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Sunday, October 9, 2011

Back to My Roots

Am I even supposed to capitalize special words in blog titles? I will, and if you disagree, that's cool. I'll start off with a warning.

Boys, don't get fricked. Do you know what that means? Guess. I really like that word. I doubt boys read this thing anyway. That's the warning.

I'm bleeding from my nether regions right now and that is my excuse for being so socially hopeless lately. I'm pretty sure I've fricked off two people lately, and I'm on my way to frick off more. One week out of every month, I turn into this uncomfortably sassy, emotional she-beast. I can't blame anyone either. Not like I do that often, anyways. I just sit on my bed and blame myself.

Like, come on, whormones. Fuck you. I cried at a fucking Lionel Richie song today. "Hello." Yeah, what? It gets pretty intense at some parts, but enough to make a bitch cry? Apparently so. And the next minute, I'm belting out my own Stevie Wonder covers in front of a mirror in my poorly lit room.

Y'all, I got a new lamp, though. It's a twisty, modern-looking LED lamp. It is so incredibly versatile. I don't think you can ever understand how fantastic this thing is. I can just turn the little snakehead and it lights up a different part of my room. My other lamp stayed in place, and it only worked with those huge, ugly yellow-lightbulbs. Yellow lightbulbs are like Sun impersonators. Is "sun" supposed to be capitalized? I don't know, I don't care, I'll start calling it "sUN." If you disagree with this, along with my other capitilaztion statements, you can complain to my genitals about it, because that is what's talking right now.

Guys, I'm so sorry. I'm just stressed. Junior year is numbing. If I were to ever get drunk, the hangover would be junior year. Am I even allowed to say that? I don't think I've made any references to my high school on the internet, aside from Facebook, which is set to "SUPERPRIVATE." Just in case, I will not drink until I am of a legal age. But the hangover thing still stands.

Yeah, I still haven't changed my stance on drinking. I'm 16 now, and the thought of getting drunk, buzzed, or even a bit tipsy is just not appealing. I only made the hangover comment to compare junior year to, and that's not even a valid thing to compare it to, since I've never had one. It's like comparing sex with getting a license, but that's even less relevant, because I have had neither. It's also like getting a scholarship to Harvard and meeting Tina Fey.

Speaking of that woman, although "Gay for Fey" has a nice ring to it, I cannot accept that title. One, I am not gay. But given the chance, I would spend about a week living with that lady if I could. We wouldn't even need to be in San Francisco or anything like that. Hell, backwoods Alabama, right next to WBC headquarters. I just really wanted to express my admiration for her, once again. It rhymes, for Pete's sake, it rhymes. I could not pass up the opportunity to pair words up like that. C'mon.

The reason this thing is titled "Back to My Roots" is because I'm going back to my roots. Like, you know, back to regular blogging. So I'm on the school Journalism squad (squad reminds me of squats, which reminds me of muscular manthighs) and all, but I'm not feeling it. I'm not feeling that tingly burn I get when I really enjoy something.

And, you know, it's writing. I'm supposed to feel a tingly burn when I write, it just has to happen. But Journalism is a pain in the ass sometimes. Only because my department has to make videos for club presidents who don't tell us what they want. We have to come up with damn concepts and shet, and it has fricked me off so much. First world problems.

"Oh, I go to a great private school and I'm in charge of things but people piss me off."

I'M BEING REALLY SASSY, I AM SO SORRY.

I consider myself a musical elitist, but in reality, it's only because I listened to Skrillex stuff on repeat. "Ohoho, it doesn't have words, I'm so fuckin' ace." I think that's how "ace" is used. No? ARGUE WITH MY GENITALS.

I have the best friends in the world, I just live in constant fear of offending or annoying them, especially during this hellish period.

That's a damn good pun. That's a great motherfucking pun. Guys. What can I do? That's a chief pun. Get on my level.

What a great way to get back into actual blogging.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

"Do You Realize...

Everyone you know...someday will die?"

These are just thoughts on junior year so far. I woke up at 6:30 today. I still have a few hours to myself, which is really nice. I could strip in the kitchen and sing songs from musicals without being caught, and it would be silly and fantastic and normal. But I am typing right now, because it takes less effort.

I just had cake with ice cream. I'm playing with Chapstick. I'm going to get more cake. I'm being a woman right now.

My sentence structure is very exciting. It goes subject-verb-something. Life is great.

Junior year has made me more aware of death. I have known about it for some time, but junior year is making me think about it more often. No, I don't want to die. Please do not worry. It just calms me. You know, I'll have a test two days from now, and I start thinking about how unprepared I am for it, instead of studying. And I think and I think and I think until I eventually start to think about how it won't matter when I die.

Never mind, I'm not going to talk about junior year any more than I already have.

Today is nice.

Friday, July 15, 2011

Subtle Photobombing.

I saw a bunch of people I went to school with at the latest Harry Potter premiere. You know that awkward obligatory conversation you have when you see someone you haven't spoken to in a long time? Not a person that you'd consider your friends, but just people you used to talk to a lot? It happened a lot.

It starts with that really high-pitched, shocked "HIII!" And then you try to direct the conversation into something that would end quickly, because you guys are in the bathroom, and she's going in, and you're going out. It sounds really rude. Ok, maybe you don't try to do that, but it ends up like that.

I asked one of them which movie they were seeing. Duh. And then we said goodbye. And then after the movie, we met again. Yeah. I also attempted to wave down someone else I know. I sounded sort of happy to see her, and she just said, "hey." Which is cool and stuff.

The rest went through that awkward hug-and-greet thing. One put a picture up on Facebook with my beloved mother in the background. They were both doing that typical bathroom phone-pose. I'm not hating on it, I don't really mind it. But when I saw my mother, I wanted to laugh.

It's not a bad picture of her, it was just really shocking. She's all blurry and such.

These recent posts are kind of really odd.

String.

Someone mentioned that placing a long piece of string in the corner of your mouth makes you look weird. Yeah, you'd just go up to people while attempting to hold a meaningful conversation, and this long piece fo string would be hanging out of your mouth. I hope that one day, I will have the courage to do this. Maybe the next time I'm hanging out with people in public. Maybe buying stuff at malls.

I could go to Hobby Lobby or Michael's or Target or any other place that sells strings. And I would buy more string while wearing the initial piece. Maybe I'd switch up colors and sizes every day or something. I wonder if people would actually notice. One day this will happen.

I'm thinking about dangling string from the corner of my mouth on the first day back to school. I hope that incoming freshmen will notice. I don't really expect anyone else to join in, because honestly, it sounds really really stupid. Pointless. So I won't ask. Just wanted to make you guys aware of the possibility.

Maybe I'll wear a red string for most of the year, except on one day, where I'll wear a really noticeable black one. Symbolic, really. Don't you think so? I think so. It won't ever reach below my chin. It'll just dangle, like, a centimeter from the corner of my mouth.

Why all this string business? It's because I'm running out of hair flowers and headbands and I haven't been able to find more exciting ones. They mean a lot to me, but I don't feel like re-wearing them this year. It's as important as uniforms and school supplies.

So, it makes some sense, yeah? String in my mouth? To be honest, putting flowers in one's hair probably sounded just as stupid. I have string hanging out right now.

I woke up at 2PM today, and I feel like the day has been wasted and I missed the UPS delivery for my new phone and my hair flowers are running out. First world problems? Oh yeah. Can't complain.

UPDATE: I am now chewing the string and it's a tiny string-ball.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Unmotivated.

I got a score from an important test in the mail a few days ago and I did not do as well as I thought I did. The score that I got was lower than the lowest score I thought I got. This did not bother me as much as the fact that someone else I know thought she did terribly, yet she got a perfect score. A perfect score. She got to celebrate, while I still have yet to tell my parents my actual score. I dodged around their question and said I did a decent job.

I remember her telling me right after the test how she thought she bombed it. She didn't. I did. It has been three days and I feel really pissed at myself. It's like...all of those things people told me about this test not mattering...I don't know. I wanted to get a good score so I could prove...prove something to them. I'm like that. I always want to subtly prove shit to people that they probably won't care about. It's what gives me "happiness."

She's one of my best friends, too. So I'm honestly happy for her. But it makes it hurt more.

That whole "proving" thing? Yeah, it extends into college stuff too. Someone told me that I might not get into Rice. And even if my mind is telling me that other options would be fine too, I seem to have another organ that secretes chemicals that make me want to prove them wrong. It makes me angry when people tell me I can't do something. So fuck you, person.

That organ and my mind are at odds. I don't even know where I want to go now, but that organ is also working with whatever regulates what has been drilled into my head by parents. I feel like I can't settle for anything less, and it's really shitty. I could use cleaner words, yeah. My dad drove me by it the day before I got the scores for that test, and said that we would celebrate if I got into Rice. He would cry.

I say I want it. I think I want it. And it is said that you should trust what your mind is saying in most cases. But what's holding me back is fear of getting rejected, fear of having my smarter best friend get in while I do not, unwillingness to open my mind to other options, and that fucking organ in my body.

It's not going to affect that perosn years from now. And eventually, we'll all be dead. So.

Yeah, really, we'll all be dead. The signals in our brains will stop, because we're dead and all, and our minds are gone. Nothing works now. Love? That goes with the mind too. we're all just atoms and stuff.

I'm so tired. I'm sorr-I'm not. I'm tired.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

...Crap.

I don't know what I want to do with life. I thought it was psychology, but everyone tells me that no one makes any money in the area. So as much as I like it, I do want to be able to support myself on my own. And then you have the other people who say, "just go with what you like, you'll eventually be successful." Well. That should work out, right? But I'm skeptical. I just wish that I had a clear idea in mind. I wish I could confidently announce to someone that I want to do blahblah or become a blaaaah. And I wish I could say that knowing that I would do well.

I do NOT want to work for somebody else. I don't want to work under anyone. Of course I'll have jobs like that starting out, especially as an adolescent, and I will definitely treasure those for work and life experience. But I do not want to stay there. Every. Single. Day. Of my life. My father has complained about how much he hates the people at his job. it pays well, but he is not enjoying it. I wish he didn't have to go through it, mostly for his own health and well-being. But honestly, it's also because I really don't like hearing complaints every single day. It has taught me what to avoid.

So. I want to be my own person. Hard part? What kind? I have also been looking into sociology but damn it. "There is no money in that sort of thing," one of my mother's co-workers mentioned. She continued to go on about her daughter andher maaaany achievements, and I sat uncomfortably and smiled, and attempted to use big words to look smart. Yes, this lady bragged about her kid in front of a kid who is younger than her. People like to do that.

So, next up was psychiatry. It pays well, yeah. But I want to feel that same passion I felt about psychology and sociology. It hasn't hit me. It might hit me, but it hasn't yet. Plus, the good schools for psychiatry are all out of Texas.

I forgot about the whole money-making thing. How much is enough? How much will I be happy with? Let's see. I don't currently have a love interest, and to be honest, the hopes of finding one soon that will stay with me through college is low. Honest. Part of it is due to my awkwardness, part is due to not being so absorbed with guys and instead attempting to focus on schoolstuffs, and a major part of it is on them and how some people just are not compatible. So right now, having enough money to support a family is not necessary. I don't want to be alone either.

An apartment in a decent area, enough for food, clothing, random bills, car, and maintenance for everything. I read that the average American can get by on $40k a year. Single American, by the way. I am going to be totally honest and say that I would like to have a bit extra to buy cool furniture and clothes. There.

See, I'm freaking the hell out because I didn't grow up with a lot. I go to these huge houses and I feel like I have to hide my own. That's why I will probably never invite anyone to my house. I had a close encounter this year, but I wiggled out of it.

So. Back to more boring stuff. I really like Rice. Mainly for the prestige. "Harvard of the South." That's great and all, but I would have to work my ass of to get a scholarship. No way my family can afford it. It's scholarship or nothing. Can I do it? I don't know. I don't even know if I want to anymore. But you know what else? I also want to do it for a wrong reason. I want to do it to prove someone wrong. They keep on telling me that it would not be a good fit for me. While I do appreciate their opinion, I really freaking like the school. It may be due to the fact that my dad has been taking me there since I was a toddler. We have their merchandise and none of us has taken a class on their campus before. Creepy? No. I want to say it's motivation, but I can't consider it that unless I actually want it.

And there's UT. It's just there, but again, like Rice, I have not really grown a super strong liking for it. I just like it because everyone seems to know about it. And though I do not want to admit it, that is not supposed to be a major reason to choose a college. According to...I honestly don't know. I mean, HAHA it's my choice right? RIGHT?

I just want to be happy. I don't want to be another "average" American, but then something pops up and say that it is alright. I don't have to be super special. I just want to have a stable life. And I'm just TIREEEDDDD of people telling me about themselves and how aweseom they are and how awesome their kids are. If they truly are awesome, I'll know soon enough. I'm also tired of people telling me that I can't go to blaaaaaahhhhh because it's too good for me. FFFFFFFFFFFFFF.

This is sounding really weird? Good. I'm feeling really really weird right now. I'm just so confused with myself about life and what's going to happen because DAMN IT, high school is almost over and bam there is college. High school is almost over. SAT. Admissions. Leaving the home I've lived in. Leaving my freaking family. I want to scream right now of talk to somebody but everyone is asleep in my house and it is 11:something PM.

And I'm not suuuper freaked out. It's just like an annoying buzzing feeling. It's just...I want to be somewhere, and I'm not sure if I am able to get there...

So yeah.

Monday, June 27, 2011

Better Than Me. And That's Alright.

I've heard this certain piece of advice several times over the course of my life. You have to be around people who are better than you. If you are the smartest person in your group of friends, get new friends. I agree. Before you get offended, let me explain.

If you are reading this, you are most likely one of my close friends. No reason to get offended now, see? I consider a friend someone who can lift you up. If they are constantly, even subconsciously motivating you to do better, I believe that is good for you. If they are bringing you down, ditch 'em.

This is where the competitive aspect of companionship comes into play. I know that these are very bold statements, but I am attempting to explain each one of them. I am aware that the people I choose to associate myself with are intelligent. Those few that I single out to be my friends are the ones I can connect to on a personal level.

We get along partly because we on the same level of thinking. At the same time, their accomplishments serve as motivation for moving forward, as well. This whole post may seem rude, but it is actually a long way of saying to my friends, "You are doing great things, and I want to pull myself up to your level." It's praise.

I'm referring to a state of mind called "compersion." One website described it as being the opposite of jealous. I don't get jealous anymore, when it comes to my friends' accomplishments. It's just like this swelling feeling of pride and happiness for them. This comes up especially when I know that someone has worked hard for one of their goals.

Back to jealousy. I don't like to discuss it, but I feel like I should. As I mentioned before, I don't get jealous anymore. That sort of died out in middle school.. I feel like it does motivate you, but it's negative. Compersion serves as positive motivation from the achievements of others. And that is why I am glad to have such wonderful friends.

I've been in friendships where both of us sort of brought each other down. Yes, I do accept the blame. We just were not compatible in many ways. We were on different levels, yet neither one was higher than the other. But we still brought each other down.

It's like we were sideways wall-climbers. I was going left, she was going right. We were both trying to reach our own goals, while attempting to use each other for help. However, we pulled each other too far in the opposite direction, and we both ended up falling down. That's not the best analogy. But it works.
My arms are not that muscular, but that's fine. 
Now, let's delve a bit deeper into what I mean by "better." That doesn't necessarily mean that my friends are perfect, and I am but a lowly servant. It just means that they have a lot of skills and personality traits that I admire. They provide positive peer pressure. And I need that.

There are some cases in which some people are technically better than me. They are smarter. They can handle more information and process it quickly. They might be better tennis players or they might have a  smoother voice. Again, this is alright. The only thing that is not acceptable is when they are aware of their "higher-human-status" and take every opportunity to make me aware of it.

But I already am. I analyze people and their abilities. This may seem frightening, and somewhat creepy, but it helps me realize if they are good people for me and if I am good for them. So when I hear someone complain about how many AP courses they are taking, and how easy it will be, and when I catch a glimpse of a faint, smug smile, I know what they are trying to do.

So I drop them. They don't seem to need my help, seeing as their life is already in order. Again, another bold statement. But this whole theory applies to both sides. I must be able to bring them up somehow, as well.
The text may be hard to read. Panel 3: Person 2 lifts up person 1 in mid air before falling. then person 1 does the same before falling. Panel 4: And through teamwork, they learn how to fly.

This troll physics comic seems...well, comical, but it's true.

You guys...I want to learn how to fly with you. And we're on the right track. We don't have to make those same faces, but we can still do it.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Spudspoon.

I play RuneScape. I have played since 4th grade. It started when I saw a bunch of 4th grade boys playing it in computer class. My best friend and I started. Then my other friends did the same. Soon, the entire grade was on it. Except for those other guys who went on AddictingGames. Forget them. Before RuneScape, I played Neopets and messed around with SmarterChild on AIM. But RuneScape...made me feel like I was one of the guys. It still does, and I love it.

I never really had a console of my own. In the huge gaming community, I find that there is a deep division between computer gamers and console gamers. You have the lucky butts who have both. But I don't have the resources and more importantly, I don't have the time. I do, however, have a computer and a decent internet connection. I do consider myself a gamer, though, even if others do not.

Runescape was never really "just a game" for me. It was a chunk of my life that I spent on the internet. It was and still is a part of my life. It's so dorky. But I am not going to deny it. I'm going to describe it in pieces.

First account. I forgot my username. It's sort of sad. I should have honestly remembered it, damn it, but no. I mainly messed around on this. I didn't really care about raising my stats or anything of the sort. I just cared about how I looked. Girl gamer. My best friend was a higher level than I was.

I think the highest I ever got on this account was in the 30s. In my opinion, you are considered a noon at levels 1 through 20. 21-50 is sort of in the middle. 51-60 is higher up, but you cannot get cocky. 61-70 is pretty good, but you know you can do better. 71-80, 81-90 both are decent. 91-99 earns a bit of respect.. or it should. 100-126 (138 for members, because of Summoning and other additional skills) and you are basically fine. Actually, you are a noob to anyone who is higher than you. On my main account, I am 74. I will be at least 80 before this summer ends. Promise.

I remember once... I think it was 5th grade... I became a member. During this time, I bought slutty clothes. For my character, I mean. I became a blonde. And I got a boyfriend. For my character. it was sad. I remember logging in to meet my best friend on a random world near Lumbridge, one of the main areas. At that point, I was not really aware of how my character was dressed. We met each other and she greeted me with an appropriate "wtf???" VioletOne95 was my username! Just remembered. Anyway, yeah. The last time she saw me, I looked like "me." But now, I was blonde with slutty clothes. The gnome clothes. They were blue. Booty shorts...I remember booty shorts. I was a very odd child. My boyfriend bought me rings and stuff. One time, I got a boyfriend on another account and later told him that I was actually a middle-aged man.  We broke up. If you were wondering why I do not have a boyfriend in real life, now you know. I would do this to them.

I made another main account. This one was more serious, but I believe it was hacked. I had another membership (I'm sorry, Mom, for using your money for this) and got a beret. TWO berets. Girl gamer. I was definitely more concerned with looks, still. I hunted for pirate clothes, too. This was way before the Grand Exchange, so if I wanted something, I had to first consult Google and second, go out into a random world and look for it. I want to say I got into the 50s range for this one. It wasn't for fighting, however, it was just to earn respect. Just like in the real world. I wanted to be a woman with power, and in RuneScape, that means money and/or level. None of that matters now. It's lost.

6th grade. I started my current account. Yes. I completed all of the free-to-play quests and leveled up quite a bit. This was the account that finally got to wear dragon armor. A skirt, which was pretty cheap, but I thought it was pretty cool. You see guys in dragon skirts because they, like myself, cannot afford legs. Pants.

I think in 2007...they changed everything. Grand Exchange was introduced. Wilderness was gone, too, but I never paid attention to it. I utilized the Grand Exchange, though, for it allowed me to get items without visiting strange lands. I also tried to make money from it. It's like the stock market in the real world. You could buy items in bulk, turn around and sell it, thus making a profit. The more you buy and sell, the larger the profit.

I started cutting yews and that was my main source of income. I started fighting Experiments as a member, and that was my main source of combat training.

I have bored you. I'm going to cut to the important part.

Before I could cut yews, I was training on oaks near Lumbridge. I was 13. There were two other people. A girl with "color" in her name. She was 21 and just got a new car. She left early, but we added each other to our friend lists. I continued to speak with her until we drifted apart, about a week later. She was sweet. She'd be around 23 now. From England, I believe, as many players are. And then there was Spudspoon.

He was 16, extremely easy to talk to, from England. Now, I know everyone warns about predators, but I just trusted him. I always took care in not revealing my information. Onward. We started talking about life and being a teenager. I was not really a teenager at that point, but oh well. We kept on talking, even after my internet freaked out and I had to change worlds. He told me about this one girl he liked and I gave him advice. We joked and talked and talked and talked. He talked about drinking. At first I was shocked, but he explained that the drinking age in England was lower than that in the US. It was around 12 in the afternoon in the US when we started, and 4 in the morning when he had to leave. He told me that he would not mind inviting me to one of his parties if I were in England, or something like that. I will never forget that.

This sounds really really creepy. This is exactly the sort of thing that people get hurt by. But I just knew that he was genuine. I need you, as readers, to trust me. Again, I did not give out any information, I didn't even say the state I lived in, nor did I reveal my name. So please don't talk about how potentially dangerous this was. I'm not writing it for that. i'm writing it because Spudspoon was my friend.

Is it possible to make a sincere internet friend? Yes. He was my first internet friend. I think that we would have been best friends if I hadn't suddenly left RuneScape. I make friends more easily on the internet than I do in real life. This has always been true. I'm jealous of internet me, actually. I left RS for 4 weeks. Logged back on. He never came back. To this day Google his name, and nothing really shows up.

I hate losing friends like that. It was so unexpected. It was too sudden. I would give up a lot just to talk to him.

He was also my first true guy friend. That's a big deal. There's a little piece of hope that tells me that he will see this post one day and come back to RuneScape, or leave on comment. I swear I would cry. I only talked to him for a few hours, damn it. I'm not even writing this as pleasantly as I could. It cannot be described accurately with words, it just has to be felt and understood. I don't even know his real name.

There was also Ethan. He's behind my weird email accounts. The ones that my friends know, but shouldn't because I was supposed to erase that part of my life permanently. Eghehehe. He was in my same grade and we became close friends through RuneScape, as well. He asked me to be his girlfriend, but I said it wou-oh my gosh this is so sad. See readers, even my love life online is better than my real love life. Any way, we just went on as friends. And then we drifted apart because of some odd things he said. It wasn't nasty or anything...I just don't remember. So I took it out on future email addresses. That's that.

I came across more friends who played RuneScape. It's refreshing. I am happy when I have someone else to talk with about something I enjoy. I don't go on RS as often, but it's a part of me, as corny as that sounds. I also caught someone in a lie, where they claimed to have played it. They are not aware of my blog, though. That same damn person also criticized people with blogs and Twitters AND the fact that I made a cake from a box mix. WHO THE HELL DOESN'T? *Wrinkly old man face*

Where are you Spudspoon? :(

Eating Habits.

YAY, another list! Once again inspired by a Reddit thread. This deals with junk food, for the most part. So health nuts and parents, I ask that you hold back harsh comments. If I don't mention the healthier foods, it just means that I eat those like a normal person, not that my diet is evil to soccer moms with memberships in Parents Against Sugar. If this does bother you, I'll give you a shoulder massage... with my Cheetoh-powdered, doughnut-glazed, stir-fried hands. While licking you with a red tongue, stained by raspberry Tootsie pops. And I'd have a weave made from angel hair pasta and sauce, lightly dusted with garlic. And I would be wearing melted butter for lotion. I'm hungry.


  1. Josh Mankey showed me this. Dipping fries in chocolate shakes. He was Kim Possible's crush during the whole embarrassment pollen fiasco. Season 1 Episode 43 "Blush." It starts at around 13:40. You can watch from there or watch the whole episode. My suggestion? Watch the whole episode.
  2. I swirl ice cream until it has the consistency of thick yogurt. Not pudding because that's a bit watery. I enjoy eating it while keeping the smooth surface on top. This is cultured living.
  3. I scrape out some of the filling in Toaster Strudels. I don't like having a glob of slightly tangy filling underneath perfect icing.
  4. I also scrape out filling from Pizza Rolls. This is only when I decide to eat them in one bite, which is more often than the other option. 
  5. I prefer not to have crust on sandwiches, but when I can't avoid it (I'm at someone's house and their parents physically hand me a carefully sculpted sammich) I eat the crust first. It's not abnormal, I just thought it was worth mentioning.
  6. I peel apple skin with my teeth and discard of it. I hate doing this in public because people question me. I strongly dislike apple skin. Stop telling me about the nutrients in it. I'm aware. 
  7. When cooking Ramen noodles, I let out the majority of the water. When I mix the delicious MSG-abundant powder in, it is not diluted. Definitely packs a punch. If I don't drain it, I just add two packs. I stopped doing that, because that leaves no powder for the other pack, which is terrible.
  8. Donuts, brownies, cookies, and cakes must be warmed in the microwave and must be accompanied by a full glass of milk. Milk amplifies the taste. Always.
  9. Chocolate milk cannot be too chocolatey, nor shall it be too milky.
  10. Hot chocolate must be hot. Not warm, not cold. Hot.
  11. I don't like vegetables in fried rice. I spend the first few minutes picking out all of the vegetables I see. The ones that I hate are the "invisible" ones like onions. They infiltrate my fingery defenses and attack with an undesired crunching in my mouth. I do like having eggs in there, though it's not a vegetable.
  12. Eggs. Scrambled. Lightly seasoned. Perfection.
  13. I think this is on its way to becoming a habit. Ranch dressing in turkey sandwiches. My aunt showed this to me. It's so great. I see why my carrot-loving friend loves Ranch so much. 
  14. Chips in sandwiches. I don't like lettuce, so chips add the good kind of crunch I am looking for.
  15. When eating foods with an unbalanced mix of ingredients (pasta and meatballs, Lucky Charms), those ingredients must be balanced accordingly. One marshmallow for every six plain cereal unit. So on.
  16. Mandarin oranges, pineapples, other fruit cup fruits all must be juicy. I cannot stand dry fruit cup fruits.
  17. I do not like the white stuff on oranges. That's why I don't eat them, unless they come in fruit cups with the white stuff out of sight.
  18. Cold fruit is the best kind of fruit. Cold fruit plus summer in my city is delightful.
  19. Cold ANYTHING during the summer is delightful.
  20. Soggy Cereal Policy: If it does not fall apart on my spoon, it's still edible. 
  21. Salads. Um. I don't really eat them anymore. I put too many croutons and too much dressing on it one time and that ruined it for me. I remember gagging. But when I find one that looks alright, I'll edit this one.
  22. Hunger strikes when you least expect it. It must be dealt with. It's not weird to find myself eating while crying, laughing, or sleeping.
  23. Applesauce just tastes better with a pinch of brown sugar.
  24. My family is a brown sugar family. That's not meant to be a black joke. However, we do not buy white sugar anymore. That's not meant to be a white joke. It's only offensive if you consider it as such, and I apologize if you do. I now consider white processed sugar to be "fake." I don't know how else to put it :/
  25. This is kind of sad. I will drink things in a bowl if a cup is nowhere to be found. Like a cat. Mew.
What better way to end this post... than to hint that there will be MORE LISTS?

There will be more lists!

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Fears.

I spent too much time on Reddit today. I read too many posts and looked at too many pictures. I cannot look at that site again until I let out some things. There was a post about the nastiest thing people have experienced. One guy had someone else vomit in his eyes. A famous one floating around involves a Jolly Rancher. I honestly do not recommend viewing that particular story.

I'm just going to jump right in and list a few of the things that make me curl up and wish the world were void of life altogether.


  1. Roaches. I cannot even look at their Wikipedia page. I cannot summon up enough mental strength to propel my fingers to navigate down that page. I tried looking at it once, the very week before final testing, and it threw me off my flow. My flow. There is one in my bathroom now, freshly slaughtered by the heavy foot of my father. Ok, ok, it has been there.. a while. I cannot even stand to pick them up. I am afraid of hearing that...crunch. Feeling the squishiness... like a potato chip encasing Jell-O. Many people have heard this, but one crawled on my face during the ONE TIME I SHOULD HAVE BEEN SAFE. I just ask that we all close our eyes in twisted respect.
  2. Having someone close to me suddenly disappear without sharing a pleasant moment. You know that phrase about never going to sleep while you are mad at someone? The originator knew what he or she meant. On a related note, we take face-to-face contact for granted. I would prefer that my last words to the people I love were heard by the very ears of those people. Not over a phone or Facebook. 
  3. Being shot in a sketchy area. That speaks for itself. I don't know what I am going to do when I'm all grown up and Daddy and Mommy are nowhere around to protect me.
  4. Follow up on 3... growing up. I do not want to grow up, damn it. I want to be back in elementary school. I want all of this responsibility to just vanish. I don't want to move out of my parent's house. I don't want something to happen to them when I am gone. I want to go back to that time where I didn't really know about death, leaving, divorce, illness, arguments. I don't want to be an adult.
  5. Another follow up... I don't want to drive. I mean, I do want to drive, but I feel like once I learn how, more adulty things will follow. When I do start to drive, I'm going to make racecar sounds whenever I speed up or turn. I'm also going to fill my cup holder with a crapload of coins and cash in case I need to donate to homeless people or pay a toll. I don't want to crash. No matter how careful I am, there are always other people on the roads. That's true when my parents drove me around, but at least they are going to be there if something happens. I have a feeling that after my driving test, the night I get home from it, I will just weep into my pillow. Joy and absolute fear.
  6. I don't want to graduate. I wish I could stay at my current high school with all of the same people and teachers. But I know I can't. I have to learn to accept change. I'm afraid of change. 
  7. Living alone. What if I slip on something? What if there is a roach and I'm too short to reach it and my broom is right underneath it? What if someone breaks in? What if I start a fire with my poor cooking skills? 
  8. Finding someone. Well hey, at least I won't be living alone (maybe), but still. What if he cheats? What if he leaves? What if he dies? What if we fall out of love? What if I piss him off so much he cannot stand to be near me?
  9. Mayke kids. I love them. But if I have them, I will have to go through raising them correctly, protecting them like my parents did for me, buying clothes, food, an education. What if I mess up and they turn out spoiled? What if they run away form home? What happens when they turn 18 and want to leave their mommy? I am not eager about leaving my home yet. This is bringing me to tears.
  10. Sleep paralysis. You are about to go to sleep. You start to doze off. suddenly, you are wide awake but you cannot move a freaking muscle. You can move your eyes and breathe. You see a shape in the corner and hear whispering voices. You try to scream. You cannot. You try anything, everything. Finally, you move your arm and break the spell. Scariest freaking thing. I have experienced it twice. To some, it may sound made up. No. The second time, I was frozen, as before, but I heard the sound of a shopping cart. It sounded normal until I realized that my room has carpet and no shopping cart within a 60 mile radius. Sleep paralysis is basically feeling extremely vulnerable while weird things that shouldn't be happening... are happening. 
  11. Losing someone over something stupid. Or hurting someone a lot because of stupid stupid stupid things I've said. To the point where an apology is like dragging your own half-alive body through a football field. 
  12. Crashing in a plane. I don't like traveling for this reason.
  13. Divorce and all of the things that follow its destructive path. Those with parents who are still together, be grateful. Please don't complain about how mushy they are. Don't whine about how cute they try to be sometimes. I would do anything for that. When it happened, my sister and I tried to get them back together. I don't even remember what exactly we did, but it obviously didn't work. For some time, they lived under the same roof, but it was terrible. Arguments every day. Not just bickering, but hurtful crap. I think that one of the saddest parts of my entire life was watching my mom in her van, making a right out of the driveway, with her last box of belongings. I remember sitting by the huge front window just crying. I then went into the room she stayed in and kept crying. I remember going to our grandmother's house where she lived after she left, and crying again, because she didn't even have a mattress to sleep on. I used to cry when she would visit us. Not at the visit, but when she left us again. I made a promise to myself and my future family. This would never happen. If I do start a family, it will be with a person I love totally, with every ounce of my being. If we fight... when we fight, we are going to work things out. I am not going to let my kids go through the same things I did. This hurts the most. Out of all of the emotional things, this one thing hurts the most. 
  14. Death. The feeling of not knowing what exactly is out there. I've been fed with the promise of an afterlife. As much as I would love to believe, I just think that it will be known when we get there. Hopefully not soon. It's beautiful, in a way. An end to all pain and suffering. No more of the fears I have listed above. I hope to have all of the people I love by my side when I die. Not in a tragic accident, but in a peaceful way. The process of dying, too. Watching and feeling your own body slowing come to an end. Not being as strong and energetic as you once were. It's already happening. Don't ever tell me on my birthday that I'm one step closer to death. I don't want to hear it. It comes when it comes, and I don't need anyone to remind me. 
One good thing about crying it that it makes you feel better afterward.

You know what? Lists are fun. More lists. 

Ads.

This is a nonsensical post.

I have ads on the blog at this moment. Perhaps they are blocked if you have AdBlock. AdBlock is really great.

I honestly don't expect to make money from them at all, as that is their intended purpose. I write just to write, not to please anyone or my monetary "desires." I don't really have a strong will to make money, in other words. They are there...just in case.

Anyway, all of the ads are relevant to my posts. That's very creepy. It's almost as creepy as looking to the right side of Facebook once and being asked by a side-ad if I lived in... my current city.

Yes.

So it's creepy. But I realized I could change the content of my ads if I changed the content of my posts. I want my next ads to be about fudge brownie recipes and the color purple.

So I will mention fudge brownies and the color purple.

Several.

Fudge brownies.

Times.

Purple.

I will try to incorporate fudge brownies and the color purple into a multitude of sentences. Maybe bald men shampoo, too.

Shampoo for bald men.

Shampoo extracted from the fudge brownie juice which is a deep kind of purple. Kind of reddish purple.

Bald men bathing in fudgey substances with purple armpit hair. Do you shave your armpit hair? I envy those who have hair pale enough in their pits to just ignore it. You guys are lucky. Maybe if I got just a little bit darker this summer...

Fudgey purple armpit hair that bald men like to shave with used razors.

I hope this works.

This is a nonsensical post.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

That One Awkward Kid.

Everyone goes under that title at least once in their life. You are suddenly surrounded by people and you forget how to talk. You forget how to talk in a pleasant way, that is. This time, it was me. 

Yesterday, I went to an orientation for my upcoming summer volunteering. Before I go and meet new people, I try to psych myself up during the car ride. I thought it worked. I was nervous before I even got to the location. Deep breaths. I kept telling myself that it was going to be like high school. Look at how happy I am now. More deep breaths. No sweaty palms yet. 

We got the the place. My mother's workplace. She had been working there for at least 5 years, so I knew my way around the area like the back of my hand. Some of the adults in Postpartum already knew me. I started to feel more comfortable.

I was late, though. I walked in behind another girl and sat next to her. No one was talking to one another. Oh boy. So the orientation was just starting, I signed in, the lady went over rules, expectations, the usual. The girl I sat next to was a returning volunteer and she made a comment to herself about her old card picture. This is my chance to make a new friend! I subtly laughed. Then somehow we got on the topic of phones. I was sort of more comfortable now that I had someone to talk to. I found out her dad was a WAY higher level person than my mother. So I didn't really mention my mother, who is a nurse's aid. I always tell people she is a nurse. 

There were a few guys there, which was unexpected since this was the Texas Women's Hospital. They were not attractive. They were not. One was sort of attractive, but he fell asleep during the directions segment. The lady in charge tapped his head with the brochure she had. He woke up. A few minutes later, he stood up, said he couldn't go through this stuff anymore and walked out. He is going to be a freshman in high school. 

There was a girl who just turned fifteen and all she talked about was about how she was flirting with this older guy from California. Bratty. She looked Indian, but she was black. 

Which leads me to this cultural diversity film they showed us. It showed a Cambodian boy with marks from traditional coining practices on his chest. The black doctor wanted to call CPS, but the Cambodian nurse said it was a cultural belief. There was also a very religious black lady who didn't want treatment because she said the Lord was her guide and he would decide. The white nurse was getting flustered with her case. Then there was a Hispanic man in pain, and the white nurse complained to her Hispanic friend about how expressive Hispanics were and they made a crapload of jokes about how they complain so much about small things.The Hispanic nurse said, "All patients should be Asian or British. They would die before they pressed the emergency button." The white nurse smirked and went on her way. All of these situations were resolved when the Cambodian boy and his mother did not have to confront CPS, the nurse told the black lady that God wanted her to get better while the black lady cried, and the other nurse got brutally scolded by the Hispanic family after finally finding out that the Hispanic guy had a fatal stomach ulcer. "Why didn't you do anything sooner?" 

There was another video about blood but that was not as exciting.

A lot of other people were talking on their damn phones during the lecture. There were about 20 people total. And six of them were on their damn phones. 

I'm working on Wednesdays, 8 to 12 in General Nursery and 12:30 to 4:30 in Antepartum, which deals with pregnant women before they have their babies. So far, four adults told me to expect some really crabby women in Antepartum. Hehe. On Fridays, I work from 7 to 2 in Day Surgery. I might see up to six surgeries. I'm very excited. 

I now have my very own hospital card, just like my mom. I'm proud, but the picture looks like crap. I'm not smiling. But I don't care, no one will look at it up close. I look like a deranged prisonmate. 

That girl I mentioned earlier? During lunch, she picked up her stuff and left without saying anything. She sat right across the room next to another person and that guy who fell asleep, but this was before he fell asleep. I was really hurt. I wore deodorant. I put cherry blossom lotion on from Bath and Body Works. I shampooed my hair. The last conversation we had was about how hard school was going to be next year. I don't know what happened that made her leave.

Yeah, I was hurt, but I just accepted it and talked to another person later on. I was still hurt. I will not see her during any of my sessions, though. Kind of  a relief. That has never happened to me before. The moment she left, I was thinking about how grateful I am for every single one of my school friends. My family, I mean, because I do consider them family. The moment she settled down into her new chair, I remembered that time where all of my school family had a group hug. I love you guys. I wanted to cry. I wanted a hug. But that was way too much to ask of the girl I had started talking to. She gave one word responses. I guess she didn't want to talk either. The rest were still on their phones. I still want a hug.

Most of the people I will be working with are adults, and I know some of the adults who work in my sections, so I am excited. This is still the opposite of high school. But...again, just by accepting it, I can move on. I went to the gift shop alone after it was all over and avoided that one girl. I got a KitKat bar and some Fritos. It made me feel better while I sat alone in the heat to not make contact with that girl again. My mom came soon. 

They had good fudge for the junior volunteers. 

I wanted two pieces, but I was afraid to go alone in front of all of those people. 

I miss school.

Tina Fey is my Guardian Angel.

This post deals with my travels in the Ohio area, from June 9 to June 14. Five days of fear, awkwardness, passion, and togetherness. Five days of missing Houston and exploring Ohio. More than five days of NOT BLOGGING...sorry about that.

If I wrote out every single detail, it would take up a lot of space. A LOT of space. I regret not blogging periodically throughout the trip. I considered vlogging about it, but now it is too late and I am quite lazy and my hair has not been washed. Not that I care too much. I expect the potential watchers to be accepting of my appearance, for it is the content that counts. Anything,  I'll hit the most important parts!

A) Tina Fey is always there to guide me.

It's so true. I walked to the luggage check-in area with my mother, father, sister and Kevin. Matthew wasn't there and I felt sooo bad because I wanted him to be there when we left. He's my lil' brother and he wasn't even there to say goodbye. He was with his uncle. so, by the time we got closer to the TSA area, I was already feeling pretty sad, because I was about to say goodbye to my mom, too. I'm usually alright with not seeing one of my parents, but for some reason, this was different. I mean... we could have crashed on the plane. The end. Obviously not, because there is more to write. Anyway, there was a store in front of the TSA area and it had Bossypants, Tina Fey's book. It had a picture of Tina on the cover with man hands.
I smiled. Not because of the comical juxtaposition of the mismatched body parts, but because Tina Fey is my idol. I remember thinking... if I can spot Tina Fey more than one time, this trip will be fine. And I did. I spotted Tina Fey several times. Thank you, Tina. More on her later!

B) TSA.

The TSA officials at the Hobby airport rushed everyone along and were extremely crabby. I'm sure I was overreacting because I was still half-crying due to my departure from my mommy. But this woman...this one TSA woman... agh. It was very early at that point, and I understand now what caused her attitude. I forgive her and sort of scold myself for not seeing the cause sooner. Hell, I didn't want to be at the airport at 6AM either. Still...

C) Planes and Drinks and Denver.

The flight was nice. The scariest feeling was going up in the air and thinking your ears will explode. They didn't and I sort of liked that mild popping feeling. They had TV screens in front of us but they stopped airing it if we didn't pay 5.99 or something. I was like DAAAAMN, man, but it was ok. I fell a sleep and then I got some water. I don't like to use airplane restrooms because if it crashes, I wouldn't want to be known as the one passenger covered in toilet stuffs during a plane crash. It would make it harder to identify my charred remains. Sorry. I don't like flying.

Oh, the Denver airport is freaking huge. I don't know what else to say, it was just fantastic. I LOVE THOSE horizontal escalator things. When you walk on them, it makes you feel so much faster. 'Cause you are. 


D) Ohio. So much.

It is more hilly than Google Maps can portray. More beautiful.

  1. Thursday: We arrived, my aunt picked us up, we went to her house. It's in Dayton. No one knows where Dayton is. HILLS EVERYWHERE. So hilly and beautiful. And full of trees. Every time I see a lot of trees, I think about how easy it would be to get lost in there and how long it would take for police to find your body. Yeah. But seeing the family was so great. 9 year old cousin. Connor. CLASSY AS I DON'T KNOW WHAT. It had to be capitalized. He is so freaking smooth for a little boy. You know those suave older black men you see? He's like that, but 9. And funny. And freakishly smart... his grammar is fantastic. 
  2. Friday: More cousins come in. All around 20 years old, one girl, two boys. Again, CLASSY. And just flat-out cool. There are other boys from our brother school similar to them, and I am intimidated. However, since they are family, I just smile shyly at them. Like damn, they are on this level I cannot reach. My girl cousin is really nice and she's a great track runner. All of them are athletic and I feel sort of wimpy compared to them. Their father looks like my dad which is scary. All of my uncles and aunts have weird names. Sprie, Kalor, Mada (Adam backwards), Nigel (not so bad), Lisa (again, not so bad), Nyrtestine, and Fayvenia. Did I mention this was my black side of the family? I soon picked up an accent. A blaccent. I felt so cool. Uncle Sprie (alternatively "Tim") is the fun one. He's mad funny. He's the youngest of my grandmother's children. Almost all of my uncles and my father call my grandmother "mummin'." It's so kinda cute.
  3. Saturday: I just wanted to reiterate how wonderfully hilly Dayton, Ohio is. It's so beautiful. I wish I took pictures. This was the day my aunt, Nyrtestine, got her Masters in Education. The graduation was long. I found out I have a little second cousin named Layla or Leila who is three and I'll be damned if she isn't the cutest girl baby I've ever seen. Matt is the cutest boy baby. She's not shy. My black family in general is just cooler than me. The dinner after the graduation...oh boy. There was a pasta bar. I think. There was a chef, and people would line up and choose a type of pasta, garlic, sauce. Perfect. You could hear sizzling. It was mindblowingly good food.Then came the after-dinner speeches. It started with Uncle Tim (Sprie) congratulating our aunt. Then almost everyone stood up and spoke their hearts about black people living in America and how important education was. Then my dad. This is big. This was the very first time in all of my life I have seen my dad cry. Big deal. It was silent for a while during his speech.This was the very first time I held back my tears for something this intense. His speech was...unreal. I got up and spoke after him, to thank him for what he had done, overall. This was hands-down the most powerful day of the trip. 
  4. Sunday: Church. BIG church. Forgot the name. We were late. The service showed a screening of the pastor talking to Justin Bieber and both of them flipped their hair in slow motion. Service was short, only 30 minutes, ended in singing. It was not bad at all, and I enjoyed it! My black side is crazy-religious. Back to our aunt's house. Clean-up time. We were all staying at our aunt's house and she is a neat-freak. after the cleaning was done, the males sat down to watch TV, and the girls helped make sandwiches. Great sandwiches, with Ranch dressing, pure ecstasy. After they were prepared, my aunt held the girls back, Mariela, my girl cousin Mariah, and I, and asked the men to get their food first. I was sooo confused. I had never been exposed to this. When my dad realized what happened he voiced his opinion. My aunt just said she was traditional. Man, damn, I made that food, you know, I want to eat at the same time as those who did NOTHING. I was, and still am...shocked. Then, back to grandmother's house to barbeque. Good. Food. Oh my gosh. I can't even... never before...taste. I'm going to cry. We watched Salt and I fell asleep. I woke up to get to the bed, and in the bathroom I called my mom crying because of my homesickness. I just missed everything about Houston. My mom, my friends, my room, Matt.
  5. Monday: Fixin' up our grandmother's house. Went to Home Depot, my aunt had a rant about homosexuality with all of the cousins while the men were shopping for tools. I couldn't believe how much hatred she was letting off. I won't go into it anymore. Meh. I spent quality time with my grandmother. Earlier, she told me never to smile at strangers and I realized that my father is a lot like his mother. It's sweet. My grandmother has lived a hard life. She had this notebook on the staircase that stated that God had been cruel to her. It was very frightening. She gardens and cooks and I admire her. At night, when the men were fixing up the house, still, Connor and the girls went back to our aunt's place and played hide-and-seek in the dark. If you have not played it in complete darkness, my dear friends, you have not lived. It was just great.
  6. Last day in Ohio. Had to wake up early, say goodbye to everyone. We made a super quick stop at my great-Uncle's house. He sounded genuinely disappointed that my father did not have any sons. THAT was the memory I left Dayton, Ohio with. Pretty fuckin' hurtful, if you ask me. I was glad to get back to Houston. The only thing that brought my spirits up was the hug my aunt gave us when she dropped us off at the airport. Plane to Chicago O'Hare airport. HUGE AND BEAUTIFUL AIRPORT AHHH. Tina was there again. I smiled. Then San Antonio. The TSA officers here were the sweetest officers EVER. We were buying a souvenir for Matt, and I saw Tina Fey again. I actually picked up her book and read the first pages, and her writing style is enjoyable. I am buying her damn book. I will always remember her. And well, Houston in less than 2 hours.
I'm glad I am back. I'm glad I experienced what I experienced. I'm glad I saw Tina Fey multiple times. I'm glad I got to see where my dad came from. I'm glad that I took this trip. I'm going back. I'm tired.

Monday, June 6, 2011

Awkward Encounters of the Paternal Kind.

CHEERFUL POST! Finally. My mood goes up when I write these, which is wonderful. However, if you have not read my previous one, I suggest it. Only read it if you honestly don't want your outlook on life to go down. It's one of those posts that is meant to be eye-opening. But yes, on to the cheerfulness! 

Alrighty, the beginning of summer has been very eventful. I'm not used to actually having a schedule. For the past few years, I just caught up on sleep, engaged in addictive gameplay, and resumed my full stalking activities. I was perfectly content. I am a generally... lazy person, so I felt fulfilled during those past years. My dad is usually alright with this behavior. and by "alright," I mean he complains about the lack of motivation and I... tune it out. Bad daughter, I know. 

Anyway, it came as a shock to hear that he had planned a trip to Ohio. First of all, AH, we haven't traveled in years, how exciting! Second, Ohio has almost nothing to offer. Everything after that sort of runs together. Like if you spill orange juice and sweet cereal milk at the same time, and both liquids mix to form a creamy peachy color. I've been procrastinating. Old habits die hard. I think that is the saying.

So, the main purpose of the random Ohio trip was to visit my dad's side of the family. 'Kay, Ohio has family to offer. My dad is definitely a Mama's Boy, and he misses his mother. It's very sweet. She's everything you'd expect in a little Black grandmother. 

A) She's short and is sort of bald, but it's adorable in that way only old people can be adorable.
B) She's a SUPER BAPTIST. You HAVE to mention that you have been praying or she will lecture the heck out of you.
C) She will always pray for you.
D) She pretends not to hear what you said if a "ma'am" doesn't come after it. She made me repeat something three times, slowly, and loudly, before I actually got it.
E) She has cute nicknames for her children. She calls my dad "'Carda." His actual name is Lacarrda. 

My gosh, my father has an unusual name. It just never hit me as hard as it did just now. 

My father wanted to surprise his mother. He planned on finding the family records of a really wealthy aunt who at one point had five hundred acres of land. she would be his great-aunt, I believe. Or something like that. She was a slave, or her parents were. See, I don't even know... one more reason he wanted to get her records. 

Two days ago, he took us, including my brother, who he considers a son, to the genealogical library in Downtown. I wish I could say the experience was totally amazing. But it was destined for awkwardness before we even got in. 

I don't know if you, wonderful readers, were outside two days ago, but it was freakin' hot. We were pulling into the tiny parking lot and I remember seeing a blonde policewoman strolling around in the heat. she was making her way towards the entrance. This is important.

We all got out of the car, carrying a bunch of documents, and I felt pretty important. we then had to adjust my little brother's shoes because they have a tendency to get messed up.My brother also carries his little water bottle. I like him a lot because he's cute and he makes cool faces and he's my brother. I hate how he isn't my brother from another mother, but I am his sister from another mister. Unfair. Anyway, we finally head to the entrance.

My dad whistles and says something to the effect of, "HOT!"

The policewoman hears and puts her hand up and just asks, "Are you talking about me?" 

I fought the urge to curl up and cry and laugh. my dad quickly covers it up with more obvious weather remark. I had to face the other way at this point. 

She then tells us we cannot take the water bottle inside because it could ruin the precious documents. So we head to the car again, and my brother places the water bottle inside. we head back...again. My dad makes yet ANOTHER comment about the hot weather, and this time the policewomen just smiles.

I examined her and saw that she was an albino Black person. I know that's a pretty forward statement to make, but I am 98% certain. I flashed her an apologetic smile and shuffled in. 

My dad is single. Usually his attempts with women are smoother. But in this case, he wasn't even trying to initiate feelings of attraction. I would not either in this case, if I have kids. Including one toddler who doesn't even  remotely resemble him in any way. 

He's pretty nifty. My mom is sort fo the shy giggly type, and I guess I take after her in the presence of adults. If I had the mojo of my father... I'd probably be even more single than I am now. And that is totally not a bad thing! I don't know how one can get more single. Maybe instead of boosting attraction levels, I would raise repulsion levels. I think it sort of works with my father because he is a male, whereas the same actions would earn me some offensive nicknames.

I'm BACK!

Dropping Bombs.

My uncle is mentally retarded. This has been mentioned before. I probably should not say this on the internet, but his condition is said to be due to drug abuse while he was in my grandmother's womb. It is not his fault. One cannot even shift the blame over to my grandmother.

When I was younger, my mother would take us all over to my grandmother's house to see him. He was about fifteen, in my first memories of him. I remember seeing boxes of crayons and coloring books. My grandmother would sometimes let my sister and I take some home if he was done with them. I remember wondering what was wrong with him, but for years I never asked. I was afraid of offending him, even if he wasn't there.

He did go to school, up until high school. He graduated a few years back, and that is quite an accomplishment. I clearly remember him showing off his girlfriend to me. Yes, he is fully capable of having crushes on people and he is fully capable of having interests. He has always loved rap music.  

I know what it is like to go out in public with him and feel embarrassed. I didn't understand his condition for the longest time. We'd go to Fiesta or some other store. I'm going to get another thing out of the way and say that my mother's side of the family is very poor. Probably shouldn't mention that online, either, but screw it. I know what it is like to live for weeks sharing a mattress on a floor with 3 other people. So we'd all walk in the store, poor, messy hair, my grandmother in a wheelchair and my uncle pushing her, and we'd all buy junk food. Lots of Coke, Doritos, candy, lots of it. We'd walk back to my grandmother's tiny apartment and unload, and my uncle would retreat to his room with his videogames.

Weeks, months, years, still no questions. I just grew up not knowing what was "wrong" with my uncle Randy. My mother often had her friends over at her grandmother's house and this one guy with a disfigured face didn't trust my uncle around his daughter. He also let off several hints of racism, and my half-black sister and my half-black self would spend time with his racist family because my mother was friends with his husband. They made great cheesecake though, I miss the cheesecake. Kind of.

Phew, I'm going to regret this whole whinefest. But I did it for a reason.

There are people that we interact with that have mental disorders and we openly avoid them. There are people who we know and love and befriend who are going through some bad stuff. There are people who try to live a decent life yet cannot because the majority of us find them odd.

I just want to issue an apology to a boy who will likely never ever see this. I remember high-fiving someone when he left after an awkward encounter. I remember getting pissed at him for attempting to find a damn place to fit in. That's all we want, right? For someone to want us and to smile when they see us? For someone to think about them and care for them? Someone to make them feel welcome?

If I saw this happen in a movie, I would call the girls "bitches." I'd go out on a rant. So I'm here, ranting at myself, hoping that the few people who read this will see it. I hope that this sort of sways all of our clouded perceptions of the world.

I'm not saying that this boy has a mental disorder. That is not my place, and I still feel a bit too forward about this. I only assume this because my uncle exhibited similar behavior. HOW THE HELL can I treat someone like I did when my very own beloved family member has the SAME DAMN THING?

I know it's harder for people who have not had the same experience to understand. But it honestly cannot be that freaking hard to sit down and have a damn conversation with someone who seems different, when WE are all honestly different ourselves.

We tend to laugh at socially awkward people. But I hope that we never forget that we are sooo far from perfection, too. Our social "normalness" does not make us any better than those who have difficulty picking up social cues. I know it's hard. Uncomfortable. We are still afraid of being judged by the people who honestly do not matter.

When I was in middle school I was in the same position as that one boy.


A common misconception people have about psychology is that it only deals with "comforting the crazy people." I can't remember how many times people have told me I am not strong enough to handle all of the "crazy people." They assume that I have been sheltered my entire life. Quite the opposite, dears. I live with the "crazy people." And I see that in this case, the term seems to be offensive, but I do not mean it to be. I want to go into psychology because I want to know why. I want to know the "why's" to so many things. And yes, I honestly do want to work with "broken people."

I am also going out on a limb and saying that this whole mess is why I cry so much in public. Believe me, if I could stop it I would. You think I like seeming weak and vulnerable? Like some spoiled girl who is so used to having people wait on her, to dry her tears which are probably being cried over a really small thing? No.

When I cry, it brings up all of this crap. So yes. Weak. It is pretty weak. But I am happy. Crying releases happy stuff. Which is good. I would just rather skip the tears and go straight to happiness. I overheard a conversation that seemed like it was meant for me to overhear. And one person said it was stupid to cry in public. I remember the tone of your voice, and I guess we are still friends, and I doubt you will ever read this. I know. It's pretty stupid, hm?

I... don't know if it was wise to drop all of this on the internet. I understand that most people like to keep their business to themselves. Perhaps this was unnecessary. But I felt it strengthened my point. Acceptance. One conversation. You may moan at the thought of having a potential unwanted follower. But it could mean saving someone's life. Hurt (adjective) people hurt (verb) people. Sometimes themselves. Sometimes others.

Wake the hell up. I'm trying to do it, too. And now I press "Publish Post" with a huge sense of uncertainty on how this will be received.

(EDIT) HUH. A lot of my posts have been really depressing. I don't know. I mainly write when I'm pissy. So uh... hey.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Book Review: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

AH.

It has been a long time since I have been able to enjoy a book on my own. No required in-depth character reviews. No quizzes every few chapters. No more lectures.

They have already drilled those things into me. I don't know whether to shake my fist at all of my English teachers or rejoice. I'm rejoicing. I'm kind of thankful because using their techniques allows me to enjoy a book for more than its surface. I'd find myself jotting down notes in the margins, illustrating certain facial expressions, and pretending to be some of the characters. I honestly just want to go back and thank all of my teachers.

On with it, then!

I'll start with my decision to read it. I overheard a couple of my friends discussing it. One of their parents had seen the movie adaptation, and it was controversial. So I chose to read it.

Stieg Larsson is a talented writer. If I like a certain piece of literature, I often go to the author's Wikipedia page to see their background. Many people do that before they read their books. In this case, it worked out. I am now aware of his influences and can tie in certain aspects of the book with his life. I like it.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo deals with many mature themes. Sexual abuse,,sex in general, political scandals, economic terms that I admittedly shoved out of the way. The main character, Lisbeth Salander, is flawed yet wonderful. She is not really what I would look up to, but she is admirable. She dealt with her circumstances, and I am not a great judge of whether the decisions she made are correct.

It takes a while to build up. In the beginning, I struggled to see how two different stories could possibly link up. Again, going back to the political and economic references, it was confusing. I think it would be an easier read if I knew what exactly was meant, but it is understandable. It is possible to enjoy the book without knowing all of the things going on, but it is not recommended. I plan on going back when I have the time to decipher things. It will not be the same... I hope that makes sense.

I will also add that this book is the first book that has taken me over a week to read. I usually fly through books. When the Twilight series was in full bloom, I completed the first book in five hours, for I mean to see the movie the next day. I did not want the movie to cloud my judgement of the book. Well. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo took me about a month to complete. During the last half, I stayed up several hours with a few breaks in between to loosen my muscles. Yes, when it builds up, it gets you.

In my opinion, the characters are very well-developed. I'm still searching for the background on Lisbeth, but I suspect that is covered in the following books in the series. I'm glad that Larsson has a strong hold on my interest.

Alright, now the mature themes are something else. I would be calm on one page and my jaw would drop on the next, in some cases. You could have predicted some of the things would happen, but still. I guess that is part of the magic of thriller novels. I just can't describe it without giving it away.

I feel as though this review is incomplete. I would love to talk to someone who has already read it to know what they thought.

Yes, I do recommend it. I do so with a warning of the adult themes in it and a suggestion that you should expect to be shocked, somewhat confused without a basic knowledge of the business world, and an understanding that you will need a lengthy explanation for any wary parents. I am aware that many of your parents have already read this. My father has not, and he does not approve of manga. Basically, he is strict. Sorry, straying from the point.

Ahhhm. Hm. Alright then.

Refreshing.

Something to cheer you up after that really odd post.

You may have already seen this. But that's ok. It's still 100% true.

Let's get on with summer, yeah? I've been at home. Sort of. My schedule, for the first time EVER, has been packed. I sort of miss the lazy days. Sleep, Facebook, Reddit, eat, sleep. But now I actually feel like I am of use to society, instead of being another teen who wastes time at home!

I'm still a teen who wastes time at home. Always and forever.

YAY, short and sweet blog post. HUGS AND KISSES.

Final Meals.

*This is a morbid post. I am STILL trying to decide whether or not I should leave this posted.*

It deals with death, evil, other disturbing topics. Please, seriously, turn back if you do not like the content. I do not want to ruin your day! This did have a rather negative impact on me, but all is well now. 

You have been warned, my lovely readers. 

Reddit surprised me. Yesterday, around 8, I decided to check on the main page for something interesting. Someone was asking for the scariest website they had ever encountered. I opened it up in  another tab, and looked through the options. The community had answered it accordingly.

Before I go on, I looked at some of the responses before I clicked on the link. I wanted to know what I was getting myself into, of course. Many of them had brief descriptions, written by the brave or delirious who had already clicked it. Thanks.

I was familiar with some of the links they put up. More of the mysterious things, sci-fi stuff. The SCP Foundation, for instance. It is not as bad as the other ones, as it mainly deals with containment procedures of certain creatures. There's one that is semi-famous among lovers of the paranormal, such as myself. SCP-173, I think. The cleaners of its containment room must keep eye contact with it at all times. Or it attacks. They have pictures of it floating around.

They posted links to scary stories, which is always disturbingly refreshing. I might as well clear up some things. Yes, I am a fan of "frightening" things. Nothing way out there, mind you, just your average horror stories. No gore, whatsoever, nothing having to do with evil rituals, no sick, twisted things. Just aliens, outer space, dark forests and axe-wielding clowns. I'm what many would consider a lover of tame horror. So even in the little scary community, I'm considered a baby. So that's what one thing in particular creeped me out. Read on, dear reader.

There were discussion on "Deep Web." Deep Web, or /the/ Deep Web is apparently home to some of the sickest things imaginable. One person posted a screenshot of a website where people planned evil events. When I say evil, I mean it.  I've seen a few frightening things on the internet. I thought I was pretty much desensitized to what it could offer. I guess not. "Evil". I'm talking child predators. A damn website with a child predator community. It's not human. It's not morally correct. I wish I hadn't been aware. And this was only a little screenshot. Only the first page of posts. I  looked at one of the usernames and tried to imagine a person behind it. I closed it after that. I don't think I am able to handle that. I never will be.

The last link I clicked on was unsettling. Not as much as the one I just described, but close. It was a chart listing the names of those waiting to be executed, and beside them, a column full of their last meal requests. It's practical. I'm not kidding. Someone decided you are not fit to live anymore, so you might as well get to chose your final meal. I can't believe I am typing this.

Most of them sounded great. Again, I am not, in any way, trying to joke. Large amounts of food. Most likely their favorite. You would do the same, perhaps.

"Chicken fried steak, country gravy, hot buttered corn, mashed potatoes, hot buttered rolls, hot apple pie, vanilla ice cream, tea." Alva Curry.

What made it so eerie was how normal it looked. These are the types of meals many of us have for dinner. It's just… I don't know.

"Two 16 oz. ribeyes, one lb. turkey breast (sliced thin), twelve strips of bacon, two large hamburgers with mayo, onion, and lettuce, two large baked potatoes with butter, sour cream, cheese, and chives, four slices of cheese or one-half pound of grated cheddar cheese, chef salad with blue cheese dressing, two ears of corn on the cob, one pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream, and four vanilla Cokes or Mr. Pibb" Stanley Baker Jr.

One of the larger requests. It was at this point I started to wonder what was going through their minds as they ordered. Whether or not they would really be able to enjoy it. They knew it was their last meal. They knew when they were going to die. I know they must have done something terrible to "deserve" this punishment. But it's just so damn sad to imagine them making their final request.

"None. Last minute he decided to eat a hamburger at his Mother's request." Delbert Teague Jr.

If you are still reading, I'm sorry. Sorry for actually publishing this post. Yes, I do not usually write these sort of things. I said this way back, that I would just write about what was on my mind. This is it. His mother wanted him to eat something. His mother was there with him. Damn it.

"Asked that final meal be provided to a homeless person" Robert Madden.

I do not know what my stance is on capital punishment. Is it really in our power to decide whether or not someone should live or not? Robert Madden gave his final meal to a homeless person. I do not know the crime that lead him here. I do not know the crimes of any of them. That may twist my opinion of all of this. Reading through the chart makes me feel terrible. Then again, I do not know how many people they hurt. And what of the ones who had been wrongly convicted?

"Eucharist - Sacrament." Jonathan Nobles.

I'm going to stop writing about this now.

You're still reading? I don't know what to say. Also, this post is simply a post. That is all. Controversial? Yes, indeed. Disturbing? Yes. I know. This is not an indicator of my current state, no cause for concern, in case anyone was worried. It's what happens when you decide to click on something after you have been warned.  Just more aware of the world, I guess. It's like reality slapped me.

Hm.

I'll follow this post with a more uplifting one, for your sake. I hope this does not negatively affect you in any way. Please understand that my goal was not to make people feel bad.

Until next time, then?

Thursday, May 26, 2011

L...

Is for the way you look at me.

"Love" is a verb that is used too much and not enough. There is no flat-out wrong way to use it, people just have various "levels" of it, I guess. I love writing. I love chocolate. I love having a computer. I love communicating with the people I enjoy. I love the people I enjoy.

I just announce what I truly love when it gets to the more serious part of the spectrum. I hope this makes sense. Essentially, I have problems telling people I love them. I have problems expressing closeness, too, such as hugs and whatever else happens in an all-girl's school. That includes other things, but the fear in that case is justifiable.

I guess I can start with eye contact, since you are supposed to be able to do that with strangers. It's the first physical sign that you are interacting with someone and you are actually paying attention. It can make or break a first impression. To this day, I wonder if my lack of eye contact has made people feel like I was snobby or that I just didn't like them. Sorry. I don't know why I can't make eye contact. It's not like I'm scared. I do this with parents, too. Damn it, my own parents, I can't make eye contact with my own parents. I put on this eye makeup and whatever and I can't even look at a person in the freakin' eye.  Some people have really pretty eyes, too, and that's terrible to miss.

I've tried to work on it, but every single time I *think* about it, I just think and think and think about it and it becomes uncomfortable. The one time I AM able to keep eye contact, it's with a person who has the same damn eye thing. She ended up looking away a lot because that's just her thing, like it is my thing. We probably ended up looking like a bunch of goddamn idiots who were hating the conversation. It was a meaningful conversation, too! We were expressing our general disgust for busy work. Looking back, it's the sort of conversation middle-aged friends would have after not seeing each other since college. I'll work on it some more… I just wish it would come naturally. It's a human thing. It should not even be thought about.

O is for the only one I see.

I like it when a conversation is carried between people who, for this brief moment of human interaction, are only paying attention to the people involved. I believe that it is during these moments where human reach a point of clarity and understanding with one another. Our minds are a collection of nervous activity, I believe, and it's just fascinating to think that another human is experiencing the same neural reactions as you are. Regardless of how much I seem to avoid your eyes, I like being able to talk. It's deep, man. I attempt to make up for my eye crap by trying to get what's going on in other people's heads. Of course it's seldom correct. But I like to listen.

I cannot stress how important it is to listen to someone else. Gosh.  I read a forum post on how one guy shut up for a whole month, and did nothing but laugh and listen. He would only speak in Spanish, if need be. People found that they were comfortable with him. He actually began to care about others, instead of figuring out a way to say something about his OWN life.

It's a fact, people love to talk about themselves. People also love to talk about other people, and people like to hear about other people. But it's mostly ourselves. People also seem to show off their knowledge, or whatever other talents they have. It's knowledge that seems to be the one with the most words. It reaches a point where the listeners tune you out. They go through the motions of listening, the nodding, the "mmhm", the "oh" and it gradually comes to an end. One-sided conversations make both sides look foolish. I like talking WITH people, not TO people, same as I like being talked with. I don't want a lecture in which one is trying to make me seem stupid. I am the only person who can make me look stupid. If others attempt to, it's easy to play it off and seem cool, mysterious, and sexually appeasing. True facts.

V is very very… my gosh this post is not really flowing as well as I thought it would. See, the purpose was to go down and address why I acted like I did. It's just a muddle of thoughts. Oh. Oh.

Extraordinary.

I'll jump to physical human contact now. Hugs. This is a perfectly good reason; I was just never hugged as a child. I was really shocked when I came to high school and everyone was just all about hugs and linking arms. I didn't know how to respond, and even now I find it difficult for me to fully return a hug. It's like the eye contact thing, but the next level with people you are closer to. Hugs fell good, that's an empirical fact, scientifically proven. But they are like contact lenses. You have to get used to them and they have to be the right prescription from the right brand. Glomps from friends are fine, but I'ma send a ho to hell if they attack me as a stranger. It's part of the reason I am not attending anymore anime conventions. You read horror stories about people getting glomped by total STRANGERS. Nope. From friends, I've just learned to accept it, and it is no longer an issue, nor was it really a major one. Just from strangers… Lordy. You eventually get comfortable enough with your contact lenses that you can just wake up and be all fine and stuff with slipping them in. Those are like friend hugs. That's cool, that's fine. But imagine picking up contacts from the floor and putting them into your eye. No. It's a no.

I still don't know how to initiate a hug. When I came back to school after the summer, a friend and I planned to hug. We both overthought it and it was awkward. We never hugged again. On the first day back, later on, a girl hugged me. Total stranger. Or so I thought. I thought it was a girl who didn't like me last year. I was like "damn." and then I realized she was my 8th grade friend. So it was like "'kay, cool." Damn hugs. I do like hugs though. I like them now. They make me feel happy.

E is even more than anyone that you adore can
...
Love is all that I can give to you.

No. Not really. It's really hard for me to just announce that. I do love my friends. I can type that with ease. They are family. Not "like" family. They are family. But I really can't just go and announce that. Again with the overthinking. It's so odd to be able to tell who is saying it just for fun, or who actually means it.

I gave someone the homework numbers for something this year and they said they loved me. Bitch please. You don't love me. You don't even know me. The hell you thinking about? We haven't even had a damn conversation. You don't love me. I gave someone a pencil, too. "Oh my gosh, love you." No. You don't. Stop saying that to me. "Thank you," is fine, it's perfect. Maybe a smile. As long as you don't lie to my face.

I am pissed at that, yes. It's supposed to be special, is it not? Maybe it's the all-girl schooling set-up that brings up this situation. Maybe I'm being a hard-ass. My response to the people who claim to love me for doing something simple… a smile. Nothing else. I hope that they see the bubbling overreaction to their girly declarations behind it. I hope they can read the rage behind my crinkled pseudoAsian eyes. I don't even know if "pseudo" was used correctly there, but it sounds cool. Dictionary.com sort of messes it up, but for the sake of this post, please don't go there.

That's why I never say "I love you back." Or if I do, I feel weird while saying it. I know some are genuine, but I've never had the practice with saying it. Just like hugs. Chances are, if you are reading this, you already know that I consider you one of the people I consider family. Unless you are that i_love_weed guy. He never comments anymore and it... it hurts, i_love_weed. I miss you. I'm not going to say I love you because all you did was leave a comment on a post I made. I DON'T LOVE YOU, i_love_weed, I can't love you. I sort of expect you to one day pop up out of nowhere and leave a particularly nasty comment. I will be forced to mention you once again, and twist your words into something nice, like a backhanded compliment. 

Don't get me wrong, I had a normal childhood. It was just void of hugs and eye contact and "I love you". I think more harm would have been done if my parents starved me of all attention. You know how kids seek out the things that were kept form them? Who knows, I could become a jump-hugger who glares at people, loving every single thing that they do. I love you the way you read this sentence. And I like the way you managed to finish reading this post. Jump-hugging is like glomping, but with more airtime. You have to be able to leap up, spot your target while in air, float, and squeeze. Float and squeeze.  

Ladies, and gentlemen, but mostly ladies…

SUMMER 2011.