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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 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.