Saturday, December 29, 2012

800 page views

I figure that constitutes a good enough reason to blog a bit.

So...I'm currently wrestling with several emotions, and very few of them are positive.  I may have mentioned something about it earlier, but I don't remember what gets posted and what doesn't.

Regardless, business as usual in my neck of the woods.

I think I've scared my parents recently.  I tend to have a very self deprecating sense of humor.  This can sometimes come off as being really down on myself, because I forget to add in the awkward laughter that makes it all okay.  I'm worried that they're worried, which makes me more worried because they might catch on to my worry and worry more, which will just exacerbate my worry.  It's one big ol' worry-spiral that doesn't really end.

But I'm really okay.  Nothing's all that different.  I'm just not...This is going to be a little harsh, but know I don't...I'm not...

Ugh, DISCLAIMER: I'm not nice, I'm shallow, and I have a horrible sense of humor. Please bear this in mind when reading the rest of my blog, ever.

I have a type.  Unfortunately, it's a type that never really leads to anything but me sitting in my room alone, wondering if the kind of guy I'm attracted to will ever be attracted to me back.

It hasn't worked out so well so far.

Oddly enough, I've never gone out with the kind of guy I'm most attracted to.  Okay, I haven't gone out with the kind of guy I'm most attracted to with him knowing it was a date as well.  He thinks we were just hanging out as friends, and honestly, so do I, but to avoid further embarrassment in front of my family, I never deny that it was a date when they say it was.

And everyone else, well...I'll be honest again (Because I lie on here? that phrase doesn't make much sense), I'm just not attracted to them.  I try, I do.  I just can't make myself like someone physically who doesn't already spark a little "yoo-hoo" attraction button already.  That was the technical term, by the way.

I can learn to accept someone's personality, I can be moderately attracted to their mind, but to put it simply, if the physical side isn't there, it's not going anywhere.

And I feel bad about that, because I don't like being that way.  It makes me feel shallow and unappreciative, and like a heel, and a lot of other things that aren't exactly nice feelings.

But it's who I am, it's who I've always been.  I tried to like Beast.  But I'm not Belle.  I'm not Ariel, either.  I'm not Jasmine, I'm not Aurora, I'm not Snow White, I'm not Cinderella.  I end up falling overnight, and being broken two days later, by my own self-doubt and checking.

I'm human.  There has yet to be a fictional character written that is like I am.  I constantly am watching my thoughts, and if I find myself getting too day-dreamy, I cut it off and cauterize the wound with a "it's not going to happen, you know this.  Get over it, move on."

And I do.

And I'm still a romantic.  I still want that "can't-eat, can't-sleep, reach-for-the-stars, over-the-fence, World Series kind of stuff" feeling.  I still want to be taken in by a pair of fine eyes and sharp wit.  I want someone who can dance beneath the silver moon sparkling.  I want these things.

But I deny myself at every turn because there is no way, NO WAY, anyone who can give me those things will ever be attracted to me.

And I do wonder if I'm just so unattractive, that all I can get are guys with low standards on beauty because they themselves have low-self-esteem.  I've been told I'm not standardly pretty.  It was meant as a compliment, but you don't even mention that to a girl, because you know what it does to her?  It just shoots her straight down.

She'll never be enough.  She'll never be pretty enough, or smart enough, or funny enough or any of that, because you have just told her she doesn't measure up to the ruler she's been striving to measure up to her whole life.

Even if she knows better.  Lie.  Tell her she is more beautiful than that.  Don't tell her she's not society's definition of pretty.  Because she might look up to society's definition of pretty.

Don't tell her she's odd, quirky or awkward, no matter how much she tells you she is.  Because she doesn't want to know that (unless she's PROUD of it, beyond a shadow of a doubt, and even then, don't tell her she's not normal.  Say she's interesting).  It might be her way of covering up her self-consciousness of it.  DON'T YOU DARE TAKE THAT AWAY FROM HER.

It's her safety.  Her security blanket.  She keeps it wrapped tightly around her so no one can see how unhappy she is with herself.

The only way you can even begin to unwrap her from it is to reassure her that she is beautiful, but you have to tell her explicitly.  (oh good, now I can never show a potential boyfriend this blog, or I'll forever distrust his words...and that might happen anyway, crap).  You have to use your descriptors.  I know it's hard, it's something I myself struggle with.

BUT YOU HAVE TO.  Her self-confidence depends on it.

I've been knocked down a lot.  I was never enough.  I was never pretty enough, or old enough, or young enough, or funny enough, or smart enough, or clever enough, or handy enough, or strong enough for anyone.

My family keeps me around because they've been there and they're the only ones who know how pretty, old/young, funny, smart, clever, handy, and strong I really am.  But no one else does, and it seems like if I don't have the right wrapping, no one else ever will.

And that's what makes me sad.

I put on make up occasionally.  And I do feel quite pretty in it (on good days, but it has to be a good day).  I like wearing make up, I do.

What I dislike is the immediate change in my family's (and everyone else's) behavior towards me when I wear it.

Suddenly I'm being told I'm pretty three times as much as when I don't.  I'm being noticed by people twice as often as usual.  People who normally wouldn't even give me a first glance suddenly look twice.

Why does there have to be a change?  What's the deal?  I admit, I do look quite pretty in makeup, I said that already.  But just because I'm wearing make up does not mean that Mom and Dad have to tell me three times more than usual that I am.

That's not why I put it on.

I put it on so I could feel better about myself.  Being told more often that I'm pretty with it on just makes me feel worse when I don't wear it.

It emphasizes the thoughts in my head that go "you're not pretty enough, you've got weird spots everywhere, your eyes are too dark, you need more sleep, you're so shallow you need make up to feel better about yourself".  Those aren't the thoughts I really want to be listening to.

What about if I don't wear make up?  Can't I be told equally as often that I'm pretty then, too?  Or perhaps it would be easier to just cut back on the compliments when I am wearing make up.  Seriously. My sister wears make up very often, and when she doesn't no one notices, and when she puts it back on, no one suddenly starts over-praising her for it.

Why me?

Am I really that unattractive?

I don't think so, but maybe I am.

And it sucks worse because right now the only reason I even am thinking of considering a relationship at this point in time is for physical validation. Which I wouldn't get because I wouldn't want to trade in my v-card until after the wedding day, and honestly I doubt that's going to happen with a boyfriend who came from insecurity.

Which is why I still am single.  And I do enjoy it, don't worry about that.  I'm not currently able to keep track of myself, let alone a whole extra person.  I have a hard enough time scheduling in my family and the few friends I have.  Being in a relationship would just make that a whole lot more complicated.

Sneaky hate spiral, I believe I have found your romantic equivalent.  When I think up a name, I'll let you know.

Until Next Time, Dear Readers,

Friday, December 21, 2012

Good Girl Posts

And other things that will not be happening tonight.

I found a pick up line that just doesn't  It's not even necessarily a pickup line, unless the man in question has a blue box to back it up.

Maybe it's not a pickup line...but regardless, my mind went interesting places when I read it.

"It's bigger on the inside."




Do you see what I mean?

It just doesn't...sound right.  Unless there is a blue box to back it up.  You know what I'm saying.  Because honestly, you can't use that sentence in any other context.

You just can't.

In other news, I'm gorgeous for the next ten to fifteen minutes or so.  I have work tomorrow, have all my wrapping done except for the presents I needed to have actually made and all of my Christmas cards which still need to get done.  But I can maybe crank the cards and at least one of the things I needed to make out in the next couple of days, and hopefully the rest won't take too much longer...But I highly doubt my productivity is going to go up just because the world didn't end today.

Oh yeah, happy beginning of the rest of your life.  Since we have one and all.  Stupid world not ending.

I was extremely conflicted over the whole thing, in the end.  I felt like it was going to happen, wanted it to happen so I would be right, wanted it to happen so I wouldn't have to continue dealing with the rest of the world and all the crazies/idiots therein, and then I kind of...didn't.  I suppose self-preservation kicked in at the last minute and was like "HEY WAIT, we don't actually want to die.  We're quite happy being alive, thanks very much."

Fat load of good it does me.  Now I have to go to work tomorrow.  Ugh.

I still love my job, it's that whole "waking up in the morning" thing that I'm not exactly fond of.  Scratch that, I do enjoy waking up, I do not enjoy being awoken three hours before the sun comes up over the mountains.  That is decidedly Not Fun.

At least I have good music to start my day, and cash in my pocket book so I can grab an energy drink before work, so I can make it til lunch time, where I can get a soda so I can make it until I go and get coffee so I can make it until dinner, which will likely be Subway and a diet coke, because I'll be in that area anyway.  And that's my tomorrow.

What's yours look like?

Don't tell me, if I really wanted to know, I wouldn't ask in a blog post.

At least I don't have to work on Christmas this year.

Until Next Time, Dear Readers.

Thursday, December 20, 2012

If I were but a king, say I
I'd need no other thing.
Riches, and wealth, and friends I'd have
But maybe that'd make me a chav.

If I were but a lady, say I
I could be in regency time
At balls I would laugh and play and sing
And Mr. Darcy would woo me

But I'm not.

If I were but braver, say I
I could be a lion or explorer
But the lion, he was a coward
And the explorer he died

I don't really want that, do I?

If I were but myself, say I
I would speak my mind
Without fear of reprobation
Or chastising

If I were but myself, say I
I could rule the world.
I would have bravery aplenty
And I would be a lady

Perhaps even a king.

But I'm not.

And I hide, and I smile and I say everything is fine.
But in actuality I am scared
I am frightened
And I am not well


In other words, I'm afraid I'm crazy again, got chicken and didn't say something when I probably ought, my heart is pounding over something I was scared to do, and decided not to and it won't stop, I'm nervous, I feel like crying again (shit, why won't that just fucking stop already?  I'm sick of crying.  It feels like all I did yesterday), all because I'm nervous over something I've already decided not to do because it made me feel nervous.

WTF brain?!?!  I hate you.

Oh and the crazy thing is unrelated to all that other stuff.  I just generally feel like that.  Because I probably am.  If I'm not, the rest of the world is, and I'm not sure I can handle that many crazy people, so we're going to assume it's me until further notice.

It's bad when you actually can relate to the crazies.  Which I think I've started to do.  I'm legit concerned about my sanity.  Luckily, due to my general fear of most everything, I know I won't do shit about it.


Sometimes I wish someone else could hear my thoughts and tell me everything is okay, and that I'm not crazy.

Or maybe if I could read other people's and justify that I'm not crazy because I doubt I'd believe someone else telling me.  I'd probably just think they were trying to make me feel better.

Christ, I'm delusional.   This must be because of that proposal/engagement dream I had about one of my "ex"s last night.

No.  Not the guy I wrote the letter to.  The other one.  DM.  Douche-bag to the Max.  Him.  Yeah.

Fuckin' I don't even know what.

I'm not allowed to watch Labyrinth before bed anymore.

Gives me crazy dreams about gorgeous rings i will never have because i'll never actually wear them.

It was amazing.  I wish my brain could take video of my dreams so I could show you, because holy crap.  I'd almost actually have worn the thing IRL.

Freakin' dragon with a heart-shaped diamond.  It was even cooler than that description, and you'll never know how cool, because that's a pretty cool statement, right there, and you'll never see the ring, so, eh.

Sux to be you.

(Gosh, y'all are gettin' spoilt with this daily update shit I'm doin' here recently.  Best not get used to it.  I'm sure it's heralding a very long silence.)

Until Next Time, Dear Readers

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Anna and the King

Just finished watching the two-or three hour epic.  Cried like 7 times.  Y U MAKE ME SAD, ANNA AND KING?!

God, there were just tears everywhere.  Could not get away from it.  Seriously.

Totally shipped the prince and Louis together, though.  Meant to be, for always.

Going to watch the Labyrinth to make me less sad next.

Also, spent, like, three hours today dressed in my best version of period costume.  Which was essentially this button down I never wear but I love, the skirt to my medieval costume, and my hair tied back real tight, a la 1800something a.d.

Was freakin' beautiful for all three of those hours. Spent it eating chips and cookie dough and reading TheOtherJaneAusten tumblr.  Seriously, why did they lose the 'e'?  Makes my life hell when I want to write the damn word.

Still not done with it, either.  Started it yesterday around 3 or 4 in the afternoon (Told facebook 4 to make me seem less crazy.  It was totally closer to 3) and was up until quarter-two reading it.  Spent three+ hours on there today, STILL haven't reached the end, and I'll have to start over at the beginning when I do finally finish, because I know for a fact they've added more, without looking at the front page (because sometimes I'm rereading posts).

Ugh, okay.  Going to watch Labyrinth now.  David Bowie in tight trousers.  Mmf.  Yes.

Okay, ttyl guys.
(Sorry, this was too long for Facebook, but I wanted to SHARE with the world, so you guys get it. Bahahahahahahaha And later I will RULE THE UNIVERSE)
Until Next time, Dear Readers,

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Wow I'm being quite prolific

This is a letter.  It can be to whomever you want it to be to, but it's probably not to you.

In other words, I'm too chicken-shit to speak my mind, so it's going here.

My dear friend,

We've lost touch.  Years have gone by, and it seems like lifetimes since I've seen you last.

I missed you.  I missed you like a raincloud misses rain.  I gave you up and you just fell away.  But funny thing about rainclouds, is that they always form again.  It's like that song I learned in first grade, to the tune of some classical song attributed to a composer I've lost the name of over time.

Precipitation, Evaporation, Condensation, and the cycle begins again.  (okay, so it starts with Evaporation, but we'll ignore that particular.  This is about a metaphor.  Or a simile.  I'm not entirely sure anymore).

I'm not saying I want what we had before.  That's a horrible idea, why did you even suggest it? (I'm not mad, nor am I saying you really did suggest it).  It also is impossible.  We're too different from who we were to be that way again.

And perhaps it's not you who I miss (though it seemed that way this evening).  Perhaps it's who you were and I hate that thought.  Because I like to believe that our core doesn't change, we are shaped by our experiences, yes, but the very base of our being is what calls out to others.  And I'd like to think that ours call out to each other.

Not, perhaps, romantically.  It was always a thought in the back of my mind, and certainly there were times I thought it could be.  But we were great friends.  We shared a lot between ourselves.  We were two beings on the edge of the precipice of the end of the beginning of the rest of our lives.

And I let you go.  I let you go to save myself, because I was too fond of you, and you let me leave you behind, because of reasons I'll probably never know.

But tonight, oh! tonight.  I saw you across the room and knew it was you, even without being told (though I was informed, but mostly so I would look in the correct direction).  And I was frightened.  I was nervous.  My knees shook and I blamed it on my shoes, but really, it was you.

And you hugged me.

Can I tell you a secret?  One that isn't really a secret at all?  I'm not used to physical contact.  Oh, I like it, I crave it sometimes, even.  But it's not something I learned to ask for, and it was never frequently freely given.  It still shocks me when people touch me, just casually, on the shoulder, or arm.

And you hugged me.  Not once, but at least twice (I think I'm starting to count one as more than one, but, hey, it happens).  And even though today I was particularly popular as far as friendly-people who tap my shoulder or guide me with a hand on my upper back, or even my new friend at work who hugged me (three times!) go, it still surprised me.

And I think you should know that I missed the hell out of you.  I missed you so much.  I missed the casualness of our relationship.  Of our friendship.  Of our companionship.  You are two-thirds my t'hyla, and I know you probably won't get that reference, but you are my friend and my brother.

And I miss you.

The Georgiana to my Darcy was there, and witnessed the hug.  And she probably saw more than was actually there, just like I felt more than was probably there, but the way she described how you hugged me back, it was like you were just as eager to have me be right there as I am to be right there.

This isn't even trying to be subtle anymore.  Writing any more obviously and I'd have names, dates, places, and a check-in on facebook or foursquare logged in here.

Maybe I need to go to bed.  It's been a long, wonderful day.

And I'm glad I looked pretty, not just for you (though, I'll admit, it certainly helped me feel a little more confident), but because it did make me feel better, for once.  I didn't feel like I had makeup caked on, I felt like I was myself.

I felt pretty, and they say that's the first step.  And I'm glad you got to see it.  Because I have grown, just like you have.

And while I miss you, I'm still scared.  I'm still me, and I'm still probably not going to make the first move.

And I hope, I hope hope hope beyond hope, that we can be friends.  That we can be as close as we were, as the different (but still the same) people we are now.

And I hope you missed me too.



Aaaand, that's a lot of soul to expose.  Wow.  Okay, wasn't expecting all of that.  But hey!  Still in a good mood, don't feel like shit, and he'll probably never read this anyway!  Yay!  Good day all around, no?

Until next time, Dear Readers,

Thursday, December 13, 2012

Pride and Prejudice and Papers

Oh, dear readers, I am quite exhausted.

Indeed, I have just finished writing a paper on the book in title.  And turned it in a half hour before the day it was due.  Considering I lost about two-and-a-half hours this evening to a work Christmas party, and I started writing it directly after quitting said party and arriving at home, I find it quite rewarding, and I am very happy with it.

Admittedly I stopped caring about the content about half-way through.

I know I oughtn't, but I am severely displeased with how this class has been handled this semester.  I thought I could stick it out, thus missing the drop-with-refund and drop-without-failing dates.  I don't care, however, as even with a D I will still graduate in the spring, and if I fail the class this semester, I can take it again next semester and hopefully it will not need to be held online.  Which was a stupid decision in the first place.

But it did give me a chance to finally read the book that originated a story I knew practically by heart in the first place.  It's a really good book, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.  I actually like it much better than I thought I would, (though that seems mildly unsurprising now that I think on it, as the books are always much better than the movie adaptations, no matter how sexy the man they get to play Mr. Darcy happens to be.)

I did learn some things from reading the book as opposed to watching the movies or television adaptations.  As most girls who read the book or know the story, I fancied myself something of an Elizabeth Bennet, or at the very least, a Jane Bennet for years.  Years, I say.  However, upon reading the book, I find that my character, and indeed my mannerisms (excepting those that come only with fine breeding in the 1800s) to be more like those of a certain Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.  Which is his first name, if you didn't know.  Seriously, how awesome is that?  Fitzwilliam.  Fitzwilliam, Fitzwilliam, Fitzwilliam, it's not even a word.  It seriously only means that it's the son of William.  Which I'm assuming Mr. Darcy Sr.'s name was.  Son of William.  That's it.  Fitzwilliam.  But yes, it may not come as a surprise to some of you, especially if you are familiar with the minutiae of the book itself, but my personality is much more that of Mr. Darcy than of any of the other characters therein.

So one day I will meet a spirited young man, with fine eyes, who will challenge me and think me proud and aloof, and will hate me, and I will ask him to marry me, and he will think me ungentlemanly (womanly?  I suppose that would be more fitting), and send me on my way, and I shall impart to him in a letter of all that I have been accused of and how it actually went, and then he will gradually fall in love with me, but we won't see each other for a whole year, until I run into him on my grand and sprawling property while he's taking a tour thinking I'm not going to be back for another night, and it'll be super awkward, but I'll introduce him to my sister, and he'll think she's lovely, but he'll like me more, and then awkwardness will resume, but then his younger sister will run off with an Officer in the Militia, who I am well acquainted with, and I will go after them and force them to marry and settle all of their debts, and he will fall for me even more and I will still love him of course, and then in the end, my Aunt will have a major objection to his connections, but I'll still ask him again to marry me, and he'll accept this time, and we'll live happily ever after (well, okay,we'll probably get into verbal spars because we're clever and such, and he's spirited, and I liven up when I'm comfortable, and you can't not be comfortable when you're in love.  Pride and Prejudice taught me that) in my huge estate in Derbyshire.

Or I'll move to Seattle and work in a bar and have seven cats and write romance novels, etc.  That could work too.

I am so glad to be done with that paper.  Not because I don't want to write anymore (obviously that isn't the case, as I just recapped the whole of Pride and Prejudice but with me starring as Mr. Darcy), but because I just want to be done with this stupid class.

I won't be taking the final test until Monday, not just so I can study, but also because ain't no WAY I'm taking it tomorrow.  It's open all next week, and I'll probably get out of work early on Monday anyway (and even if I don't, who cares?)  and I'll come home and change and go back out and take the test and treat myself to probably Taco Bell because, damn, their volcano menu is delicious.  Seriously.  It's ridiculously good.  Horrible for your internal plumbing, I'm sure, and certainly not recommended if you're sensitive to spicy (it's spicy. And I'm one of those people who likes spicy.  It's SPICY), but soooooooo good.

Anyway, I need to stop writing now.

Until Next Time, Dear Readers,

Monday, December 10, 2012

Review: Home Made Pore Strips

Okay, so if you ever took a look at my youtube history, you'd know I have this crazy obsession with pore strips and pimple popping (yes, that part of youtube).

So when I found this particular how-to on Pintrest, I have to admit I was intrigued.  Pore strips have never quite worked out the way I wanted them to.  I'm not sure if it's just that I'm not seeing it in 100000000000000000000000000x magnification or if I just don't have that dirty of pores (I feel like I do though, so I thought they ought to work better), or if maybe, just maybe I've been doing it wrong.  However, as a poor college student who doesn't drink her milk (probably why I never quite reached the 5'4" mark...) buying milk for the use of approximately 2tbs was kind of pointless and also a waste of money.  And plus, what would I do with the leftover gelatin?

Well, I went grocery shopping today.  Guess what I broke down and bought?  Yeahhh, of my few impulse buys for the year, this was one of them.

So I tried it out.  I'm horribly messy and my aunt is coming by tomorrow to help me clean my room, but in the mean time, I dug out one of my used hamburger helper microwave bowl things (you know what I'm talking about) and washed it out to use as the disposable container, since I figured she used it for a reason, probably that gelatin is a bitch to clean out of things you want to use.  I also didn't have a plastic spoon, so I'm really hoping the cleaning I did on the one I used will do, otherwise I'll just be having gelatin on all of my food I eat with that particular spoon for the rest of forever.  Or I'll have to break down and use the dishwasher.

So I mix it up, and I added too much milk the first time.  NBD, just add more gelatin.  Too much gelatin.  Just a touch more milk. Perfect!  Then to the microwave for 10 seconds.

And she means ten.  Any longer and I might have had boiling milk-jello-mixture instead of luke-warm milk-jello-mixture.  And apply directly to your face.  Apply directly to your face.

Apply directly to your face.  I did it.  I used my fingers since I wasn't sure the spoon was actually going to spread it around.

I can't move my face right now, but it also hasn't been 15 minutes.  Okay, I can move it a little bit, but not much.  I'll wait a little while longer, until the urge to peel it off becomes too great for my OCD.

Until then you're going to get the live review.

It smells weird.  I guess it smells like milk and unflavored gelatin.  But it smells weird.  Not sure if I like it.  Feels gross going on, too.  Like you're spreading sandy boogers on your face.  Not terribly pleasant.

Feels like I've got a mask on (oh wait, haha, I do) I really want to move my face because I can't.  It's terribly inconvenient.

I think a smell should be one of the first things you say about a product, no matter what the product is.  It's terribly important and can change a person's life and/or perception of the product.  Like this stuff, smells like icky.  Not a particular icky, but just an icky.  Like sour milk, or the milk jug if you didn't rinse it out before you put it in the recycling.  So sour milk and plastic.  But maybe not so strong?  It's more like the occasional whiff of it.

It doesn't go on clear either.  It's not like, opaque, but it's certainly not transparent.  It dries clearer, though.  And feels really heavy.  I didn't even put that much on I didn't think.  Maybe I did...uh oh.  My whole face is going to come off...I didn't even think about that!

Well, if you see me next without a layer of skin, just call me two-face.  (NOTE: FOR YOUR SAFETY, DO NOT CALL ME TWO-FACE WHEN YOU SEE ME NEXT)

I may have also put some a little too close to my eye skin.  It feels weird under my eye when I blink.

Has it been 15 minutes yet?  Maybe that's why none of the pore-things work out for me.  I'm too impatient. All I really want is to see the results, but in order to get the results, you have to wait...

I could solve this.  I could watch pore-strip videos and wait until this is all dried...that could work.

Okay the 15 minutes HAS to be up by now...I can't move my face hardly at all...I'm gonna go peel this baby off.  See you in a bit.

So, half an hour later, most of my facial hair removed (including what I'm sure is about half an eyebrow betwixt the twain), and looking like a crazed burn unit patient, I realize I should probably remember next time I decide to put something sticky on my face that I'm actually part Italian Wookie, and that it's a bad idea if I haven't shaved first.

I've tried rewetting down what's still on my face, so I can attempt to get the rest off later.


I'm sure this works really well for normal girls who are not part Wookie and/or Mountain Man.  I have come to the conclusion that I don't actually have blackheads, I just have pores that get filled with dirt from time to time, but that doesn't actually come out.  As I should have learned with just about everything else I've tried.

Seriously, though, Don't do this if you have more than average hair on your face where you're applying this stuff.  I lost my muttonchops for this review.  You're welcome.

In any case, I always say don't take anyone else's word for it unless they're a doctor with certified medical degrees.  Or a nurse.  Always listen to the nurse, unless you've been a pain in the ass up until that point, in which case, listen to her anyway, but know that it's probably a punishment and not actually a treatment.

Oh my GOSH this hurts so bad.

Until Next Time, Dear Readers.

Saturday, December 8, 2012

A New Freckle

I found a freckle on my hand this morning at work.  It's new, I've never seen it before today, and considering it's in a very visible spot on my left hand, you'd think I'd have noticed it.   I'm also assuming it's a freckle.  I have no proof that it is, however I do know that it's not a bug -- it didn't move at all today -- and it's not a scab -- I tried picking it off, it's stayed.  It also hasn't faded, so it's probably not ink.

So I guess we really don't know the backs of our hands all that well.

I've been really angry and upset recently, over pretty much nothing.  I'm thinking it's those damn communists coming into the funhouse, but it might just be shark week.  Either way, I've not been terribly friendly, and I'd like to send out an apology to those who have been on the blunt end of it.

That being said, some of the things I've been upset about have had some firm basis in reality.  A lot of it has to do with some misinterpretation about my last post.

A lot of the time, when I update in a rage or in a seriously bad mood, it just means that I bottled it up a little too long.  Usually it doesn't get like that.  That's why a lot of the time you'll get three really angry posts several months apart.  Or something like that.

It's the end of the semester, and I'm stressed about a lot of things I can't change at this point in time.  Since I cannot change these things, I don't see the point in complaining about them, hence the bottling factor.  When the last nail hits the straw on the camel's coffin, you guys get a rage-post.  Once it's out, I'm done with it.  It's gone.  I don't like thinking about it anymore because I. Do. Not. Like. To. Be. Angry.

I doubt anyone likes being angry.  So why bring up the angry feelings in someone else?  I know misery loves company but when you're talking to me, my guilt complex will take care of that when you start telling me about your problems, because in comparison, mine = not that big of a deal.  So I'll feel bad that I feel bad about little things when you have bigger things to feel bad about but you really don't need to bring up the bad things I feel about myself.  I do that well enough on my own, thank you very much.

No help needed.

I know a lot of it is unintentional or at the very worst, well-intentioned.  I get that.  I'm a pretty smart girl, actually.  Assume I know what's going on before you assume I don't.  I know there's a stereotype against blondes, but really now, this is the internet.  Can't I pretend that I'm not blonde when you guys can't see me?

That's the whole reason I stay on the internet.  I can literally be anyone I want.  I can be myself so I can be the intelligent, literate, coherent, hilarious, mildly socially awkward-but-still-adorable person I pretend I am when I'm by myself.  I don't like being around people because I can't be that person when I'm with others.  There's something in my brain that just flick off, like a switch, and I lose all ability to hold an intelligent conversation.  Probably because in real life you don't get second takes or a delete button.

But I'm really okay.  I really am.  I don't bullshit on here.  I really don't.  I get angry and upset and I write what I feel in the moment, but on the whole, I'm okay.  I've come to terms with lots of things about myself that most people would try to disagree with, but you don't know me.  You don't know my life.  You don't know the shit I've been through (what little of it there is.  I'm trying to make a joke based off of a particular internet meme.  Am I succeeding?  No, probably not.  EPIC FAIL).  I know me.  The only person who knows me better than me is God.

I also get annoyed when people encroach on what I deem is my personal space, even if it is over the internet.  I've had bad experiences with people stealing my shit online (like, creative shit, poems and whatnot).  So if you've taken something I've done, style wise, and you know who you are (and I know who you are too) if you have, please stop.  Just...just stop.  I know it's edgy and cool looking or sounding or whatever, but it's fuckin' mine.  I haven't had much that's just mine in my life, please don't take things I came up with by myself. If you're unsure, ASK.  just fuckin' ASK.  Or AXE if you're from far enough south.  Whatever.  Don't kill me, though, bro.


I'm mostly convinced the world will end on the 21st (I'm assuming Mayan time, because, well, duh.  They wouldn't write a calendar for anywhere else, would they?  They don't know the stars anywhere else).  And it's gotten to the point that I'm more scared of the world not ending.

Now, this isn't to say I'm scared because of changes in my life or whatever coming up.  I've actually got more things under control than I ever have in my entire life.  It's been really empowering.

But I'm scared that the world won't end on the 21st (or the equivalent thereof.  A certain R.E.M. song comes to mind).  I'm scared that it will stay the same and we'll all just stay at this point of social, financial, and societal stagnation (yes, social and societal are different, in my world.  Social means our interactions, societal means where we're going with our society as a whole).

There are a few hopes for me in the inevitable non-end of the world (because if I believe something's going to happen, something will stop it from happening.  Probably The Doctor, but we'll never know).  One contains my plans for the future, which I will continue to keep a secret from those not directly involved.  So no, if you're reading this right now, you probably will not know until plans are finalized, so if the world ends, you don't even really need to care.

The second is the ASMR community on youtube.  They convince me that there are genuinely nice, caring, gentle people out in the world (small though their numbers might be).

(If you don't know what ASMR is, that's okay, because you probably don't have it anyway.  You can google it.  I'm not doing that for you.  You're already on some sort of electronic device.  Hell, you can Bing that shit.  You have the internet at your fingertips, don't make me do the work for you, lazy 1st world people)

I'm sure there's more, but those were the two I'm most focused on right now.

But seriously guys, if the world doesn't end on Dec. 21, 2012 I'm assuming CST, because I'm too lazy to check which time zone the Mayans might have been in.  I'm writing, I can afford to be a lazy 1st world person, I'll be shocked as hell.  And I do mean as we know it, just fyi.  But that could be a whole hell of a difference.

Until next time (unless the world ends and  I don't update before then)

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Antisocial with a dash of Awkward...

Do you know that feeling where you just need to cry?  It's not like you really have anything good to cry about, but you have that feeling in the back of your throat anyway, and you can feel it coming on, and you can stop it, but it's still there, waiting to strike?

Been feeling like that all day.

It's only gotten worse as the day has progressed.  So far no tears, but I don't imagine that will last much longer.

This may come as a shock to some of you (I don't know, if you've read everything I've ever written, probably not), but I'm not very good at the whole "people" thing.  I can fake it like nobody's business, for a while.  But after that...I just...can't anymore.

I don't know how to control it so that I can when I need to, either.

I don't make friends.  I make very close acquaintances.  If you've been led to believe I thought of us as closer than "yeah, we've hung out a bunch, and we seem to know each other really well, but there's still lots about her I don't know," I apologize.  It's just...not possible, I think.

There are very few people in the world who I am close enough to that I consider them my friends.  A good 3/4 of them are my immediate family.  That fourth one, I'm not even entirely sure about some days.

And most of it is on my part.  Ok, so other people consider me their friend, that's fine.  They probably are not working under the same criteria as I am (or they are, but they aren't as demanding...I'm a little high maintenance when it comes to interpersonal relationships, ranging anywhere from distant acquaintance "I met her at a party once I think" to family "She's my sister/daughter/granddaughter/niece/etc, of course I love her!")

I'm ridiculously insecure.  I'm not even entirely sure where it comes from.  It's something I've had as long as I can remember, since I was really young.  Not just about my physical appearance.  I never wanted to look like I wanted too much, or that I was really needy, or clingy, or anything like that.  I never asked for things I wanted.  I stopped cuddling with my family because I think someone somewhere along the line complained about me being heavy once, and I thought maybe it meant they didn't want to cuddle with me anymore.  So I just stopped.  If I ever had a crush on a guy, you couldn't tell because I made sure not to show it.  It was fleeting glances at him while he wasn't looking that never lasted longer than a couple of seconds, maybe.  I would go out of my way not to touch him or sit next to him -- which I later learned is the EXACT OPPOSITE of what most people do when they like someone.  I tried my best to not let them know.  Okay, so my walks to the water fountain to get a drink while he was in that general area increased, but it wasn't like I spoke to him or anything.

And I was somehow surprised that none of the guys I liked ever liked me back.

I haven't felt that way about anyone in a very long time.  I tried, trust me.  I tried really hard...but I just...I don't know.  I guess it disappeared

(Great, NOW I start crying...)

And I'm so fucking terrified of making people upset.  I can't even blame it on something happening in my past.  You know the worst thing that happened when I made my parents mad when I was little?  They got mad.  They yelled.  I was put into time out.  Probably they threatened to take away my toys.  Maybe they did.  Other than that, nothing happened.  There was very little consequence for making people unhappy when I was a child.


But I am.  I am.  And it's so frustrating, because whenever I stick my neck out for myself, I scrunch it back up with apologies and fear.  Because I don't want other people mad at me for having an opinion.

I don't want to disappoint them when my opinion is different than theirs.  Why does it even FUCKING matter?

I don't know!!!

And it would all be so much easier if I could just ignore the rest of the world and they could go back to ignoring me.  But I have to work.  I have to finish school so I can work some more so I can have money to be able to hide from the world, and there's less free time and more stress and I'm not handling it at all.

And I don't want to grow up, but I don't want to be a kid again.  And it's so fucking hard, and I don't have the balls to tell anyone what I want, because what if they think badly of me?  Maybe they'll think I'm greedy.  Maybe they'll think I'm avoiding them.  Maybe maybe maybe


I'm so sick of this.  I'm sick of everything.  I don't want to be like this.  I DON'T WANT TO CARE WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK OF ME.


It's this stupid vicious cycle that I can't escape from.  I care because I want people to like me, but the only way people like me is when I'm something I'm not, which I've learned how to be very well, but it's not fun to keep up with, so I end up not wanting to hang out with people and they still try and hang out with me, and then I get annoyed, which just pushes them farther away, and then I worry that they don't like me.

And I'm so tired of it.  I'm just so tired.

Of everything.

And whenever people do want to hang out with me, it's only ever because they want something, which has totally bashed my already insignificant self-esteem down to a pulp.  Everyone only wants something for themselves.  It's a fact of life.  I'm guilty of it, but it's not the only reason I hang out with people.  And I'm never going to believe that people want to hang out with me for me ever, because it's always to serve another purpose.  It'll get me to do something for them later (even though I probably would have done it anyway).  It'll make me like them more.  It'll do something to benefit them more than it benefits me.  And I'll just go along with it, la-dee-dah, because that's who I am.  I can't...I can't change that, no matter how much it ends up hurting me in the end... always has been, it always will be.  And when I've served my purpose, well, I guess that's that.  They just go about their merry little lives, thinking "gee, that was fun, I'll have to contact her again when I need/want/have-to-have something done again."  And I'll sit over here going "Well, that's one more task I've had to do for someone else.  Maybe if I keep it up, karma will eventually come back around to me and I'll get something nice in return for once."  Because "good company" is only a good reward for a very short amount of time.


Sorry...I'm a little upset today.  Obviously, or else the whole crying-feeling-intro wouldn't have been necessary.

I'm not apologizing for anything I've said.  It's all true from my point of view today.  It could be different tomorrow, or in a month, or this time next year.  You probably see it differently.

I'm just...done...I'm done.  I don't even...


Saturday, November 24, 2012

So Much for Radio Silence

It's been a long week.

I'm starting to notice a theme with Thanksgiving...I think I've figured out why the Europeans don't celebrate...

(Shh, I know it's because the Americans went through their teenager stage and thought Mother England and Father France were stupidheads, and decided to defect/rebel.  That's not important right now.  Why am I even talking about this?  I should stop!)

Regardless, this is not what I came back to talk about.

I'm reaching a stage in my life where change is imminent.  All goes according to plan, I'm graduating after spring semester.

I'll be getting a third job to fill in the time gap and so I can finally quit the one job that has started to suck even worse and then I'll get another third job, so I can earn some mulah because I have plans.

Or rather, I will, shortly here.  If I stick to my guns and I don't chicken out.

I've been trying to plan it this evening, whenever the mood strikes me to research stuff, in between funny videos of cats on youtube, and my lingering over anger at certain events that have been successfully handled, but I'm still kind of pissed off.  And other shit, too, because I can't ever just have a few things going on, I have to have a full on crisis ALWAYS.

Okay, I'm exaggerating.  But that's how it FEELS and I'm a whiney girl and that's what I'm going to do.  Were I 21 or better at extortion, I'd have some wine to go with it, but as it is, I'm wimping out and waiting until my birthday.

Also, I have work in the morning, and you all probably won't read this until I'm at work already (mostly because I'm thinking of scheduling this to come out tomorrow morning rather than tonight).

However, that is beside the point.

What I'm really trying to get at is that I'm making big plans that I hope to enact in hopefully a year or so...well okay, just over a year, because it'll be more like a year from when my lease ends, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

I don't even know why I'm really writing about this, since I really don't have anything concrete, I don't really want to let people know what it is I'm planning on doing until I have things set up already, and honestly, I don't even know if I'm going to go through with it at this point.


If I can't do this by myself without my own encouragement, what's the goddamn point?

I'm growing up.  I'm growing a fucking backbone.  I'm becoming who I want to be and I'm going to start not caring what people think about that.

I say that tonight, and by tomorrow afternoon I'll be a puddle of "oh god why me why wont anyone liiiiiiiiiiiiiike me" that I usually end up being after work.

And I've decided...I've decided I'm not ready for a number of certain things, just yet.  When it's time for me to own a pet and have a boyfriend, I'll be financially stable, I'll like myself more than 40% of the time, and I will have my shit straight.

And maybe, just maybe, I'll be a little more worldly.  Maybe I'll be stronger.  Maybe I'll be smarter.  Maybe I'll be self-assured and confident.

But at this point, I'm not ready to take care of anyone else but myself.  I don't have the funds to care for a pet, and keep it safe and happy and well-loved.  And I don't have enough love for myself to give to another person at this point in time.

Because I think I've finally figured it out.  After hours on Pinterest, looking at inspirational, and mostly stupidly silly and irreverent quotes, I've figured out the secret to life.  You have to love who you are, love what you do, and most of all not be afraid to be yourself in order to love someone else.

And I'm still carrying around a lot of baggage I just shouldn't even have.  It's everyone else's.  It's not even MINE.  And I'm the one carrying it.  Why do I continue to carry it, you may ask?  I have no fucking clue.  So I'm going to take it to lost and found, I'm going to drop it off, I'm going to turn around and I'm NOT. FUCKING. LOOKING. BACK.

I imagine this will end the embargo on my radio silence.  But I mean, when was I ever good at posting regularly?

*sigh*  And I don't think I'm going to sleep through tonight either.

Until next time, dear Readers,

Monday, November 19, 2012

Spelling and Grammar

I promise I'm not going to go over there, they're, and their any more.  Seriously, if people haven't learnt by now, they're not going to.  Same with your and you're.

No, what I have an issue with is something small, simple, and easily overlooked by most.  Probably why most people don't notice or care when it gets misspelled.

It's the difference between breath and breathe.

Just one extra "e" on the end makes a WORLD of difference.  The difference between taking a breath and being able to breathe.

Do you catch my drift?

(okay, this is coming from the girl who can't say "draught" as "draft." and constantly wants to say it as drought, but with an ah instead of a oh sound.  I also say it geo-graphy, photo-graphy and bio-graphy.  Make fun of me all you want but at least I can breathe with one breath, as opposed to being able to breath with one breathe, which makes no gorram sense whatsoever)

And lightning and lightening.  I know in some areas lightning, the phenomenon of electricity creating sparks and light in the sky is SAID with the extra syllable (like athelete, when really, there's just no extra e in between), but one is lightning and one is the lightening of the sky in the case of lightning.

And athelete just isn't a word whatsoever. Athlete!  Athlete! Think Mathlete without the M!  (Mathlete isn't a word either, but for whatever reason, Mathletes are not called mathaletes or matheletes, probably because they are not athletes who say it athelete to sound smarter, when it just makes them sound dumb.)

Ugh, and saying "author" like "Arthur." It's another one of those area things (lightening, I'm looking at you), but one is the name of the person who wrote the book and one is just a name.  Add the "u", it won't kill you, and it will help me realize you're not talking about Arthurian legend, and/or Mr. Weasley, and instead you're talking about Sir Thomas Mallory or J.K. Rowling.

But I was here to talk about breath and breathe, and it ended up being faster than I intended...

don't make an inappropriate comment, don't make an inappropriate comment, don't make an inappropriate comment...

Sorry, I've had a whole day off, and spent it saving some of my favorite fan fictions to text documents so I can read them when the internet is off or down or I just don't have it, and I noticed the breath/breathe thing, and I remembered I dislike it.  And then other things occurred to me while I was writing.  It's tough living my life.

Okay, back to radio silence.
Until next time, dear readers

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Dear People Of the Internet

I fear I am once again falling into my reclusive, antisocial habits.  (and by fear, I mostly mean, well, it sucks for you, but it happens).

As it turns out, I'm not actually a very social butterfly.  Even on the internet.  Oh sure, I go through swings of social activity, perhaps even off line.  But for the most part, I have lived my life sitting back and watching through the window of my computer screen.  I like it that way, quite frankly.  I also like having friends.  Unfortunately, these two things don't tend to be one and the same.

Let me explain.

When I was 12, I was given a crash course on the internet by two friends I have since lost touch with.  This crash course consisted mostly of a website wherein one could take quizzes (that often times took the form of a "choose your own adventure" story featuring oneself and their romantic interest of a fictional nature).  It was my first introduction to fan fiction, which I assume was the point behind the friendship, other than giving me slightly better friends with which to compare the friends I had acquired previously (a lesson I didn't realize until just now).

REGARDLESS, most of these stories one couldn't comment on, aside from perhaps "favorite"ing the story or artwork, etc. in question.

Then they changed the site.  This allowed for a "Messaging" feature to be added, and then, if you so chose, you could contact the author of the story you enjoyed.  Well, that was a frightening prospect indeed, so I chose not to partake, until I started writing my own stories on this quiz site.

Then I acquired my first online friend.  We stayed online friends until I met her possibly three or four years ago.  Then we were still online friends, but we'd met in person, so it didn't quite qualify as a solely "online" friendship. (and then I promptly went into stealth mode, and we don't really talk a whole lot, or, well, as much, anymore)

This was where I started to notice my "dead" spells.

When you keep in constant contact with certain individuals for an extended period of time, you notice when you don't keep in contact.

For me, it was like playing a game.

In the first stage, I simply chose not to visit a certain site or open my AIM chat window (or lied and put it as "away" or "invisible".  The reason for doing so at this stage wasn't important, except that I felt the need to be online without talking to anyone.  Perhaps it was a bad day.  We'll go with that.

Then, a few days later, when I haven't responded to messages, emails, or chat requests, it's awkward, because I have been online, and coming back "online" for my friends might require an explanation as to why I was gone, other than "I just wasn't feeling like talking", or -- no, actually, that's pretty much all it ever is.  So then it was a game of "avoid."  Keep your status as "away", don't answer messages, don't respond to emails.  Just read your fan fiction, your web comics, and watch your youtube videos.

Then, after realizing that this wasn't going anywhere, I would go back, never be asked as to where I had been (okay, well sometimes I would, but then I would just say "I wasn't really feeling like being online") and things would go back to normal, no harm, no foul.

This has happened more than once, and it happens at increasing rates when I find there are people I enjoy talking to, either on the internet, or on my phone (text message only people, who do you think I am? I despise phone calls, but I can and will make/answer them if it is so required of me).

I'm just...not really good at the social interaction thing.  I fake it well enough, never you mind that, so if thrust into a social situation with me, you probably won't notice.  But I will, and it makes me feel awkward, and THAT comes across loud and clear (well, I assume.  They do say it's the thought that counts, and if I think I'm awkward, it probably comes across that way to others, despite how terribly eloquent I might happen to be or not to be at the time).

The internet is a terrible enabler, too.  Because you can just lurk about and no one will even know you were there.  Heck, they might not even care if they could know.  And a lot of times, I hide behind it.

Mind, I don't see this as a problem, I'm simply stating facts for those out there who might be interested.

Mostly because if you don't hear from me for a few days, assume that I'm just being antisocial again, and while I might be able to respond, I might just not want to talk to anyone.

But if it's been more than a month and there has been no post on ANY site of mine (and if you've found this blog, you have probably found other sites of mine), you should perhaps worry a little, because at that point, the Zombies have probably gotten to me, or I have been kidnaped or something else strangely horrible has probably happened.  Because the internet is my FRIEND.  and I wouldn't abandon it for something so silly as not wanting to talk to people.  At the very least, there would be activity on my deviantART or my youtube accounts.  As long as those are still working, I'm still alive.  And usually if you contact my phone, I'll get back to you.  More likely through text than a call, for the aforementioned reasons, but I will get back to you.

I'm just warning you all, because I feel another stint coming on, and I've recently acquired friends, who might actually worry about my whereabouts and/or my activity on the internet.

Be ye not afraid, I'm just feeling a little overwhelmed right now and need some me time.  Also, I have school still (for freaking forever, apparently), and I've recently come to find I love the Television again. So we'll see how long that affair lasts, and I'll likely have something to update with by the time I return.

Until next time, Dear readers,

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

The Title-less Post

I would just like to start with a quick quote:

This is going to be quite informative, so be prepared.  I'm one of those people who hasn't exactly had the best luck with men.  No, seriously, I can count on both hands the number of guys actually interested in me a little bit, and on one hand the number I've gone out with.   This was how I was answering a lot of those stupid meme quizzes that went around when I was 14-19 on Myspace, Facebook, and DeviantART:

I also want to apologize now to any of my readers with slow internet.  This is going to be picture heavy, and it might take a while to get them to load.  

So I filled my time with Disney movies and fictional stories about my favorite characters on the internet.  The best thing I ever did was Disney movies.  Holy crap, you miss so much when you watch them as a child.  ALWAYS watch them again 10 years (or more, or never stop) later.

And you learn to move on with your life.

And, like I said, it wasn't like there was NO ONE interested…they were just…never right.  You know?  I mean, I did try.  I tried really hard.  I even did the online dating thing, which, I mean, unless you've got a really good vibe about the online dating thing, isn't all it's cracked up to be.  But then again, what is it cracked up to be?  Oh sure, there were several lookers, their pictures were amazingly-fantastic-awesome-ness.  But then you exchange numbers and shit like this happens:

Or he internet stalks you and you're just like:

And I wasn't exactly batting 1000 with the guys in real life.  They all turned out to be Disney princes, if you know what I'm saying:

The ones that stand out the most are "Has a girl on the side", "Gets pissed if you're not a guy", "Won't get a job", and "has a girl on the side."  Oh and I think they know who they are.  And that doesn't even touch on the guy who was already married.  It was to the point where I was like "there has GOT to be something wrong with me, right?"  Because why else would I be attracting only the assholes, deadbeats and dredges of society?  I know I'm not terrible to look at all the time (I try on occasion!) and I'm not totally boring to be around (some people even claim that I'm funny! and they're not even talking about how I smell).  I mean, I don't exactly have loads to talk about, since most of my free time is spent on the internet, and I don't like talking about work or school since those things are DEFINITELY boring, and so I'm not exactly caught up on the latest TV.  Is that such a bad thing?  Why must I be wasting my time watching mindless television shows when I could be on the internet learning information I will probably never need to know?

This has led to a minor, teeny-tiny, not so significant, completely overwhelming self confidence issue:

So I decided to just say "Fuck it" and move on with my life.  I know, I know, I'm only twenty and I've already given up on finding "the one."  And I'm the big believer in fate, and destiny, and "things happen for a reason."  I can't be giving up already!  My life has only just begun!  I have roughly forty more years to find the right guy before I die, I have to keep going!  But I did.  It got to the point where I decided the internet was the only person who understood me (shh, I know the internet is not a person, that's to illustrate the point), and I began planning my life around my solitude (which is a habit I haven't exactly broken yet).  Mind, this started a few months ago, but it takes one month to make a habit.

I have been known to pull the above move and deliberately avoid hanging out with people simply because I was "too tired" or "had homework" which I wasn't doing anyway, or "had work that day and I don't really feel like being around any more people today".  And I lived at my desk for a couple of months.

Seriously, this would STILL be the perfect computer, but maybe minus the toilet.  I mean, water hazard, much?

And I was still getting the update emails from that dating website because I haven't found it in me to just completely separate myself yet.  Mostly because I am lazy.  But every time it would show up, it would come with a new batch of guys who all were trying about this hard:

To get girls' attention.  And honestly, on the internet, it's easier to lie about the backflip.

My self confidence has gotten a boost over my solitude time.  Just a little bit of a boost, but when it comes to me, anything that isn't tearing me down completely (which is most of the rest of the time) is a plus.  It's mostly still the self-deprecating joking way of telling people I'm actually quite awesome (shh, I know, that sentence doesn't actually make sense.  Just go with it)

It seemed like it was the only way to get myself and others to believe I was as awesome and fantastic and, dare I say it, "outstanding" as I wanted to be.  You wanna know a secret?  It worked.  I fooled people into thinking I was cool.  I can now socialize on my terms whenever I want to.  

And for a while I was like "you know what, God, I don't need you to give me anyone in my life.  I'm perfectly fine to be that one girl who never finds love, and just has cats the rest of her life.  If that's the plan you had for me, bring it!"

Oh yes it does, Mikki Michelle!  Yes it does indeed.

I swear, as soon as I make my mind up about something, the whole tide of the game changes.  I was fine.  I was!  I didn't need anyone, but I could have friends if I wanted them.  I wasn't interested in anyone romantically, I was doing well ignoring the gaping hole of loneliness I'd finally gotten used to after 20 years of being alone.  I was FINE, dammit.


You know, I went to a group a number of months ago (back in…what was it, March or April or something?  Right when I first cut all my hair off, but just long enough after for it to be unruly and a nuisance because I have too much body in my hair and it won't lay flat at a certain length.  Or ever, if I'm to be completely honest.  It was a church group.  Nice bunch of people.  Something of a Bible study, and we were following a book I pretended to have read, because let's face it, I'm not that good at reading when I'm required to do so *she says as she glances warily at the growing number of half-way started but mostly unfinished books she has to read so other people can read them or she can get her schoolwork done*.  

But it was fun and it gave me a reason to be out of the house on Wednesday nights.  And I got to meet new people (big church, it's hard to get to know people when you've got more than 400 attending on any given Sunday and you can't get to most services because you work on Sundays).  And that's always fun and interesting.

There were a couple people I connected with better than others.  There were some I'm pretty sure I never talked to at all outside of group discussion.  And then, after the group had ended, six or so weeks later, I wasn't able to get back to church for months.  Like, actually MONTHS.  It's fine, I guess, because I need to pay my bills and everything, but sometimes, especially since my boss goes to the same church as me, he'd give me more Sundays off.  But I mean, I get why he doesn't, because Sundays are the busiest (after 8:30 and all the way up until close because checkout is at noon).  But the church I go to is FUN, and I'd really like to attend more services and see the people I like.

But that's mildly off topic.  Regardless, months and months later, I get to attend a few services, and then it's another month off.  And then I attend again, oh, we'll say about a month ago, but it might have been more or less than that.  I have no clue, actually.

I hadn't heard from anyone but one person from the group while I wasn't able to attend service.  And that was fine, I understood.  Remember?  I know there's something wrong, I don't know what it is, but for whatever reason it keeps people at bay, and remember?  I'd come to terms with it.  I was fine.  FINE I TELL YOU.

AND THERE HE WAS.  And, I mean, we've done lunch a couple times.  The first time was that Monday after the one church service I'd just been allowed to go to about a month ago (remember me talking about that?  I thought you might have been distracted by the drunk-looking baby, so I figured I'd remind you).  And it was a great lunch.  I may have even told you all about it, I don't remember.  

He brought up later that he might have been maybe a little interested in becoming more than friends (in a sort of round about way) which I am not opposed to, but I have this thing, with the guys, with all of the above I mentioned?  Yeah, interspersed with the pictures and whatnot.  Remember all of that?  It was a while ago.  And I have gotten so used to distancing myself from people that it was almost second nature to tell him I only want to be friends right now.  Which I do, I mean, yeah, but I have this habit of jumping into things with both feet when I'm really just not prepared at all.  And I'm trying to get better with the preparation thing.  And since this isn't an online thing, I can't, like, stalk him over the internet like I'm used to doing, instead of actually talking.  (Okay, that's a bit of a stretch, we're Facebook friends, but I'm trying to do this organically and get to know him the old fashioned way.  It's been an exercise in restraint.  And I'm not going to say I didn't stalk his page when we first became friends, because that would be a lie, and what else do people do when they become friends with someone?  They look at everything that's happened since they joined Facebook, duh.)

And…I have a really good feeling about this, but I don't want to say too much or get ahead of myself, because I don't generally have very good taste in men, and I'm hoping he'll prove me wrong, but I have learned to brace myself for the worst, always.  It's not something I like doing, but it's ingrained in me now, and I can't exactly flip a switch and turn it off.  And I don't know exactly what I'm feeling, because it's different, but it's not strong, and I worry about the fact that it's not strong.  I was always ALWAYS taught that when you connected with a person like that, you could feel it and you were certain and if nothing else, all the romantic comedies and Disney movies and everything told you that if it was meant to be, come Hell or high water or anything else, (even one person being a complete dick, which might end up being me, and I really hope I don't but I'm so scared I'm going to screw up and hurt someone, always, and I feel like the emotional-Hulk, and that if I feel anything, shit's going down and I'm going to turn green and purple and hurt something and I just wanna be Bruce Banner in my lab working with the SAFE gamma rays, thankyouverymuch), you'd be together. 

So, before I freak out, I'm going to end this, because, really, I'm FINE.  I'm fine and everything is FINE.  I'm just crazy and I don't know what's going on, or what I want, and I don't even know what day it is most of the time.  And in closing, I'd just like to say:

Thanks for giving me caterpillars, those weird creepy things that eat everything and leave nothing behind.

Until next time, Dear Readers,

P.S. All of the images herein contained were found and pinned on Pinterest.

Friday, September 21, 2012

Why The World Works The Way It Does

I don't know.  I honestly don't.

But this is how I hope it goes:

Things happen in our lives.  Big things that are going to happen no matter what.  Our lives are set out from the beginning, a bit like an outline for a story.  So it'll look a bit like this:

I. Beginning
A. Birth
1. Name
2. Parents
3. Lifestyle
B. Childhood
1. Lifestyle
2. First friendships
3. Learning
C. Teenagerdom
1. Learning
2. First love
3. Rejection
II. Middle
A. Young-adulthood
1. Job
2. Exploration of Self
3. Solidification of Identity
B. Middle Age
1. Parenthood
2. End of job
3. Re-identification process
C. Old Age
1. Grandparenthood
2. Re-solidification of Identity
3. Acceptance of what's gone and what is coming
III. End
A. Death

Okay, like that, but with more indents.  But do you see how none of the details are filled in?  This is what we're given when we're born.  These things that Have to and Will happen.  Okay sometimes there are smaller sub-headings that have to happen underneath of the 1, 2, 3 sections, but it was already more detailed than I was originally planning, and obviously it's going to be different for everyone, because that's what makes us all unique.

We fill in the rest.  We get to all the major plot points, but in the end, we make up the story.  We are the main characters.  We are the stars.  Our only goal is to get through the book and finish it with a flourish and a sign-off.

Essentially, we're the characters AND the editors.  We choose how we get to the plot points.  This is what is called 'free will'.  I believe almost every belief system in the world at this point believes that we get this (if I'm wrong, I'm sorry, please correct me).  And again, sometimes it's a shorter book.  Sometimes it's like it will never end.  Some stages last longer than others, some go by in the blink of an eye.  Sometimes, you skip over them entirely.  It depends on your book, really.  On your life.  On who you are, as a person, and what you're going to become.

But this is the basic outline.  It's supposed to happen, so it's going to.

And, personally, I like to believe that if we were good people, who lived good lives, and had good things in our hearts (and only we know if we do), we get to have something nice at the end.  Like an epilogue that essentially says "And they lived happily, ever after," or some-such nonsense like that.  Certainly if we don't do the good things, we do get punished, but I also believe our punishment happens on this earth, not in the next life.

Then again, who am I to say what does and doesn't happen after we die?  I certainly don't know.  You don't know either (unless of course you're dead, or the orchestrator behind all of this craziness.  or if you're the author who created the outline, only those three know).

And that, honestly, is the exciting bit to all of this.  We don't know what happens.  We can think we know, we can certainly make plenty of guesses -- educated or otherwise -- but we don't KNOW.  And that's thrilling, like being on a roller-coaster in the dark and you're climbing and climbing and you don't know when you're going to fall.  And then suddenly, out of the darkness, into the blue (or out of the blue, into the darkness?) the floor drops from beneath you and you're falling and it's fantastic and wonderful.

Or maybe like reading an exciting book, to keep with the theme.  You don't know how it ends.  You don't know what will happen with the characters in the story, where they will go, who will die before the end, what's going to happen, are they going to fulfill the goal?  What is the goal?  You have to keep reading, you have to keep turning the page, chapter-to-chapter, word-by-word.

Because in the end, no one knows.  That's the greatest mystery story of all.  It's a story we read until we're dead, and then we get to figure it out.

I hope...this gave some of you hope, I hope this didn't rock anyone's world too much (or, if it did, it did so positively).  I look forward to continuing my story with all of you, and I hope we all reach the end of our own at the right time.

Until Next Time, Dear Readers,

Sunday, September 16, 2012

My Crappy Day Just Got Better

I shall tell this in chronological order, since you always do bad news first and end on the good note.

My day was actually pretty "crappy."  I'd go so far as to say "shitty."  You'll find out why this is punny soon.  (Remember?  I work in puns)

I didn't sleep so well last night.  The two dogs who live in my house kept me awake for a good portion of it due to whining and being lonely because their owners are out of town for a few days.  (Or at least, they were out last night, REGARDLESS), so I wake up, go to work, yaddayaddayadda.

I'm not awake during work.  I managed to be professional and none of the customers could tell, but I was just not all there.  I wasn't feeling terribly good, either, due to a headache that felt a whole heckuva lot like a sharp pencil stabbing into my brain on my left side.  That started at 5:30, switched briefly to the right side at around 8:45 and then went back for one or two more goes before the end of work.  Not so much fun, I tell you.  Either I got used to it, or it went away, but it didn't hurt QUITE as bad as before by the end of work.

And then it occurred to me, I had schoolwork left to do for class tomorrow.  And that bummed me out so bad, it wasn't even funny.  I was not a happy camper at the end of work.

And then I learned I don't even have to go in for the three hours I thought I had to tomorrow, which is both good and bad.  Bad because I need the hours, good because it gave me a few extra hours in the morning to be able to finish up what schoolwork I might not get done today.

So, leaning towards it being a good thing, I stopped on my way home and ordered a pizza for one from Domino's because, well, I felt like it, dangit.  That and I'm Sally from Coupling, so suck it. (if you don't know what Coupling is, it's a BBC sitcom from the early 2000s, that was a little like Friends, but British and if you haven't watched it, you really should.)

And then I got home, and my back hallway, where my room and the bathroom that's used mostly by me is located, smelled of dog crap.  Not exactly a great scent to come home to when you've smelt cheese pizza in the seat next to you for the past 20 minutes.  So I had to take care of that.  (See where my day gets crappy? Do you see it? Yeah, thought you might)

But then I ate my pizza, and I did my school work and lo-and-behold, I finished it, too!  It apparently was not as much as I thought in the beginning.  So I'll have free time tomorrow morning before class, which'll be great.

And then, a few hours ago, I noticed I just wasn't feeling so fantastic.  I was feeling nauseas, my tummy was really unhappy, and my head was starting to hurt again.  And I wasn't hungry (which is usually what those signs mean) because I've been eating on and off all afternoon like a little piggy.  So I couldn't figure it out.  And it wasn't like I'd had a lot to eat, I'd just been grazing every couple of hours or so, finishing off the pizza, snacking on some chips, little things.

So, on a whim, I decide I need to leave my room.  And as I step into the hall, this overwhelming smell of more dog-crap assaults my nasal passages.  And it's strong enough to make ME gag, which if you know me, that takes kind of a lot.  And I'm like "Dude, I got rid of the smell from earlier, W-T-F mate? Did it come back?"

And it occurs to me, suddenly, that I don't know when the last time the dogs had been out was.

So I warily turn on the lights as I peek around the corner, and it just gets worse.  It's like, really super duper bad now.  And I see the damage.

I will not recount to you the sight I beheld, since thinking about it makes my digestive system want to revolt.  But know that it was really bad.  Oh, and apparently the girl who is supposed to take care of them while their owners are out of town may or may not actually be coming by tonight.  I had no idea when she'd be here and there'd still be clean up and taking care of, ah, shit to do.  So I texted the doggies' mommy, and then I took matters into my own hands, cleaned up the dog, cleaned up the crate, set up the back-up crate (because ain't no WAY I was putting her back into the messy crate, even freshly cleaned, I am not that cruel), put a blanket in there, put her in there, took the other dog out because he was feeling left out, mopped the floor (none of this is in any particular order except that this is the order I'm remembering it, not the order it was done), febreezed EVERYTHING, and started the laundry.  Then I cleaned my shoes and my feet and went back into my room where it is safe.  I'm keeping an ear out for the dog-sitter girl for a few more hours and if she doesn't show by 11 (which is when I'm heading to bed, because screw it, I'm tired, I've been up since 4 and had to deal with all of this), I'll feed the dogs just a little bit and give them some water and take them out again, and then be on duty (oh my gosh the puns just make themselves, I swear! I didn't even try that time!) for in the morning before class.

I don't mind helping take care of these dogs, I really don't.  And this was an exceptional circumstance day.  They rarely poop in my bathroom anymore (especially after I started picking the bathmat up off the floor) and so it was quite surprising this afternoon to find that, and I think the doggy that had the issue was having tummy troubles, otherwise I think she would have held it.  So I don't blame them, their owners, or the girl who is supposed to be taking care of them.  These are extreme times, and everyone has a bad day, even doggies.

And then I got to come back to my computer.  Granted, I haven't been on the internet in, like, two days.  It's ridiculous.  I was JUST getting around to checking blogger, when I saw two posts from a new friend of mine, who, I must say, is just about the sweetest guy I think I've ever known.  No, seriously.  He wrote a blog post with a poem in it.  And he addressed me in it.  I cannot tell you how much that brightened up my day.  Even thinking about it I get this huge, goofy grin on my face.  And in order to let him know how much it meant to me, I wrote this blog post (which I'd been trying to mentally compose all day but I couldn't find a good enough subject).

I am not the best judge of character.  Actually, were I to rate myself 1-10 with 1 being the worst judge of character you can think of and 10 being Jesus Christ, I'd say I'm probably negative pi.  I don't even know if there IS negative pi.  But that's about where I'd be on the judge-of-character scale.  I'm only negative pi and not any farther because there are people in my life who I was a good judge of character with, but they are sooooooo few in the number of people I've met, it's averages out.

So when people go beyond my expectations (which are by no means high, and it certainly shouldn't happen as rarely as it does), it's just the most crazy thing in the world to me.  And to be praised for something I do simply as a character trait, when usually I don't get praised at all for anything, that's just...incredible.  Seriously.

No, really, you guys.  Best day ever, even if it started the way it did.  All because someone appreciated the fact that I care.  Someone actually noticed.  It's ridiculous.

So thank you, Chip.  I'd have written you a poem, but I'm absolute bollocks at poems.  Instead, a punny joke:

Why are the people in France so thin?  Because one egg is un oeuf.  Why don't they tell that joke in France?  Because un oeuf is un oeuf.

(Note, un oeuf is to be said kind of like enough)

Thank you, I'll be here all week.

Until next time, dear readers

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

I Was Nine

So, I know there've been, like, a-hundred-million posts, feeds, status-updates, pintrest pins, etc about 9/11/01 today, but here's another.

This is the story of my generation.  This is the story of those of us who didn't know what was going on because people thought we were too young to hear the horrible truth.

I was nine.  I was in the fourth grade, Mrs. Shelton's class.  She'd read a book to us that day.  I don't remember the book.  I remember someone telling us that we weren't to listen to the other kids on the bus when they said things about what had been going on, not that I knew or cared what was being said.  No one talked to me anyway.

I didn't even get to know what had happened until I got home.  And even then, it didn't hit me right away.  Okay, so two skyscrapers got hit in New York City by airplanes flown by bad men.  That was all I knew for a little while.  I didn't know about the Pentagon or the other flight (see, I don't know the number off hand and it's an injustice to the retelling of the story if I look it up right now) until the next day.  And only then because my dad's aunt worked in the Pentagon.

I didn't know they were connected until a few weeks later.  It didn't make any sense to me, and I wasn't directly affected since none of my family had been hurt.  Because while those people who lost their lives that day were many in number, like many, many kids across the country, they weren't related to me, they had no affect on me.

To this day, sometimes I have a hard time remembering why we stop on 9/11 (well, okay, it's only difficult to remember if I don't stop on Facebook).

But isn't that a testament of where this country is going and will be going.  We will have a huge generation gap, right between my peers and the peers of my older friends (who, mind, are only a few years older than myself) of people who don't realize that, yes, 9/11 did directly affect us.  It affected the country as a whole.  It affected the way we live, the way we work, the way we go about our daily duties, the way we vacation, the way we spend our time with others.

Or at least, it affected our parents, our aunts and uncles, our grandparents, those who had family directly involved.  And therefore we, too, were affected.  And very, very few of us actually recognize that.

Don't get me wrong, I understand the sacrifice made that day, eleven years ago.  But I will never remember it the same as those who came before me, nor will I remember it the same as those who came after.  Because they won't remember.  They won't know what they were doing that day, because they didn't care.  They were children.  I was a child.  When my teacher told us not to listen to the other kids' speculation on the bus, I didn't know what it was in reference to.  What I get out of that warning now, eleven years later, is that we weren't meant to know what was going on.  We were to stay children, because we were the last hope that generation had for our country making it out of the situation in tact.

I wonder if anyone but me sees the folly in that vain hope.  Because not letting us know has hurt us all the more.  When we come into power (a day one of my friends talks about with glowing pride, hoping for all the good changes that should come of it) we won't know what today meant, except that it was a day we weren't supposed to know about.  So we don't.  We won't.  We'll forget, and what will that do to our country?  Where will that leave us?

In a completely different world, just like what happened eleven years ago.

Because it changed the world.

Keep strong, my fellow Americans.  Keep solidarity.  Remember, always, what happened that day, even if you weren't directly affected -- that means you, young people -- because you were affected.  We all were.

Until Next Time, Dear Readers

Monday, September 10, 2012

Things that Terrify Me 3/?

It's the fact that I know it's not real that scares me the most.  Because usually when I notice it's not real, I wake up shortly thereafter, but with the night terrors (which is what they are, because now I'm seeing spiders on my comforter, and any arachnophobes need to stop reading now) I don't wake up right away.  I'm stuck with the sensation of movement (the dream) but not actually moving (the paralysis that keeps you from falling out of bed when you're in REM sleep), and it SUCKS.  I'm just sitting there, watching this brown recluse spider wander around right in front of my face, and I'm like 'Holy shit, need to get him off the bed' so I try blowing on him, and I attempt to lift my arms to wipe him off or flick him off or get him the HELL OFF MY BED, and it's not working and I can dream-feel (this is why the pinching-yourself-awake thing doesn't work for me, because when I dream-feel, it's like it's really happening) myself wiping my face with my glasses in hand (even though I'm not holding my glasses, hence why I knew it was dream-feeling) but I don't see my arms moving, and all I'm seeing is this stupid spider running back and forth across my comforter.  IT'S NOT VERY COMFORTING.

And all of this happens around the same time in the morning, after I wake up at around 5 or 6 or so and go relieve myself of my bodily fluids, then I go back to bed and tah-da, there you have it, stuck in this zone of terror for who knows how long.

And this time it bled into a dream, I didn't get to wake up, I just went back to sleep.  And the worst part is that I don't know if I'm screaming or talking in my sleep, or if it's just in my dream, because I can't tell the sensations apart usually.  And it was a dream with mostly analog clocks, because I couldn't move my arms to find my phone and check a digital one to make sure I was dreaming.  And when I finally did find my phone, I dream-called my cousin and that's about when the actual dream started.  And then I could feel my mom sitting on my bed (but couldn't see her even though my eyes were open -- though, again, not sure if dream or real) and touching my hair and saying how much she loved me, etc. etc. etc, and all I could ask her was "Don't be dead, please don't be dead."  Because that would be the only way she'd be in-not-in my room.  And I'm still worried.  So much so I've texted my mother to make sure she's okay, and will be on pins-and-needles until she gets back to me.

Though Dad hasn't said anything, but I'm not entirely sure she's not at work where he can't know how she's doing right at this very moment.

I hate having dreams where she's not okay.  This isn't the first time it's happened, and I don't imagine it will be the last.  I very rarely dream about anyone else not being okay.  Actually, I think I've never dreamt about my Dad (or at least, he was only there in passing), my sister will come in and out sometimes, but she's always fine, I rarely dream about anyone of import who I know is in my dream, usually it's just "people who could be other people sometimes".

But Mom is always Mom and it seems like there's always something wrong when I dream about her.  And since I've now moved out, I can't just check and make sure she's okay right away.  I have to wait and find out and that makes me so nervous.

Because I never do get an answer from her in my dreams.  So it's not like I know she's okay, even in my dream (then again, I never know she's not okay in my dream, it's just what it looks and feels like).

I dunno... I guess that's why this is part of the "Things that Terrify Me" series, huh?

I can't wait until whatever causes these goes away again.  I'm certain it's the time of year/stress/combination of both.

Until Next Time, Dear Readers (I hope it won't be another installation of this series),