with them you would make millions (probably billions in my case, but I'm not judging your *inferior* ideas)? My best friend/soul twin and I have quite a few. Some people (*cough* Mother, this means you) call us crazy. But honestly, these ideas are golden. You're going to want to steal them, but you can't because we came up with them first and now we have proof right here with this blog.

Idea Number One: an old folks' home! You're probably thinking, "But that's been done before!" And you're right. There are tons, possibly even dozens of retirement homes where people who have rotting organs can go. But none are like the Extreme Life Retirement Home.

You see, there are two separate parts to this home for the elderly. The first is normal - nurses, pre-chewed food, etc. The other is EXTREME! They have to build their own shelter, hunt down their own food, and live off the land. I'm sure you're wondering about these EXTREME old people's medicine. But no worries! They have to hunt down specific deer with special tags, and the medicine waits safely tucked inside the creature. It's ingenious, really. Costs are cut, and we're helping to keep them fit!

Idea Number Two (and perhaps the best): Stepping for Jesus. We shall start an exercise program for the devout. No more shall the old Baptist ladies in the Bible Belt be morbidly obese like in that episode of Wife Swap! And for those of other religions there will be similar videos including, but not limited to: Stepping for Muhammad, Stepping for Buddha, and Stepping for Lucifer. All of this shall be under the Stepping for Religion Enterprises.

Obviously Krystal and I will be gajillionaires by the time we're thirty. After all, we all know that there will always be horrible relatives willing to make poor, paraplegic Grandma hunt for her own dinner. And no one can deny that those people who claim to be "God warriors" or something similar will adore the idea of getting fit for their deity. What god wants a calorically challenged follower anyway? Not a god that wants to win a Religion War.

I'm sure we have more ideas that are just as good, if not better. At the moment, however, I cannot recall any others. No worries, though. As soon as I remember, or come up with more, there will be a part two.

Cougar

This is not a quaint little story about a mountain lion, or puma, or whatever the hell else you want to call the big cat stalking on mountains and other such terrain. So that must mean that we are going to be speaking of that horrid creation also known as a cradle-robber. You know what I'm talking about. Those women who are way past their prime and yet insist on going after men half their age. But this cougar is not your average cougar.

This cougar is a high school teacher. For a very long time, she taught at my school. Generations of students have been scarred by her. Also known as Ms. Williams, or Mrs. Jory, or perhaps any of the other last names from her various husbands, she goes out of her way to cause misery and strife for all who dare to enter her room.

Let us begin with how I met this woman. While I had had limited exposure to her due to my work on the literary magazine at our school, I didn't have a class with her until my junior year. Ms. Williams became the AP English Language and Composition teacher, the first one since anyone could remember the school opening. She'd never taught AP before, but she probably figured it would be pie.

We students had other plans. While she expected us to be diligent, intelligent, and basically perfect, we were nothing of the sort. Most of us were lazy, horrible procrastinators, and pretty much hated school. She didn't realize this until it was too late, and she couldn't renege on the position.

That first week, we all learned very quickly that while Ms. Williams liked to harp on about feminism, she was horribly sexist. Toward girls. The boys in her class received special treatment (at least at first). One boy, who pretty much copied one of my essays word for word, got a higher score than I did. He became her personal favourite, for which I pity him greatly. The only two girls in the class who got any sort of recognition were exactly the sort of students she expected the rest of us to be.

I clearly remember the only comment she wrote on my first essay in that class. "Ostentatious". Let's see. My paper was about King Arthur. In describing Mortimor, his scheming, horrid son, I used the term "filial perfidy". Apparently that was far too advanced for even Advanced Placement students, and I was told to "dumb down" my vocabulary. Right.

And yet. We haven't even gotten to her cougar-like tendancies. She absolutely adored touching the boys' shoulders, arms, and even faces. That poor boy who copied off me had to endure her caresses so much that I absolutely forgive him for being such an ass. Honestly, nothing terrified us more than the thought that she would come up behind us while we were writing and begin putting her long, clicky fingers on our backs.

Halfway through the year, we decided to do something about her. We became the most horrid students in the history of schooldom. Nothing was considered going too far. When she asked us what we thought of her (which she did fairly often, for whatever inane reason), we told her the truth. Or rather, one boy did for the rest of us. It came to the point where Ms. Williams was crying at least once a week.

Other students of hers from other classes voiced their concern that we were going too far. But they could afford mercy; they only had her for a semester. We had her for an entire year. So when Ms. Williams announced her retirement, we cheered. Loudly. Then our class clown brought a cardboard sword to class, and we took turns attacking each other. Thus ended the reign of the Cougar. Some say she it still teaching, but at another school. According to rumours, she isn't teaching English anymore. She's teaching French. I guess we ruined her.

The Real College Dilemma

Facebook, you have upset me. What with your decision to show me posts of people talking about college, and how excited they are, and OH LOOK, I DON'T LIVE AT HOME ANYMORE comments. It's very rude. As we all know that I'm not getting to leave home, nor am I excited.

Community college does not feel like college. True, I haven't gone to my first class yet (that's tomorrow). But staying at home and going to class in the morning isn't very much the same in my mind as going off to a real campus, living with strangers, and going to class at varying times of the day. I'll still have to do chores, and listen to my parents comment on my decisions. All in all, not very college-like.

And yet. There is still the fact that, should I get some scholarship money, next year I will transfer to a big-kid college. I will get to pack my bags and make my mother cry because her baby is leaving. It will be wonderful and fulfilling, and no longer will I have to listen to, "You need to do this and this and this."

So I will put forth a valiant effort in community college. I will be the best in the class (though hopefully without studying much). And maybe, just maybe, I'll be proven wrong. Perhaps my arrogance regarding this part of my life will be totally unfounded.

Psh. As if.