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Monday, February 7, 2011

Internet Journey.

The goal was to look up colleges suitable for majoring in psychology. It's my dream job. I want to figure out why we do the things we do. Sociology fits in there, too. But "psychology" sounds really great. My father had always wanted to instill in me a sense of focus. You set your mind on something, and you're supposed to head straight to it. That works when I am hungry, because I am always within 15 minutes of a refrigerator, or a fast-food place. But on a larger scale, say, my career, it doesn't. The more work I am required to do, the less enthusiastic I get about doing it. Unless, as mentioned before, it deals with food. I would haul a 2-ton crates of foam writing utensils across an ocean for food. That's pretty hard, because I'm not so sure foam writing utensils are available to the public, and if they were, they would be heavy in bulk.

You can begin to see why my outlook on "chores" doesn't work out. That's a pun! I stray away from the purpose quite often, and multiply the amount of time it would have taken to complete it by at least ten. So what happened on my virtual college hunt? 
Find it and join it. 
I mean, Lady Gaga didn't happen. She's usually my excuse for everything else, though. But no. Direct your sweet little eyes to the top-left corner. That is the perpetrator. I was going to say "penetrator," but that's slightly offensive. But you could say that it penetrated my sense of focus and left in the middle of the night without leaving its phone number. Asshole.

Actually, from now on, I will avoid saying *that word.* It shall be referred to as TP, instead of FB. Look, I know it's incredibly dumb, but right now, I think it's cool. But today, I logged about 5 hours straight on TP, took a little jog to the fridge, filled my exercise quota, jogged back, which filled the quota TWICE, so I don't have to jog at all tomorrow, and spent 3 more hours on TP. And when I say "on" I mean… it stayed open on my browser, it doesn't necessarily mean that I was on it.

I went on other sites, too! And I put an exclamation mark to show you that I can get excited about other things. There really is no appeal to TP, other than the possibility of finding more useless information about someone. Most of the time, you find out things that would be awkward to bring up in person. Maybe you don't even talk to the people you watch. Maybe they forgot that they left that precious information on the internet, and didn't want anyone to find it. I probably did. I'm so sorry.

I went on a Youtube binge, too. It usually starts with a link that someone gives me. Little do they know, they set off a reaction that could only accurately be personified by one of those huge inventions with a lot of gadgets that produce one thing by using a lot of steps. And no, it's not a woman.

I'm a Youtube junky! Junkie? My friends fill up my URL bar with links to things, and I click on it. Then I develop a liking for it… and it grows. So I feel the need to feed it with more of the same thing that began this. Look, this is one of those things that can't even be compared to a pregnancy or doing drugs. It needs to be both. It has to.

ANYWAY, Youtube ads are swell. There's no other word for them, they just have a certain glow about them. They are like  commercials, except more annoying because the thing we want to watch is usually shorter than a commercialed-show is, so it seems more frequent. But one side-ad caught my attention.
I was watching the Cholo Adventures, and eGO was tryna pick himself up some big booty hynas. Does Youtube think I want to think about birth control while watching it? If so, why did they assume that whenever a guy whistles at a girl, he wants to have sex? I smell RACISM.

I don't smell racism, actually, and I am aware that this was probably just a random ad, so it is very wrong of me to accuse Youtube of racism. For the second or third time in this post, I am so sorry. But this is still very odd. It feels so out of place. When I come to Youtube, I expect to be hit by ads full of future careers and OH CRAP, back to my goal, what the hell happened? Yeah, at this point, I was reminded to stop having fun and get down to business.

But then my eyes ogled the "Suggested" section, and I saw a lyrics video for a song I hadn't heard. I saw how many views it had. How the hell did I not see this earlier, my ears have been missing out! *Cliiiick*

I liked the song. I liked it a lot. Which leads me to the next thing I saw on a website that offered… information about the song.
HELL YEAH, Peaceful Middle-Aged Asian Woman, I *will* see if I qualify. But wait, my age isn't even on there. Why do you put yourself out there, and tease me with your body language, when you have nothing to offer me? Throwing up peace signs implies openness to people. Why can't you be more open… to me?

All of my encounters with middle-aged Asian women have ended like this. Particularly my current math teacher. But my mother is different. My mother is way way different. Because she is my mother.

I continued to stare at her face in anger and confusion until I saw "SCHOOL" in fancy-ish font. Oh right, college, haha forget the song crap, let's seriously focus on college. So you know, at this point, I was pumped, because there was absolutely nothing else to stop me from finally reaching my goal. Facebook was calling for me, I saw a little "(2)" on the cute tab thing. But no, I had to be strong, I had to stick to the plan. When you stray away from the plan, bad things happen.

I clicked on the tab, though. Just a few "likes." WASTE OF TIME. "Likes" are for people who think that the conversation I am having isn't able to be saved from awkwardness. I was guilty of it when they first came out. But no, I actually like talking to people on Facebook… so unless the conversation is sending a billion notifications to other people, talk to me. I will stare at you until you talk to me.

Yet, my brief getaway to Facebook wasn't a total waste of time. I managed to have a pleasant conversation, that went something like this:
It wasn't the best rap, but the guys had fun.
I sent a link to a rap battle, courtesy of the brilliant men of a certain school. They are known for their campus presence and polo shirts, along with their ability to sweep girls off their feet, ohmydamn, visual explosion, maturity, they are wonderful, this doesn't make sense. But these guys, oh boy, these guy rapped. It flowed like honey. Or alcohol and food chunks from the mouth of a college kid.

College kid.


Damn it, that's right.

But my realization didn't mean I was going to go straight to my goal, even when again, I was so close. I was on the right path, it's not like I was looking at random humor sites...anymore. In fact, I decided to check my almost-forgotten email. And it was there that I found the crapload of college emails. At first, I thought colleges didn't want me, because all of my friends were talking about different ones they had gotten… while I sat in front of my school email with a frown. Maybe a few tears.

But none of these colleges drew me in. I mean, their presentation stood out, most definitely. And I understand that Princeton isn't going to email me anytime soon, but… still. I mean, a little notification, just to motivate me to do better in chemistry.

At this point, I was going to post a picture of one of the emails they sent me, but I realized that they could find this and spread rumors about how ungrateful I am, then no one would accept me. I'll give a hint, though… it has a weird name. And that is vague enough to throw any college prowlers off.

Instead, have more delightful TP conversations.
I support people.
So by now, I was basically touching my goal. Not where I need to be touching it, but I'm on the brink… like its head. I need to get closer. I finally closed out all other tabs, and opened my homepage, which is Google, and it's really pretty and purple. My current English teacher likes purple, too, and though I can't offer many great conversations on literature, we can talk about purple scarves and it's pleasant. She let me try on her glasses.

So I typed in "psychology colleges." And I waited as it loaded. Hello, Goal. We meet… for the first time. I swear, it's like winning a prize, or maybe a scholarship. I'm pretty sure you can "win" scholarships. You can win happiness. Actually no, that just comes to you. There are no losers when it comes to happiness!

Except the next event makes me feel like a loser when it comes to happiness.
As awesome as Chrome is, I just felt angry at it. The whole internet, too. They say that the internet is serious business, but then, it was poking fun at me. This little thing is responsible for awkward cut-offs in chat and delayed responses that could be taken as offensive, or overly dramatic. Screw you, Internet, for not working with my procrastination, thus preventing me from finding a goddam college. I just decided to munch on my frosted oatmeal cookies while listening to music. 

Friday, February 4, 2011

Oral Fixation.

*WARNING: This post may offend those who find it offensive for people to put bacteria in their mouth. I JUST put a piece of a plastic plate in my mouth. That proves that this is real, and not a joke. Also, although some things may sound suggestive, this time I really, honestly, truly did not intend for that to happen. Please be as mature as possible when you read this.*
TWO posts in one day. Three in less than two days. Yes, I'm feeling "write-y" this weekend. Enjoy:

Don't worry. The title only sounds sexual if you think it sounds sexual and don't know what it means. That applies to  any word or phrase. I love chocolate. I love chocolate. I believe in the Holy Spirit. I "believe" in the "Holy" Spirit. I like  computers. I *like* computers. You can turn the most innocent words into dirt by delivery. Works for humor, too. In  fact, pull up any stand-up comedian on Youtube, and imagine them doing their act in a monotonous tone. Damn  straight it isn't funny, unless their humor works in monotonous tones effectively. If you picked Dane Cook, he isn't  funny anyway. (Hate on, hate on)

Body language also plays a large part in how words are interpreted.  Imagine being in the one place that is supposed  to be 100% safe, 100% of the time.  Let's say Confession. For those who don't know, that's when you tell a middle- aged man all of the naughty things you have done. Our culture loves having us tell middle-aged men all about our  desires and shortcomings. Look at Santa. And life helplines.  Anyway, say you chose not to reveal your sins behind a  screen. You start to tell the preist about your disobedience towards your parents. And he licks his lips. You panic.  You're stuck in a little room less than two feet away from a grown man who just licked his lips after you told him  something that no one else is supposed to know. Right now, you don't care about the little rosary on the little table in  front of you, or the little Crucifix on the ceiling. You start to panic even more. And then he sniffles. Now, he could  have just had dry lips that you didn't notice before. Or maybe an involuntary twitch. But human instinct instructed  you to flee. So you do. The POINT is, you can never really tell what someone truly means unless you are provided  with context and an accurate understanding of every word they are saying. 

So, just in case you may not know, here is what UrbanDictionary, a trusted source, says about oral fixations:
(I would omit the part about the involvement of genitals, because that's totally not true)

It's basically one of Freud's psychosexual theories, except I derive no sexual thoughts from it. You may find it really  gross. I don't care. Because it's my life and no one can tell me how to live, I'M A FREE SOUL, YOU WHORES.
 It doesn't apply to everything and anything, there are specific things I enjoy chewing, that you may like to know  about. If you really don't care about what I put in my mouth, I'll try to make it enjoyable, nonetheless. Let's get listy!


  1. Food. This is a big one. If you follow my fucked up logic, we all have oral fixations when it comes to food. But  that would make it less special. I like crunchy stuff. It's why I put fries in my burgers. But not fried onions. Those  are vegetables whose nutritional value has been cancelled out by grease. Not that I mind. It's just the veggie  aspect.
  2. Aglets. Really gross, right? So is judging me because of it. But when I get new shoes, I just pop the aglets into  my mouth without even thinking about it. And I don't digest it or anything, it just gets mashed by my molars. I  love my molars.
  1. Those little clothing tabs that attach the price tag The ones that look like flat golf clubs. Yeah, I  KNOW people touch them and all. Maybe babies sneeze on them and adults don't wipe their hands and rub  them. I'm aware of that at all times… except when they are in my mouth. I get excited for new clothes, not just  because my closet will have more friends, but because it'll provide my mouth a mouth-buddy.
  2. The tip of my tablet pen. I pull it out when I'm not using it. I know it came with a little puller-outer for when  you need to replace it, but it's lost. Anyway, it's like my mouth wants to mangle it, but without it I can't draw.  And I lost the replacements, too.
  3. Bottle caps. When it finally comes out of my mouth, it doesn't even resemble a bottle cap. It's a challenge to  first flatten it out, so I can actually chew on it comfortably. But once it's tortilla-like, I am satisfied.
  4. I don't know if this really counts, but I like to feel my filling with my tongue. I have one filling, don't worry. It  reminds me of my oh-so-pleasant time at the dentist. (NOTE: I freaking hate dentists, now.)
  5. I don't know if this counts, either, but I chew in the insides of my cheek. It's starting to sound gross now...for  me. Just… the...outer layer of skin. And I'm done.
  6. But not with the list! Plastic bag bits. Like the little nubs near the handle, sort of.
  1. And the things that you pull off bottle caps when you open a gallon of water or milk. But mostly water, because  it always seems cleaner, and there is less of a chance you will find crusted milk on it. I like milk, but not THAT  much.
  2. Foam! Like from cups. I must chew the tops of cups. Sometimes I do it when I'm not even done with my drink.  (Scandalous, I know) And I'll just lump straws in there, too. It's helpful when I'm sharing my drink with  someone, more specifically after asking them meekly if I can have a sip, because I always know which straw is  mine.
  3. Nails. When they get a certain length, I get excited. Nail-clippers have no purpose for me. I take it like a true  man and bite. There was a time where they got really brittle, but I didn't want to do the tape thing, or  whatever that is. So I started to paint them. Starting in middle school. That's why most of the time, Iwill have  painted nails, not because I think it matches my hair bows. People teased me for it, and some still do, but they  can go suckuhdeck.
  4. Toenails, too. Part of the reason why my legs are flexible.
  1. Hair. When it was long enough to reach my mouth. Now I just fantasize about it. Maybe that's why my mother  took it away from me.
  1. Broom fibers. I think that's what you call them. The little mini-sticks on the other end of a broom. Again, go  ahead and vomit at the thought of ingesting millions of floor bacteria and getting an infection.
  2. I used to suck my thumb until I was 9, so that should count.
  1. Cross-Bra-Holders. Those things that turned bra straps into x's so no one could see them when you wore a  strapless gala dress, but really, you could see the outline in the back, so it's stupid.
And that seems to be all I can think of for now. But what happens after I tire of feeling a foreign object in my mouth? I don't know, I guess I just subconsciously take it out and throw it away. Not literally throw it somewhere, but I have enough sense to discard of it properly. Just because I act like a caveman, doesn't mean I truly am one.

Now, again, this is something I do without thinking about it. Don't go off and think that my goal every day is to stuff random things in my mouth. If I could stop, I would, but that would take intense effort, especially since I don't realize it. And again, I couldn't care less what you thought of me, this doesn't make me a bad, evil, stupid person. It makes me just… a person type of person. You may think I am gross. But at least I don't use my "powers" to spread hatred and judgment across the world, like what you are doing when you say that it's nasty and I am a weird girl for doing it. I would just like to be left alone in my actions.

Have a nice day.  

Timeline: Part 1

I could go on about the lack of snow in my city. I could say a lot about the hole in my heart that the snow was supposed to fill. But that's so negative. Chances are, I will forget about the ordeal in about a week, and if you would have read it, you would have forgotten it, too. I forgive Snow. In fact, because maybe it had family issues. Maybe it was called into work. Maybe its wife was having a baby. Very legitimate reasons for absence. It's easier to go through life without bringing up the terrible things of the past. So instead of bitching, I will try to post some of the ideas I have been working on, yet can't post because the timing was off. Timing is important. Here goes:

I've been alive for a decent amount of time. Shorter than many, longer than some. I don't really consider myself to be a bad person, for my conscience knows when shit's about to go down and it prevents my body from doing anything. I'm not a genius by modern standards but I know what's going on most of the time. I miss many major details at first, but I enjoy looking back on the past and trying to analyze it. I do much better with analyzing life than I do with English excerpts. In all honesty, I couldn't care less about what a random British author meant by using a staircases as a symbol for peace. (Staircases also represent journeys and tribulations or even joy and fear. Whatever floats your boat. Which could represent motivation and determination.) It sounds really selfish, and I don't really like about myself as much as I like to listen to others blab on about themselves. There's a little tick mark-maker in my brain that ticks whenever I use first person words on the interwebs, and it makes me aware of how much I refer to myself. I don't like it. But on the internet, especially a blog, that's sort of the purpose. So when I say timeline,  it is a timeline of my life. *tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick* But I'm pretty sure that most people go through the same general experiences. Basically, let me lead you through a human life, with as little first person references as possible. Let's make babies!

Sperm meets egg: This is technically one being. It's like dualism. Like Jesus. When they meet, they form an embryo. Let's call it Bartholomew, who will be referred to as "you."  Way to go! You are the result of true love, a drunk night, or a seriously tragic event that should not be made fun of.

Sperm meets taste buds: You're doing it wrong. Still probably the result of true love, a drunk night, or a SERIOUSLY tragic event that should not be made fun of.

Fetus: Oh hey, just checking in on you again. You're developing quite nicely. I see how plump you have gotten, and how soft your skin is. Might want to kick around a few times in there, because right now your mother is having people rub her stomach like a globe and she told them that she felt something earlier.

"Fetus Teenager": This is basically point where you are a fetus that is old enough to move out of your parent's house...or your actual parent, yet you still require nourishment. The messiness and dampness of the womb serves as a standard that you follow when you get outside your mommy and get an actual room. It's supposed to be really comfortable.

Newborn: Congratulations, Human! You have successfully completed your first quest. Welcome to a place where you can breathe, and giggle, and vomit, and have people care for you hand and foot. Welcome to a place where, right now, everything revolves around you and you can get just about anything by opening your mouth. UH OH. Your parents want to change your original name to one picked from an online baby name site. DAMN IT. The things you would have done as a Bartholomew. The chicks you would have gotten. The posse you would have had. Now you are Michael, and your new world comes crashing down. It is a short-lived time, so enjoy it while you can.

Couple o' months old: Aw, wook ah dhe wittle babeh. You've made great progress in releasing bodily fluids from every one of your orifices, gotten a few infections, filled the house with baby smell. Some people don't mind baby vomit, as it mostly smells sweet, and full of the love from the bond you get from breastfeeding. I really don't mind baby vomit at all. *tick*

6 months old: Great. You can roll around now. Or crawl. And you are making sounds in a desperate attempt to communicate. "I'm hungry, I don't want everyone crowding around me and squeezing me, I just want boobies," is sadly, "boooooo *giggle* aaaaaaaaaah." Your schedule consists of waking up, wailing, drinking, sleeping, having people change your diaper, having girls coo at you, sleeping, having men hold you up high, and sleeping. Your parents may express mild annoyance but they care for you out of love. And the need for silence. Basically, everyone else's dream life later on. Again, enjoy it while you can.

One year old: Oh. Hot. Damn. You. Can. Walk. That is RIGHT MOTHERSUCKERS (which you still might be). We're talking world domination up in this household, 'cuz this son is fixing to DESTROY. You notice that your parents express their annoyance more often, but do you care? It's sort of like you're being born all over again, because you are now a legitimate member of Walkers of the World.

Two, three, four, five years old: This is condensed because a lot happens, but space is limited. You learn to be slightly more independent, you get potty-trained (your parents kiss the ground you walk on now, and they don't have to worry about it being *as dirty* as it would have been. Even with, and maybe you start learning the skills that society requires you to know. Oh, what's this? The attention dies down a little. People don't squeeze you as much, you cry yet not as many people seem to notice, or care. Hello, foreshadowing! But still, at this point, this is the chillest point of your life and the chillest it is going to be.

This is where the variety kicks in. For some people. Which is why I am ending it here. For the most part, people follow the basic outline. It seems really incomplete, but I'll release parts 2 and 3...maybe 4 later on, as to not bombard you with something you may or may not like all at once.

Have a chipper, snow-filled, or snow-void day. Is "void" the correct term to use? Don't answer that...

Thursday, February 3, 2011

It's Cold.

Snow in Houston is a big deal. A huge freakin' deal. I mean a literal deal. We give up our warmth and weather stability for a few hours of falling ice. Actually, weather stability is just a nice fantasy that we like to keep in the back of our heads. Like evil thoughts. By circular reasoning, weather stability fantasies are evil. Perhaps. And when I say "fantasies," that is open for interpretation. Being a Houstonian, I perfectly understand if someone obsessed over the possibility of pleasant weather for a whole week. I would understand if they took that obsession to the next level and started composing symphonies for the notion. Hell, if you want to write fanfiction about the personification of perfect weather in this city, call me up and we can start working on it. My only request is that it would not cheat on the personification of Houston. Houston would be a homely girl with a slight bit of sassiness and a love for Mexican food. And...and Mr. Perfect (Weather) could look like anything, so long as he isn't afraid of commitment.
I only added this because it was the first result on Google images for "Mr. Perfect." He seems almost as tan as me, but unless he's half-black, too, it's just weird. I like tan people, though. 

I'm just killing time by writing this, because I do intend to stay up to see the first snowflakes fall. Someone said by 5 it would snow. Heretics. Now they are saying 10. 10 is the magic number. Along with 13, because it looks really cool. Speaking of numbers, I wonder if a mole of snowflakes is enough to make a decent snowman. Actually, no, screw patriarchy, I mean snowwoman. Ugh, but it has two w's in a row. It looks gross. Even our language is patriarchal. It's like Spanish, and I'm not a huge fan of Spanish. Oh, math, chemistry, grammar, and a foreign language were all featured in the paragraph. Four teachers should consider giving me an extra two points on my last tests for this… I sort of need it.

In our little fanfiction, can we add a side character? Time? Please? I plan to kill it even more. And what better way to metaphorically kill it than "humanizing" it and killing it in a work of fiction? I promise it won't manifest itself into real life. I wish I had the power to do so. But I've tried it. It doesn't work. If it did, I'd be rich, living in Florida, and married to a cucumber crush from my childhood. A literal crush on a fruit. It's a fruit, right? Don't answer that, it makes you look snooty and me look stupid. I embrace my stupidity, for it makes me laugh. I may have mentioned the attraction, but I refer to it periodically to make you guys question my sanity. I've ruled out that the cucumber was representative of some Freudian penis theory. I liked it because the cucumber had a cool voice and a sunny personality. I wish I could play the sound clip as soon as you read that line. Like right here.
...I still like pirates, though. 

Have you ever stayed up so late that one thought melts into another, and then words start to melt into eachother? Say you are staying up late with someone, and you decide to talk them them, and all that comes out is hrrrmmfucksleepwearewarriorsbuzzz. And yes, it may not sound believable, but some people buzz when they are tired, just to let others know that they are not dead. That's sort of what is happening now. Except I am all alone and I am not about to talk to myself when I can talk to the screen. Also, my thoughts are pretty separate. (EDIT: I just said a sentence out loud, and the words are distinct.) So it's not really late at all. But it feels like it is. I woke up at 3AM because I fell asleep while studying for Spanish, and my treacherous body wanted to torture me.

I desperately want to sleep right now, but I have an obligation to see snow, damn it. It's just as important as giving birth. If you held in a baby for longer than you are supposed to...I don't know where I am going with this, but it's sort of like that. Maybe you explode. I'm not going to find out anytime soon.

Actually, speaking of pregnancy, it would seriously suck if you got impregnated by an alien. Let's be mature about this though. Some aliens may have a similar anatomy to humans. But we honestly don't know for sure. For all we know, the "males" are probably "females" too, so they don't really need to depend on each other to multiply. If that is the case, humans don't have to worry about being probed and penetrated by them, right? Wrong. So wrong. If you were a visitor to a strange planet, wouldn’t you want to touch the closest living thing? I would.  And maybe their society is totally different from ours. You know, maybe the equivalent to a simple "hello, here, shake my hand," in their world is insertion of their genitalia, if they have them. And maybe they do that sort of thing to each other all the time, except since they are both male and female, the alien sex cells cancel each other out, like spectator ions, I think. More chemistry! And life cycles and biology! But with humans, it's different, because we only can produce one type of sex cell per gender, so it is over-ridden by the alien sex cells.

Think about raising a half-alien, half-human baby, too. It'd be two thirds one gender and one third of the other. What would that mean? I'm sure there's an internet flash thing floating around that allows you to design your own life-form. If not, I will see what can be done.
...This one is understandable. Although it's tall, it still sort of looks human...and damn it all, I find it attractive. I mean look at it. And screw the bitch behind him, although she's pretty nifty. 

I… don't know what happened over the course of writing this. I'm not going to apologize. Well, I will if it offended you. I see how it could be offensive to aliens who actually respect humans, and don't appreciate me generalizing them. AS OF NOW, it is 3 minutes until the projected "snow time" and it's not SNOWING. Bitches and whores. (EDIT: It's past the projected time and I am too fucking tired to go out, plus it's cold, and every one is asleep and my dad has the keys. Yes, I suck.)