Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Because that will DEFINITELY make everything better.


I get an extra hour of sleep tomorrow night. And you do, too, I think. If you do Daylight Savings. Which I think everyone does, but how am I supposed to know? They don't teach that in US History.

AAAAAAAnd I get to go downtown tomorrow and take as many pictures as I want.

And I'm probably gonna get pimp slapped because I should be doing homework.

And I had a top notch post in my head for the longest time and now I can't remember. I hate technology. A lot. But I also love it so much it's terrible.

Ah, Parental just mentally stabbed me and I want to maybe just a little bit just a tinytiny smidgen pinch her because she totally hates that (don't tell her I told you) and she got all... yeah.

Anyhoo, all I really want to do right now is draw and write some fanfiction and have a time machine, but sadly, I'm not Michael J. Fox so that's not gonna happen for me. Maybe next year. And I really want some more time to be funny but I'm trying not to get caught writing on here, which I will at some point, but at least that way I'll be prepared and have my nunchucks and Chuck Norris folder and something to chuck at someone's head (say chuck again, I dare you).

And I'm just dying to hear some Smashing Pumpkins, especially 1979. Le sigh, stupid doesn't have it, though, and that makes me want to punch their ovaries.

UPDATE: I was totally just kidding about the Daylight Savings thing. I'm sorry if you believed me or something like that (you should know better by now) but apparently it's in another month... which means I only got 5 hours of sleep last night, as per usual. Then when I came home today, I went to sleep around 4ish or 5ish and woke up around half past 8. Ish. With Phantom of the Opera playing, the part where she takes his mask off in front of everyone and they all scream and run. Even in my drunken-sleep state of mind, I was like "Seeeeeriously??? Really? I doubt their eyesight was very good and that was definitely not necessary. I mean, running AND screaming? That chick just got trampled because of all you melodramatic Frenchies." I can be very judgmental of my movies.

Monday, September 27, 2010

I feel the need to repeat things for emphasis.

I feel the need to repeat things for emphasis.

Well, it made me laugh.

UPDATE: Holy bucket of monkey hands. I think I just lost a few brain cells from the frustration that's happening with stupidstupidstupidSTUPID (rhymes with) Vest Internet. I'm about to start speaking Spanish I'm so frickin REBEDESHAGABAHALOPARIA at their STUPID useless incompetent butts. Someone's getting a crotch punch if my Stats page doesn't load in 30 seconds so I can see how many more people don't comment or stop by every once in a while. *Pointed look at readers who only take, no give* If you think I'm funny, please say something. Even if it's just you typing a bunch of letters or TURTLE or something. I don't just want fame, I want people to listen. I know, I expect too much.But there's only so many posts I can make and still see that my words are falling on deaf ears.So whateverrrrrrrrrr. Just think about it. Or dooooon't, ya jackanape. Just kidding. Sorta. Not really. Kind of.

A little bit.

So I'll shut my mouth and finish my yogurt and make fun of my dogs because they are about as smart as doorknobs and are so destructive it makes me want to punch Drew Carrey (yeah, I'm not gonna google his name)  in the face sometimes, but we all know it's only in good fun until someone gets eaten by wild coyotes. I suppose it's just a waiting game at this point.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

The really not normal wishes of January.

Firstly, how do you like the new look? Ain't it purty? I think it gives it more pizzazz *jazz hands for emphasis* and color. The old look, I liked, but it was also more difficult because I hadn't updated it. So, I swallowed my oh dears and what if?s for a mouthful of this looks so freaking awesome. I hope it's not too distracting. I mostly did the silverware background because it's totally unrelated, and that's just one of the subtle ways I do humor. It's also why I'm disappointed in my generation. Le sigh. Some of them just don't understand why things are funny unless it's blunt and offensive, like South Park. Well, it is a little funny... So anyhoo, I'll continue on, back to normal. 

Now, for the crazy to commence.

I wish I could meet Jon Krakauer.

I wish we would finally move to Portland and then maybe, just maybe if I wish hard enough, we'll run into Robert Pattinson.

I wish Pete Wentz hadn't married Ashley Simpson. 

I wish Britney Spears' clothes line didn't look like it was for underage strippers.

I wish Fall Out Boy would make up their mind and go off of hiatus or split. It's bothersome to be in suspense.

I wish those shoes from Plato's Closet had fit me.

I wish the camera at Plato's Closet couldn't see into one of the dressing rooms.

I wish English Bulldogs weren't so ugly.

I wish Chris McCandless hadn't died. I wish I could've known him because I would have loved to talk with him.

I wish I could find another teenager like me.

I wish Everett Ruess had lived longer.

I wish the Denver Zoo didn't suck so much.

I wish movie tickets didn't cost an arm and a leg.

I wish the computer wouldn't just tell me things were spelled wrong, but tell me how to spell it so I didn't sit there for ten minutes trying to figure it out.

I wish I didn't have to look at the keyboard. (In second grade I didnt even have to think about key placement, then a bunch of things happened and we moved and now I can't remember because my elementary school had the worst computer class ever compared to that of Omaha. *shakes fist at sky*)

I wish Tiny would think about what she says before she says it. I don't understand how to "stop talking like a woman talks."

I wish the jelly wouldn't drip. I wish jelly tasted less like sugar and grape on crack and more like fruit. Or something that comes from nature.

I wish we didn't have to constantly end up dragging Tiny back from the edge. No, I wish she understood that I'm not stupid, that I know for a fact that putting your leg up on the wall in a shower while your balance is still pretty craptastic is just tempting Fate and that when you fall pain will, indeed, ensue, no matter how ridiculous that sounds.

I wish there weren't spiders behind the couch.

I wish Parental would learn to close the screen door. I don't wish to welcome moths into my room because EVERY TIME THEY ARE IN MY ROOM AND MY ROOM ONLY.

I wish white tea had more caffeine. 

I wish Parental's homeskillet (who is in San Fransisco and knows who she is) would realize that the demon from Paranormal Activity isn't in her living room or climbing her stairs slowly and menacingly, especially when she doesn't even have stairs. I also wish her dog wasn't "the devil." And that he would stop cleaning himself by rubbing his body on her walls. That's just unhealthy.

I wish every chair had a footrest. Especially in school. My feet do enjoy elevation, thank you very LITTLE.

I wish we had hardwood floors.

I wish our stupid condo would be a smart condo.

I wish our microwave would look less like a nuclear bomb and more like a microwave.

I wish my sink wouldn't drip every other night.

I wish that satan bug wouldn't have tried to lurch onto my head when I was straightening my hair this morning.

I wish our door actually fit the frame in the winter.

I wish Twilight was real. *embarrassed snort*

I wish newspaper wasn't so prone to making me slip.

I wish bugs would stay away from my face. Because, of course, the one and only cool-hobo-esque person in our entire complex witnessed me having an arm and face seizure when a bug landed on my nose. Of course. I just hate city bugs, okay?

I wish they hadn't remade Clash of the Titans. The new version really sucks. 

I wish they hadn't made the story of Sparta and Troy into a movie that got everything wrong. 

I wish other people were as nerdy about Greek mythology as me.

I wish I could make every other post song lyrics without looking like a crazyface.

I wish I had my fourth grade teacher again.

I wish Oslow would be a person so I could punch him in the face, nose, jaw, head, and nipple then kick him in the knee, shin, and stomach because he is being such an arse of late and I swear I have been nothing but kind to him. I know better than to tempt that PMSing, vomiting-on-couch-and-January's-clothes dog.

I wish more people would comment. Especially the ones in Canada and Europe and Alaska because I seriously love those places. Seriously. SEEEEEEERIOUSLY. (So you're gonna comment now, yeah? Yeah???)

I wish I had more time on my hands. 

I wish I would know when yoga club starts.

I wish I had gone to the newspaper club meeting yesterday.

I wish I had a bike lock.

I wish I hadn't seen that spider on that apple in the (inaudible) Market when we went grocery shopping. Now when I see an apple, all I can think about is that vile little thing.

I wish uploading pictures was easier. 

I wish my math classroom would be prettier and Mr. Baldyface would call on me because I actually know the answer this time, I swear.

I wish I didn't take forever to do everything.

I wish I didn't owe the library so many fines.

I wish Tiny hadn't just dumped out her entire toy bucket. Sadsadsadsad face. Oh, so very sad face.

Wistful sigh.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Hmmm, is that even human?

I'm a genius!

Sort of.

A few... somethings ago, I got onto my loverly Parental's computer (because I probably killed mine and now I'm taking hers down with me) and I went onto Paint. (She has a Dell.) I thought Oh holy macaroni, I should most definitely do a self portrait on Paint! I'm like a freakin Einstein here! So I did, and I did three versions of myself. I'll introduce the versions of January as we go along.

The Average.
This is me every other day. The foundation for what I look like. Sometimes it changes, sometimes it doesn't.

If it's too small, try clicking on it. Yes, I know my mouth is just a jumble of lines. I couldn't figure out how to get my mouth right. I dyed the underside of my hair black, so that's why it looks all scary and dark and suspicious under there.

The Glasses.
I wear my glasses sometimes. They're blue-rimmed, so let's see how this goes.
I was too cheap to erase all of the words and lines, so you'll have to either pretend I walk around with a bunch of little marks around my head or pretend they're not there. Good luck with that. And in case you were wondering, I have an everlasting red face. I'm both embarrassed by almost everything, so I blush every nine and a half seconds, or I'm over heating and it goes straight to my face, embarrassing me, or it's lingering red/pink from a blush or being too hot. Now you understand why I'm such an anti-social person.

The Sunburn.
I'm super pale. I'm a little tan on my arms and hands, maybe even my calves, but otherwise I'm glow in the dark or transparent. So I get burned almost every summer. It never used to be this way, back when I had no shame, but now that I'm embarrassed by dropping a pencil, I scarcely let anyone see my shoulders. I have quite the legacy.
Aren't I prettay?

Friday, September 17, 2010

Food for thought and another reason you should never step foot in a river ever again evereverever.

"Hands Held High"

Turn my mic up louder I got to say something
Light weights step to the side when we come in

Feel it in your chest the syllables get pumping
People on the street they panic and start running

Words on loose leaf sheet complete coming
I jump in my mind and summon the rhyme, I'm dumping

Healing the blind I promise to let the sun in
Sick of the dark ways we march to the drum and

Jump when they tell us that they wanna see jumping
F*ck that I wanna see some fists pumping

Risk something, take back what's yours
Say something that you know they might attack you for

Cause I'm sick of being treated like I have before
Like it's stupid standing for what I'm standing for

Like this war's really just a different brand of war
Like it doesn't cater the rich and abandon poor

Like they understand you in the back of the jet
When you can't put gas in your tank

These f*ckers are laughing their way to the bank and cashing the check
Asking you to have compassion and show some respect

For a leader so nervous in an obvious way
Stuttering and mumbling for nightly news to replay

And the rest of the world watching at the end of the day
In their living room laughing like "what did he say?"


In my living room watching but I am not laughing
Cause when it gets tense I know what might happen

World is cold the bold men take action
Have to react or get blown into fractions

Ten years old it's something to see
Another kid my age drugged under a jeep

Taken and bound and found later under a tree
I wonder if he had thought the next one could be me

Do you see the soldiers they're out today
They brush the dust from bullet proof vests away

It's ironic at times like this you pray
But a bomb blew the mosque up yesterday

There's bombs in the buses, bikes, roads
Inside your market, your shops, your clothes

My dad he's got a lot of fear I know
But enough pride inside not to let that show

My brother had a book he would hold with pride
A little red cover with a broken spine

On the back, he hand-wrote a quote inside
When the rich wage war it's the poor who die

Meanwhile, the leader just talks away
Stuttering and mumbling for nightly news to replay

And the rest of the world watching at the end of the day
both scared and angry like "what did he say?"

[Chorus x6]

With hands held high into the sky so blue,
As the ocean opens up to swallow you. 
Linkin Park, Hands Held High. I have the song on the playlist down at the bottom. I know, serious to not serious to serious again. Well, for one thing, it's time for some initiative. We get it. Obama's black. That's great, but when he made that big speech back in '08, he promised 28 things. He only has 2 more years til his time is up and he's gonna have to start fighting again. Were it up to me, there wouldn't be world leaders. We'd just start over from scratch, maybe try some different things like giving fun and happy people power. Then we'd be a lot more peaceful because when the leaders are happy, friendly, and content, what reason do we have for war? But instead we elect the crazies. Or the crazies step up like the crazy people they are and nobody says anything. Yes, people would get hurt, but if it was the right thing to do, wouldn't it be worth it? Isn't it always worth it when it's the right thing for everyone? No innocent person is expendable, of course, but I digress. A rant will ensue if I go on, believe you me.
On a lighter note, I get to visit la madre on Sunday and I'm pee-mah-panteloons excited. And I have finished some art projects and got new batteries for my camera. 

AND when we were out driving today, there was one of those sign dancing guys on the corner for Cricket cell phones. I wanted to take a video of just him, but the disgruntled fellow in the Cadillac next to us wouldn't let us scootch forward without a fight. So - since fate is always in my court when I really really really least expect it, which is kind of unfortunate *grimace* - after he pulled away, probably mulling over whether to use acid or rat poison in his wife's coffee, another bike rider pulled up to the sign fellow. They started chatting, and just in time, I recorded them fist pumping and bike guy riding off into the sunset. Ah, such is the whimsical and charming part of Denver. The rest is smog and dry air and murderous allergies and loud, hateful, squeaky doors and scary people. 

If you move to Colorado, go to the mountains. Not Denver. Denver is really gross. Just nasty. Like *snakefish nasty

PS: Dear Fate, 

You mock me, you dirty, cruel, vague wench. 
Just know that I've got my eye on you. *slips a few dollar bills into hand* Keep that for, you know, motivation. Remember: Oregon. That's it, yep, up near Washington and California. Near the water. Blue Mountains. Mmhmm. *wink* (whispered) You know what to do. *nod*

*Snakefish, or aka snakehead fish/snake fish/snake head fish are the devil equivalent of fish. Lemme 'splain why, you nincampoops. 

Exhibit A: Snakefish are as scary looking as that girl from The Grudge. Evidence of this is here  (if you have to pee, don't click. If you're drinking something, don't click. If you have heart issues, don't click. It's seriously evil), here (same goes; I won't be held responsible), and here. You can click that one no matter what, but it still will probably give you nightmares like it did for me. You think I'm kidding, yeah? No. It scared the pee out of me to think that walking fish with fangs and devil teeth were running after me. 

Exhibit B: Snakefish can walk. 

I will repeat. 




Yes, these smarmy bastard devils can walk, or at least the fish equivalent of walking. Don't believe me, jackanape? This is the wikipedia article on snakefish. It explains why they have a special place in hell for snakefish. Not only do they look like they're hiding in a dark alley and waiting to eat your soul, but they are also mobile. You know what that means.

Exhibit 3: THEY CAN MOTHER FREAKIN BREATHE EFFING OXYGEN. Holy monkey crap. We're all gonna die. They will eat your face off, run after your flailing body and be panting like a feral gorilla. In he wiki article, again, it explains how they can breathe. 

Exhibit Y: Snakeheads are the devil. 

Exhibit 47: Snakeheads kill other fish. Not just eat, but kill. They do it in cold blood, swimming up all creeper like and swallowing the thing whole. Imagine that. Just sitting on your couch, relaxing, watching Dog Whisperer and dreamily sighing at Cesar's cht!s and wondering how long it would take to rollerblade with a pack of dogs to LA and WTF?!??!!?!!?!?! You just got eaten, son.There's no way out of it. It's scarier getting out than getting in, so consider yourself lucky. You don't want to face that mother trucker alone. Can somebody say crap my pants?

So don't ever trust fish ever again. And if you see a snakehead, by all means, chop its head off. They're also an evil invasive species. Oh, and one female can lay up to 150,000 eggs in one sitting. Try going to sleep now. Just try. 

OHAMGOSH guess what else? We own all of the original Camelot movies on tape. And BAHAHAHHAAHAAHAHA the er uh AHAHAHAAAHAAAHAHHA original actors *high pitch and super giggly* HAHAHAHA are in Letters To Juliet. BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh, that really isn't funny, but I think it is, so zip it and be happy I warned you of the demon fish.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

I could probably fight a rabid kangaroo at this point. And win.

NOTE: Yeah, I know I should've posted this 2 months ago, when everyone actually read this disaster of a web page embarrassment to society loverly blog of mine. So... just pretend it's July again, and you're sweating like a horse and trying not to move because Global Warming is slapping everyone across the face in the worst possible way. Seriously, it's September in Colofreakingrado and it's still eighty on some days. I swear, I don't get paid enough to do this crap. BECAUSE I DON'T GET PAID AT ALL. Whatever. Read the words I spew out of my fingertips because I think I'm funny. Oh, and when I'm an adult and really well-known, my friend and I are going to live in a loft with vaulted ceilings and a wall that's a water feature. WHOA, DREAM BIG! I'll let you know how that turns out.

Captain's Log... (I'm going to go back this time. Like, from newest to oldest. Try not to be confused. If it helps, scroll down to the end of this post, then read to the top. Actually, you should probably do that.)

Later in July...: OH. MY. GOD. We got them. We got them good. We punched them in their little ant jewels and kicked them in the mouth and went all Chuck Norris on them and removed the eff out of them. It had gone past personal to this-is-just-some-sort-of-horrible-punishment-but-we-have-atoned-for-our-sins-so-it's-all-good-now-right? and we got the bug spray. And man, do they hate it. Never have I felt such gratification and safety in contrast to such anger and terror. I own them. We own them. They are our hoes and if I ever see one of them again I will act without even having to think and smoosh that horrible little thing like it's nobody's business. I imagine the ant queen and all her gluttonous baby-farting grossness getting carried to some far-off distant land and peeing her pants in fear. It's a beautiful thing, really. 

July 11, Day 34: Today, like days before, I battled with a fury that is most likely unprecedented. If you woke up one morning and found out that rabid raccoons had infiltrated your prized collection of potato chips and then they peed in your hair while you were sleeping and then gone to work, only to find that your chair had been crapped on by Mel Gibson AND Lindsay Lohan, AND THEN after that, you walked out to your car and some crazy homeless person punched you in the face, that still wouldn't match my anger and passion. I defeated them, if not for a while, with foaming carpet cleaner and a vacuum. I found solace by nightfall.

July 7, Day 29: Today, I believe that little part of my heart that had not been taken over by my hatred for ants was gone. Frozen, destroyed, and never coming back. Before, I'd been annoyed, frustrated, and maybe even a little scared. And rightfully so! I hate the thought of creepy crawly little bastards crawling all over me and every time I kill a bug, I get all twitchy and shuddery for a good long while. But I swear to... OPRAH WINFREY, if you try to doubt my bug-killing skills, I'll stab you in the arm. I work hard and methodically when I defeat a smaller species than myself because I don't know what they're capable of and I don't know if they're going to be able to jump and fly back at me (when my attack fails) and lunge for my neck. Anyways, the ants were just EVERYWHERE, from behind the couch to the sliding glass door to the kitchen and entryway to the hallway to the landing and I HAD ENOUGH. So I poured Hydrogen Peroxide down the ant holes. And hair spray and pet cleaner. I was livid and fearless, so much so that I leaped into the attack without much prior planning. I had my brow furrowed and my mouth firmly pursed in anger and concentration. Sweat was gathering on my back and my imaginary beard was flowing wildly about like Gandelf the Gray. Or Dumbledore. I poured the bubbly chemical down the hole they made near the jacket closet, into the hole they made near the hearth, and flung it wildly at their nest behind the wicker stool near our couch. It was epic, to say the least.

Days before...: It has been a month at least by now and I am growing more weary by the day. The fight has not left me, but the cold sweats, shivers and shudders, stifling Denver heat, and crabby Comrade and children are getting to me. There are tears of frustration and loud battle cries erupting now and then, but it's mostly me getting as much as I possibly done with my shoes on in the kitchen and living room before I realize what's really happening and no, it's not some horrible nightmare, and go hide in the bathroom. Or tuck my knees close to me and hug them while wearing my pajamas at 3 in the afternoon and feeling more like a drowsy moose than a teenaged human. I regularly text the Lieutenant (aka Parental) to find what to do because God help us if she doesn't know what to do. I often suggest simply avoiding the whole exterminator debacle and replacing our carpet with hardwood floors. Because everyone knows an ant can't escape the clutches of my shoe when both surfaces are flat and prepared to, quite literally, squeeze the life out of it in something reminiscent of Indiana Jones. (High five for two IJ references in a post in a row) Comrade isn't doing much better, though I admire her courage for staying on the couch even when she's found 2 ants crawling on it. Near her head. *Shudder, gag* I find myself worrying with her about the devils escaping into her cast like moths to the back of my posters when I scream and flail and try to crawl under my floor enough to scare them there. Or they're just awaiting the next night to fly out and make me crap out my stomach in fear. Joke's on them though becase they die really quickly and- OH JESUS. When I move I'm gonna have to deal with ninety billion moth carcasses. You know what? Fire. That's the solution. If Fahrenheit 451 taught me anything, it's that fire really does work when getting rid of scary things like moths and slithery effers like silverfish. And God must think this is hilarious because when the small ones (children they call them, I believe) were eating popcorn, extremely carelessly, they dropped a piece or two. Then when I went to plan where I'm going to place the TNT and acid, Comrade noticed a large black ball. That was moving. I'm pretty sure my heart started crying and my hair was falling out from the distress. And my hands shrank from all the sweat. It took a lot of pep talk, both from myself and Comrade, a paper plate and a shnikey ton of toilet paper (sorry Mother Nature, you shouldn't have layed this sinister version of Hades on me) until I could finally dispose of the ball of death into the toilet. You see, they had gathered on the piece of popcorn. And we thought they loved dog food. Nope. Popcorn's where it's at for those smarmy little bastards.

Even more before that, probably in June...: I don't think ants understand that when I shout and throw my arms in the air, it means get the frick out of my house before I destroy your queen in cold... ant juices. Did you know some ants grow wings seasonally? I may have already said that, but you'll have to hear it again. That is ducking fisgusting. I swear, ants are only here to serve as food for other, bigger, scarier and more satanic bugs.

Week 3 in June: And here I had thought this problem would be disposed of by now. I was wrong. Oh, how I was wrong. Hidden curses are thrown the devil bugs' ways, but they don't understand. They are disgusting, mindless robots that eat and puke food back up for a fat, baby-popping, disgusting organism that has an exoskeleton that's just asking to get bombed. I pour water on anthills every chance I get and step on any I see outside when I grudingly walk the dogs. I suspect that they're carrying more of these ants in, or at least transporting them around the house because the a-tard-dilhole-bucket of stupid, Oslow, lays his stupid fluffy butt on small crowds of ants even when my shrill screeching rings true throughout the living room, begging him to stop before I punt his stupid self off the balcony. P3TA (evading search engines. HAH!) probably hates me. When they have an ant infested house along with three brainless fur balls that pee and crap on everything and transport diseases, they can judge me. Until then, bring it biotches. I'll tell you where you can sho- nevermind. Let's be civilized. *throws banana at their heads* Inaudible cursing and muttering. Dilholes.) So we (me and Comrade) plan on giving Cottie, the small chihuahua that sheds like a dying cat and pees on plastic like a freaking cat and has the coloring and tongue of a cow, away to our downstairs neighbor. She's a super hippy and possibly an alci-holic but who am I to judge? Plus she just coos and fawns over the little rat every time she comes upstairs to visit - with knocking, thank God. Her roommate just walks in like she owns the place and it makes me feel like my house just got molested. And what if someone was walking around naked or having an emotional breakdown or a really horrible day and wanted to be left alone and hope like hope that our creepy and hateful neighbors will have the sense to just leave us alone? (Note: only 2 of our neighbors I really dislike. One of them I will call 70's Headphones [because one time she was riding on her bike with her old angry self and had on a hilarious set of 70's radio headphones. Complete with tennis shorts and a tank top.] and Smokey McEighteenhundreds [because I'm pretty sure she's been smoking since the 1800's]) Smokey is the one who doesn't understand the concept of doors or knocking. Headphones is a judgmental lady whose son is a lame excuse for a person. Such a douchehat. What, with his golfing clothes and big black sunglasses and taking up his mom's parking spot, sanity aside. But such is the life of someone who lives in (inaudible), Colorado. 

Notey note (not a part of the Captain's Log. Scroll up, says I. Oh bejeezus, this is so confusing for you guys, I'm sure): As of September 5th, I have readers from 3 different continents. And Alaska. If you're from Alaska, hi! I totally love Alaska! Seriously, I watch Into The Wild 5 times a month at least. It's so pretty up there! And to those from European countries: I like France. And Italy. And Ireland. If you've ever been there, we should totally talk. I mean, you probably ended up here on accident, but hey that's cool. I usually get a crap ton of baby and family blogs and I"m like We have our own kids to deal with. Nobody cares about yours. I'm sorry, your family does but God help us all if I have to read about the fever and ear infections your kid got. I'm offensive sometimes if you didn't know. And everyone else who's not from America, you guys are awesome. I love Canada by the way! Hook it up, non-Americans! And Americans, but only if you're not creepy or not gonna yell at me. That means you, P3TA.(evading search engines. HAH!)

Sunday, September 5, 2010

For Mom, With Love.

Note: I'm sure a lot of you don't know my whole situation with my mom, but maybe you'll come to appreciate yours after I tell you a bit. This is really for her, but hers is a story that everyone should hear.

My mom is basically the most amazing person I know. I remember my life with her back until I was about 3 to this day. She may not know it, but she's the greatest mom I could ever ask for and I wouldn't trade her for the world.

She isn't perfect, but nobody is. A lot of people probably don't realize just how wonderful she really is, though, because she suffers from a bipolar disorder and is a drug addict. Beneath all of that illness, she has a heart of gold just like the rest of my family (except for my 2 year old cousin, maybe) and is hilarious. She's extremely smart, too. I remember when she took Spanish and was in college, and she would teach me some while she did her homework while we sat in the sauna. She's creative and fun and always puts her heart into everything she does, even if it is pretty unsavory. I think I get a lot of my personality from her. I have a feeling she thinks she's caused too much heartache, but I hope she knows that the happiness she brings us outweighs the sadness tenfold. We've all made each other hate each other at times, even grandma and aunty. I'm not specifying which aunt to keep them both on their toes. (Kidding. Sort of.)

I'll never forget the good things, from you laying down with me at night and playing the music and waiting until I fell asleep to go downstairs to you letting me color in your sun tattoo on your back with markers. When we made spider cookies for Halloween, gingerbread people, my SpongBob cakes, and especially you trying to get me a cat because I wanted something to pet, even if you were allergic. You may feel guilty for some of the things that have happened with me, with all of us, but imagine if it hadn't happened... if we had stayed in Omaha and I never would have learned why you should never do drugs. And I might not have ended up with a sister who makes everything worth it even though she punches me sometimes. And I might still have had separation anxiety today, which would just ruin everything. And I wouldn't be so optimistic, I think, because people who have relatively normal lives can't appreciate things like we do. They don't see how special it is to get some free groceries or have people who are willing to help out nearby or get a car that doesn't break down every few weeks. And when you get through this, you'll be that much stronger and find happiness that much easier, knowing that the worst is over. You'll always have us to love you unconditionally, no matter what. I mean that in the very literal sense of no matter what; you could kill somebody and we would still love you. But, uh, just try not to kill anyone. Just to be safe. That would be such a drag when you get a job and a place to live, and it would definitely come back to bite you in the leg.

Remember when you called me Noodle? Just wondering. I still refer to you as momma, in case you were wondering. And then when you would come home from UPS and I would run downstairs. I even still remember our secret word. (Hint: it's a food that I've been eating all my life and you taught me how to make. And we had a stain of it on the ceiling in the kitchen in Omaha from an incident where they exploded, I believe.) I miss those days where I would wake up  and watch Charmed or some Animal Planet show while waiting for you or grandma to drive me to school, and even the days when you would drop me off at daycare with your legendary white slippers. I remember when we went to Marsha's and I had my Thumbelina video, and when you came to pick me up in the middle of the night because I couldn't handle sleeping over at someone's house the whole night. All of the little things you did were never lost on me. I remember when I wrote that thing about you in Kindergarten and it got published in the school's literature thing. Oh, and even when we lived alone, just you and me, and I would watch Rescuers Down Under while you made me hot dogs and the Ansel Adams photo was hanging on the wall. I still have my Herbert the Lion book and plan on keeping it for the rest of my life. I have drawings of you I did in crayon and remember buying you jewelry at Chrsitmas from my school even though you couldn't wear it; you always hung them on your wall or put them somewhere if I recall correctly. As you know, we have the Mother's Day gift I gave you all with sticky notes and my stick figure drawings of you guys. I even have that little green corduroy dog that barks when you squeezze it from Gap sitting on top of the commputer - that you gave me. Pictures, too, of me and you. I have one on my wall near the computer of you sitting in the sand at the beach with a hoodie and sunglasses on and I'm wearing a purple 2-piece in the background with my super long hair. I look kind of confused and clumsy. The one where I got a huge cookie with a butterfly on it in frosting and then that same night I puked seven times. You were there to help me out and clean it all up. I think those seashell sheets are my favorites. I remember when we would stay at the cabin in Fremont and one year, it was the fourth of July, and I was laying on you in your lawn chair while we all sat in the sand and watched the fireworks. I remember the terrifyingly huge spider that Tracy kept in that butter container. And then he dug that little pond in Howard the Duck's enclosure and fished so that he could put them in there. And I would chase Howard, though I never caught that stupid duck. Then Carolyn (I bet I spelled it wrong) said once that I could be her gopher and go for things she needed because I was bored. I remember when we all lived in that little apartment and had the weird table and chairs and you guys said I couldn't watch Gangs of New York or NipTuck. But now I'm sincerely and thoroughly relieved you didn't; NipTuck involves a crap ton of needles and I'm pretty sure I would've thrown up if I saw it when I was small. I remember you getting me the original version of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and drawing pictures of penguins on the couch. And Tracy's obsession with Dukes of Hazard and Indiana Jones. And jolly rancher candy canes. And how he thought he could rid me of my love for candy by over-indulging me. I showed him.

I'm not going to lie, it was beyond scary when I was at school and you wouldn't pick up your phone to come pick me up. It was hard when you tried to get me to go to school, but I thought you were going to leave me while I was there. Fourth grade was the best and worst school year I've had, but don't feel too bad; I met one of the greatest teachers ever when I moved to Denver. I also had some fun staying at Aunty's place with her friend, even if the smoke smell gave me headaches sometimes. Or her evil cats ripped up my beanbags. When we visited you in Omaha that Christmas (when you stayed with Patrick) his house was very pretty. I think that's a pro, yeah? The tree was awesome, too. Speaking of, I love the gifts you give me, really I do appreciate it all, but it's not the gifts I want. All I want is for you to be able to be around us and be healthy again. It kills me that you have such bad teeth and back problems, so try not to get yourself hurt. I don't know what me or Jos would do without our mom.

I could say so much more, but I feel like it would be more special if we did it in person. Just know that we all love you and believe with all that we have that you will get better. I hope you get this while you're in jail and can keep it for as long as you want or need. I really wated to give you something to hold onto for those times when you don't think it's worth it. You have to hit rock bottom before you can rise again, though, and even if you don't know it, you're rising. Don't go back to your friends, please. Even I know family is more important. I've never hated you and will never hate you, okay? I'm not the only one that matters, I know, but I'm the only one with a blog and who hasn't done drugs, besides grandma, but she was never your daughter and didn't have separation anxiety.

I think you should write your thoughts down, too, so that all the bad things can come out and you won't have to let them linger at night. It works for me, so I think it might at least help a tiny bit for you, too. You have support and you are strong enough to make it through everything and come out alive and better than before. Without drugs. No more drugs, okay? It really is horrible to think that you ever were in a state of mind where you couldn't think straight. I talked to JD, by the way and he started crying. We cried, he cried, there was lots of crying.

For you, momma, with love from January and the rest of us. I hope you don't feel all exposed because this is on my blog - I never used or use anyone's real names except for Josalyn sometimes. And like I said, you should be heard. I think your life is an example of why to never do drugs because the hurt so much more than they help and why you should never give up.

"Your path may get a bit blurry, but just keep going and don't stop and never give up."

It's time now, I can feel it, and things are going to be okay. I have had the best life I could ask for so far and there's no point in letting the negative overwhelm you because there is always goodness and happiness. There's always hope and a silver lining and I wouldn't be who I am today without you.

We'll be waiting and fighting for as long as it takes.

Love you always, January.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

I'll try to make this an actual post because it's Saturday and I slept in til noon.

Man, I love chickens. There's this blog of note called "The Occasional Chicken" (I'm not putting a link there because I know you can find it on Blogger. It's like an Easter egg hunt!) and this dude not only has three chickens in his yard that he raises, but he lives in Oregon and you all know how obsessed I am with the northwest. If you don't then now you do.

Anyhoo, I think I'll tell you about school before Parental realizes I'm not cleaning like I said I would because my room is home to approximately 3 large clothes nests like gorilla nests on Tarzan. Don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about. And the last time I left my clothes around for this long I think they either petrified, got peed on by some arrogant, white, fluffy bundles of frustration and cuteness, or got invaded by spiders and little black beetles that can be killed by spray-on sunscreen.

So school's been in for about 2 weeks as of yesterday. Besides the work, things are going average. Meeting people. Art class (heaven). Essays. Grown, bald men with facial hair *pointedly looks at math teacher and frowns*. A grown, short woman who has an irregularly proportioned body and stick legs. A bus that makes me want to punch a baby seal in the thigh. Pretty much the usual.

A few jackwagons sit near me and they get on my nerves, but I keep it at bay by thinking to myself They will end up working at a Macy's or Burger King. It's all good. Even though half of my classes are AP. *not bragging at all. Nope.* Then there's this girl that sits behind me and breathes so loudly at random times. I don't understand it. It's like I'm comfortable and scribbling things on some paper and all the sudden




Wide eyes. Frozen in place. Then, ever so subtly, I lean forward and scoot closer to the front of my desk. The kind-of okay person next to me doesn't notice. The jerkpan on the other side is still paying too much attention to his hat and BFF that sits across the class.

10 minutes later...



Bill Murray uttering his last breath on Zombieland. This picture doesn't belong to me, I swear. Don't sue me.

Besides heavy breathing that sounds like a ghost speaking a dead language to me in my ear like on Paranormal Activity (which is almost the scariest movie of all time. If you really wanna pee your pants, watch The Fourth Kind. You won't sleep for 3 days and will never look at Alaska or the sky the same way again. Trust me, I watched it in Montana, which is the big sky state, at night, and I couldn't marvel at how pretty the moon was because all I could think was Oh God, oh God, ohgodohgodohgod the white owl is going to abduct me in the middle of the night and what if my sister is actually part alien? andd ohmygod that cat is looking at me and the grasshoppers are quiet what's happening?!?!? Wait, grasshoppers don't make noise.) *looks back at where the first parenthese is and continues to type* there isn't much awesomeness. I mean, I could tell you about why school buses are probably in the seventh circle of Hades...

Okay, so I've been riding the bus since I moved to Denver. It wasn't bad back then, but then in middle school it got pretty bad. By eighth grade I hated everybody on my bus, except for the select few who made me laugh or didn't talk and were polite. I mean, seriously our bus had people sitting on other people sometimes. I'm pretty sure they had to disguise a person as a backpack just to get a seat. AND THE PEOPLE. Oh, how I despise smaller people. Why do they think they're so cool? Why do they think playing Akon and Lady GaGa from their cell phones and shouting curse words at each other doesn't make me want to shove a nuclear missile in my eyeball? Why? Standing on your seat doesn't make anybody like you any more than they already do.

After some time of the smaller people being obnoxious, I would basically just get so infuriated (it was my God given right to sit by myself after 3 years at that school, not theirs and I hate people already) I either ignored them when they tried to talk to me or stated "NOBODY LIKES YOU," very loudly. Call me an a-hole, but I'm used to people avoiding each other and awkward silences that make me laugh on buses, not crazy banshees jumping around and screaming. I don't understand how they can't just be a wee bit mature or realize that when they make movies where aliens come to Earth and have to decide whether or not we get to live and then the aliens say "no, let's just get rid of them," it's those children's faults. We're all going to die because of middle schoolers. Isn't that wonderful?

Let's come back to the present state of my bus. More people. High school kids. Growing teenagers, filled with angst and arrogance, some wearing black jeans and hoodies even though it's still technically summer and some wearing tank tops that are way too small and shorts that will get them kidnapped. I harbor a few people I'm tolerant of, but otherwise I still hate everybody. The bus is literally at capacity every day. Thank God I am the first stop or I think I would go all Twilight vampire on them and rip someone's arm off. I don't much like touching other people either, so you can imagine how awkward it is when I have to ask two people if I can sit on the edge of the seat with my back to them and my backpack on my lap so the small Asian bus driver will be okay to drive since we can't sit on the floor. I would think that stupid, but there's a real possibility of a fire happening on my bus since it's almost always 124 degrees in there.

Now let's talk about my teachers.

They pretty much are all boring and/or creepy except for my art teacher, who is laid back and hilarious. Just the way she acts and talks is funny. She almost always looks like she's half awake (I can understand that; she has a son) and she talks randomly about how she used to live in Africa and past experiences. Shes' my favorite. She lets us listen to our music and she wears normal clothes, which is nice considering Mrs. Stick Leg Condescending wears skirts that make her look like a square with black frillyness and then two pencils sticking out.

As you can see, she has thick-heeled shoes. Her hands are badly drawn, of course, and I don't do noses. I blacked out that part in case someone ever did bring the school's attention. They can't prove anything!
Now I just have to hope she never finds out about this blog or I might have to go incognito and move. *crosses fingers* I could go under a new alias, like Sweden von Shnitzel. I think that would look good on a transcript, yeah?

One more thing: In a class of mine, we had an activity last week to get to know each other. It might have been the funniest 30 seconds of silence of my life. This group of about five went up to the front, all clutching their sheets in front of them and trying not to look uncomfortable. They began to mutter what they knew about one another, good-heartedly looking at each other in an attempt to get the attention off of themselves. Our teacher was asking her questions in her loud, shrill voice because every time one of them said something, it was followed by silence.

They were refusing to talk.

And, unfortunately or fortunately depending on how you look at it, I smile and grin and try not to giggle every time there's an awkward silence. I'm not sure why; I think it's to reassure everyone of my friendliness and to break the tension. So when they went up there and there was complete and utter silence, deafening and all, I would try to bite my smile and chew on my upper and bottom lip so I wouldn't look like a maniac. I almost lost it when one girl had the audacity to stare the teacher dead in the eye as if to dare her to ask another question. I eventually couldn't keep my smile down, so when the kid next to me saw me smiling, he sort of smiled with confusion, probably wondering why I found it funny and if he should find it funny too.

It was so awesome in the worst possible way. I had to hide behind my hair to keep from openly laughing or sighing in enjoyment after they could go sit down again. They just looked so relieved, like they'd evaded getting thrown off of a boat.

Mmm, school days.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Don't you get your panties in a bunch.

School is trying to strangle my time. And my focus has been drastically...                                                                                                                                            


So yeah. I have some good'uns on queue, (I spelled it right!) so just hold in there plesssss.

Then I'll tell you about high school because you probably can't remember it I'm so kidding and buses and duct tape and I'll finally finish the ant saga that took place over the summer, for those of you who remember that. Nod your head. Okay, good. 

Parental: *inquisitive look* Butter or peanut butter?

Me: Uhhhhh... both?