Today's title doesn't have a whole lot to do with the post. I just thought it sounded mildly clever. (Though I really am curious as to where that condom went. I just hope the dog doesn't find it and parade it around the house like he does with my socks.)
So, let me catch you guys up with what I've been doing with my life! For one thing, I'm back in school (although for all you guys know based on my posts, summer could have never happened for me) and my schedule is almost more than I can handle. Mostly because I'm still a procrastinator. But it is to the point where I don't even have enough spare time for my favorite forms of procrastination! (Hence the lack of posts, even though I said I'd post stuff. I'm a big fat liar; I know.)
Thanks to my current classes, I'm discovering that I'm super interested in biology, and super not interested in criminology. I'm also doing two different undergrad research assistant thingies, totaling fifteen hours of extra work a week. From these I have learned that I'm still no good at managing my time, observing animals at the zoo is boring, and November is really cold, especially when you don't have gloves.
Also, I got a job. My mom was on craigslist looking for a job for her, and she saw that the pizza place she worked at when she was my age was hiring a server. Clearly wanting to relive her youth through me, she screeched "You should apply for this job!" and I was like, "Huh? Money? Okay. Help me write up a resume." After we'd written and I'd dropped off my resume, the manager ended up calling me at 9 p.m. and asked if I could come in for my interview right then. I was downtown with a friend at a movie premier at the time, but I was like, "Fuck it. Sure. I'll get on a bus now and be there in forty minutes." Anyway, I ended up beating out 200 other applicants for a job I wasn't looking for. Now I work Thursday through Sunday evenings, which boils down to "I have no weekend and I hate everyone." But hey; money.
And as if work and school aren't enough to occupy my time, I recently decided that I'm fed up with being single. So I did what any self-respecting, modern-day girl would do: I joined an online dating site. (I'm so terribly pathetic and lonely... Don't judge me!) It's going surprisingly well, actually (if the condom thing didn't clue you in). I feel that I have maintained my dignity by having refused all requests for naked pics (though there was that cybering incident. And I did let that one guy talk me into a Skype encounter...), and I just had a third date with a really cool chem-major who goes to my school and is recovering from black mold toxicity (he left more marks than I expected. I think if I can learn to deal with a little biting during sex, I have boyfriend material on my hands. I am a little concerned for my nipples though).
Well, I don't know where I was going with this (possibly just complaining about my schedule?), but I think that's about it.
note: It's kind of cool how, if you exclude everything inside parentheses in this post, I almost don't sound like a terrible person. Go me! ...I sort of wish I'd stayed anonymous and not told any of my friends about my blog so I could say whatever I want without feeling like I'm being judged. But fuck you guys! You'd better love me no matter what! And this definitely falls under the category of sleep-deprived ranting. I apologize to everyone who reads this, or anything else written by me, ever.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Oh, hi. Yeah, I'm still here.
Summer's over!
Summer = no responsibilities = no procrastination = no blog = oh no!
Now it's Autumn!
Autumn = school + work = mega responsibilities = mucho procrastination = potential new blog posts = huzzah!
Be prepared.
Summer = no responsibilities = no procrastination = no blog = oh no!
Now it's Autumn!
Autumn = school + work = mega responsibilities = mucho procrastination = potential new blog posts = huzzah!
Be prepared.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Anniversary
So I was kind of working on this post for a while, but The Boyfriend and I broke up last week, so I'm just gonna publish this As Is.
April ninth was The Boyfriend and mine's six year anniversary, so I'm gonna tell you a bit about our relationship so far.
Boyfriend and I met in the summer of my thirteenth year. One sunlit afternoon, some friends and I went to our neighborhood park; the two of us girls walking, and the boy rolling along on his skateboard, practicing allies (awl-ies?), kickflips and what-have-yous as he periodically waited for the girls to catch up. As we reached the grassy knoll between the swings and the tennis courts, a boy approached my guy-friend and they began to converse in skateboarder-jargon while my girl-friend and I sat on the grass to soak up the sun, and I secretly eyed the newcomer with interest. Apparently the two hit it off, because soon my guy-friend invited him back to his house to hang out and meet his step-brother. The walk back was my opportunity to speak with this new-boy; or, more accurately, speak loudly in his general direction. The boys had been walking behind us girls at this point, so I slyly turned around and, walking backwards at this point, looked him up and down. I'm sure he looked me up and down in turn.
I had been strung out on ADHD meds for the past year and was therefore thin and beautiful, with loosely curled, shoulder-length, strawberry blond hair and a very short skirt. He was older, with all the cockiness of sixteen-going-on-seventeen year olds, his skin was dark from his Filipino heritage, as well as the long hours of sun we'd been getting, and he had the strong, slender build of a tennis player (which he was).
After our brief analysis of each other, I turned to my girl-friend and loudly complained: "Why does Mike get all the hott stalkers?!" (the double 't' is very important. It signifies the difference between temperature and sexual appeal).
From behind me I heard the surprisingly deep-voiced reply: "Thank you." (I later discovered that his real voice isn't nearly so deep. This was his "impress the girls with my manliness" voice).
Thus the flirting began. He dazzled me with his manly antics, some of which included peeing down playground slides, playing Halo (probably one; I don't remember if two was out then) like a champ with the guys, and convincing me to ride down a hill with him on his skateboard while wearing a skirt - the result of which would mark my leg for months to come, first as a large, bloody, skinless wound, then as a thick, brown, cigar-shaped scab, followed by a rose-colored scar that eventually faded to nothing. I captured his heart with my feminine wiles; meowing at him over the phone, adding an extra sway to my walk so as to add more movement to the billowing on my skirt in those summer breezes, squeezing my elbows together to the point of discomfort in order to give the false impression of cleavage in the swimming pool...
During this delicate process of having him notice that I liked him without being too obvious, each of my friends had taken it upon themselves, individually, to confront him and tell him that I had a crush on him. To this day he still looks smug about this whenever I bring up our courtship process.
Blah, blah, blah, things went too fast, we broke up then got back together, six-year relationship.
The end.
April ninth was The Boyfriend and mine's six year anniversary, so I'm gonna tell you a bit about our relationship so far.
Boyfriend and I met in the summer of my thirteenth year. One sunlit afternoon, some friends and I went to our neighborhood park; the two of us girls walking, and the boy rolling along on his skateboard, practicing allies (awl-ies?), kickflips and what-have-yous as he periodically waited for the girls to catch up. As we reached the grassy knoll between the swings and the tennis courts, a boy approached my guy-friend and they began to converse in skateboarder-jargon while my girl-friend and I sat on the grass to soak up the sun, and I secretly eyed the newcomer with interest. Apparently the two hit it off, because soon my guy-friend invited him back to his house to hang out and meet his step-brother. The walk back was my opportunity to speak with this new-boy; or, more accurately, speak loudly in his general direction. The boys had been walking behind us girls at this point, so I slyly turned around and, walking backwards at this point, looked him up and down. I'm sure he looked me up and down in turn.
I had been strung out on ADHD meds for the past year and was therefore thin and beautiful, with loosely curled, shoulder-length, strawberry blond hair and a very short skirt. He was older, with all the cockiness of sixteen-going-on-seventeen year olds, his skin was dark from his Filipino heritage, as well as the long hours of sun we'd been getting, and he had the strong, slender build of a tennis player (which he was).
After our brief analysis of each other, I turned to my girl-friend and loudly complained: "Why does Mike get all the hott stalkers?!" (the double 't' is very important. It signifies the difference between temperature and sexual appeal).
From behind me I heard the surprisingly deep-voiced reply: "Thank you." (I later discovered that his real voice isn't nearly so deep. This was his "impress the girls with my manliness" voice).
Thus the flirting began. He dazzled me with his manly antics, some of which included peeing down playground slides, playing Halo (probably one; I don't remember if two was out then) like a champ with the guys, and convincing me to ride down a hill with him on his skateboard while wearing a skirt - the result of which would mark my leg for months to come, first as a large, bloody, skinless wound, then as a thick, brown, cigar-shaped scab, followed by a rose-colored scar that eventually faded to nothing. I captured his heart with my feminine wiles; meowing at him over the phone, adding an extra sway to my walk so as to add more movement to the billowing on my skirt in those summer breezes, squeezing my elbows together to the point of discomfort in order to give the false impression of cleavage in the swimming pool...
During this delicate process of having him notice that I liked him without being too obvious, each of my friends had taken it upon themselves, individually, to confront him and tell him that I had a crush on him. To this day he still looks smug about this whenever I bring up our courtship process.
Blah, blah, blah, things went too fast, we broke up then got back together, six-year relationship.
The end.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Jesus Camp
I know I said there were gonna be some epic posts coming up. I'm really good at making empty promises like that. People like you more when you tell them what they want to hear, whether you mean it or not.
While we're on the topic of empty promises, I'd like to talk a little bit about religion. Sort of.
This isn't going to be a very well thought out, inclusive, or organized post, but bear with me.
I just watched that documentary, Jesus Camp. I'm horrified. (If you haven't seen it, go on Netflix and watch it right now. If you don't have Netflix [for shame] go ask to watch it on your neighbor's Netflix, because they're better than you and they have it.) Aside from the indoctrination of children with the hopes of turning them into brainwashed little suicide bombers in the name of Jesus Christ... Nope. Actually that's probably the main point I gathered from that film. That lady is fucked up. And so are all those parents who don't recognize what they're allowing to happen to their kids. What they're doing to their kids. Children from lower incomes with substandard education, being taught that "science doesn't prove anything," that the one being who loves them more than anybody else is someone they can never see, never touch, never be reinforced by on a tangible level, and who has these grandiose expectations for them to change the world by denying their biological urges and indoctrinating others to do so as well. They put so much stress on these children, manipulating them, abusing their inherent need to feel secure and loved, laying their entire agenda upon these innocent shoulders, that the kids are shown being brought to tears from guilt for behaving the way children ought to behave multiple times throughout the film.
"Don't give in to temptation and act the same way your friends at school do. We don't want you developing healthy social skills and creating fulfilling bonds to real people outside the faith. If you do that you won't crave the love of Jesus Christ and acceptance by the members of your church enough to give up intellectual freedom!" (Not that you'd get a whole lot of that in the current educational system anyway).
I realize that the particular example in the film is extreme. There are some Christians out there who are not ridiculously ignorant, who do not try and push their beliefs onto others, and who I don't think really believe in all the jibber jabber of the Bible, but were probably just raised with that religion and feel comfortable with the title. I would probably not include these pseudo-Christians in my systematic killing of religious fanatics (killing, not sterilizing - the sooner we get rid of the ones living now, the sooner we free up the resources we're wasting on them). But I get the feeling that the ideologies presented in this documentary are more common and widespread than we realize. After all, generally speaking, people are dumb as shit and just as malleable.
It's at the point where I don't know whether or not to advocate pro-choice. I'd like to be all like, "Pro-abortion! Kill 'em all!" but I know that means that the more liberal-minded (if clumsy/irresponsible with more proactive birth control methods) people will be the ones reproducing less, while the Bible-thumpers just keep poppin' out kids like it's a sin to waste a single sperm (actually, I think it might be. You must produce 40 million children per ejaculation, or you're going to hell! Separate that shit out in a petrie dish and distribute it amongst the local ladies). We need to keep up, Intellectual Elite! We either need to start popping out nine kids a'piece, or get started on that systematic killing method (my vote's for number two. Our population's already so overinflated).
And about our ridiculous population growth! I wish kids could learn to be gay by exposure. I'd be pumping up kids all over the place with tons of Will and Grace and Queer Eye shit (I don't know of any lesbian shows. Talk about under-representation). The more homosexuals couples, the less unplanned pregnancies! Huzzah! (I remember my dad explaining to me once that homosexuality is not natural, and it can clearly be proven because if you put a bunch of gay dudes on an island and a bunch of lesbians on another island, both populations would die off with one generation. While I see the logic, I don't think my dad would make it through the sorting process to avoid my gas chambers.) This almost gets me onto my rant about how stupid in vitro fertilization is and how adoption is so much more efficient despite our biological drive to get our genes into the future, but I don't feel like making the ties between thoughts clear for that right now. (Hint: less wasted babies, more parents who want to raise children raising children = homosexual couples buy babies when they're ready and want them, less wasted babies. Also, why you be tryin' to pass on your infertile-ass genes to yo' kids, anyway?! Dayum.)
On this flamboyant note, can I mention something that I noticed during some reflection on my own personal experiences of going to church? Doesn't the whole Christianity thing seem a little gay? Maybe they don't teach it the same way everywhere, but here's what I gathered: if you're a dude, you're totally in love with this other dude, and he loves you back so much that he gave up his life so you two can meet up after you're dead, even though you lived centuries apart - if this guy ever actually lived at all, which is impossible to prove (I'm pretty sure). So now the whole goal of your life is to be good, and not sleep with a lot of different women even though human sexual dimorphism, bimaturism, and your raging hard-on for the girl at the supermarket who is not your wife strongly suggest that we're a polygamous species, so you can go to Christ in the after life and become his bride and share in his eternal bliss. To me, this can be directly translated to say "You're gonna live a shitty life full of repressing your own desires because of the judgements cast upon you by others, then you're gonna die, marry Christ while wearing a ridiculous white dress covered in sequins, and be his butt-fuck bitch for the rest of eternity." See the parallels? I don't think I'm wrong here.
There's probably a lot more I could go on about regarding the ignorance, arrogance, and obtuseness of Christianity (and religion in general), but I have to sleep sometime, and if I don't publish this now, I doubt I ever will.
I almost want to say sorry if this post offends anyone, but honestly, I'm not.
While we're on the topic of empty promises, I'd like to talk a little bit about religion. Sort of.
This isn't going to be a very well thought out, inclusive, or organized post, but bear with me.
I just watched that documentary, Jesus Camp. I'm horrified. (If you haven't seen it, go on Netflix and watch it right now. If you don't have Netflix [for shame] go ask to watch it on your neighbor's Netflix, because they're better than you and they have it.) Aside from the indoctrination of children with the hopes of turning them into brainwashed little suicide bombers in the name of Jesus Christ... Nope. Actually that's probably the main point I gathered from that film. That lady is fucked up. And so are all those parents who don't recognize what they're allowing to happen to their kids. What they're doing to their kids. Children from lower incomes with substandard education, being taught that "science doesn't prove anything," that the one being who loves them more than anybody else is someone they can never see, never touch, never be reinforced by on a tangible level, and who has these grandiose expectations for them to change the world by denying their biological urges and indoctrinating others to do so as well. They put so much stress on these children, manipulating them, abusing their inherent need to feel secure and loved, laying their entire agenda upon these innocent shoulders, that the kids are shown being brought to tears from guilt for behaving the way children ought to behave multiple times throughout the film.
"Don't give in to temptation and act the same way your friends at school do. We don't want you developing healthy social skills and creating fulfilling bonds to real people outside the faith. If you do that you won't crave the love of Jesus Christ and acceptance by the members of your church enough to give up intellectual freedom!" (Not that you'd get a whole lot of that in the current educational system anyway).
I realize that the particular example in the film is extreme. There are some Christians out there who are not ridiculously ignorant, who do not try and push their beliefs onto others, and who I don't think really believe in all the jibber jabber of the Bible, but were probably just raised with that religion and feel comfortable with the title. I would probably not include these pseudo-Christians in my systematic killing of religious fanatics (killing, not sterilizing - the sooner we get rid of the ones living now, the sooner we free up the resources we're wasting on them). But I get the feeling that the ideologies presented in this documentary are more common and widespread than we realize. After all, generally speaking, people are dumb as shit and just as malleable.
It's at the point where I don't know whether or not to advocate pro-choice. I'd like to be all like, "Pro-abortion! Kill 'em all!" but I know that means that the more liberal-minded (if clumsy/irresponsible with more proactive birth control methods) people will be the ones reproducing less, while the Bible-thumpers just keep poppin' out kids like it's a sin to waste a single sperm (actually, I think it might be. You must produce 40 million children per ejaculation, or you're going to hell! Separate that shit out in a petrie dish and distribute it amongst the local ladies). We need to keep up, Intellectual Elite! We either need to start popping out nine kids a'piece, or get started on that systematic killing method (my vote's for number two. Our population's already so overinflated).
And about our ridiculous population growth! I wish kids could learn to be gay by exposure. I'd be pumping up kids all over the place with tons of Will and Grace and Queer Eye shit (I don't know of any lesbian shows. Talk about under-representation). The more homosexuals couples, the less unplanned pregnancies! Huzzah! (I remember my dad explaining to me once that homosexuality is not natural, and it can clearly be proven because if you put a bunch of gay dudes on an island and a bunch of lesbians on another island, both populations would die off with one generation. While I see the logic, I don't think my dad would make it through the sorting process to avoid my gas chambers.) This almost gets me onto my rant about how stupid in vitro fertilization is and how adoption is so much more efficient despite our biological drive to get our genes into the future, but I don't feel like making the ties between thoughts clear for that right now. (Hint: less wasted babies, more parents who want to raise children raising children = homosexual couples buy babies when they're ready and want them, less wasted babies. Also, why you be tryin' to pass on your infertile-ass genes to yo' kids, anyway?! Dayum.)
On this flamboyant note, can I mention something that I noticed during some reflection on my own personal experiences of going to church? Doesn't the whole Christianity thing seem a little gay? Maybe they don't teach it the same way everywhere, but here's what I gathered: if you're a dude, you're totally in love with this other dude, and he loves you back so much that he gave up his life so you two can meet up after you're dead, even though you lived centuries apart - if this guy ever actually lived at all, which is impossible to prove (I'm pretty sure). So now the whole goal of your life is to be good, and not sleep with a lot of different women even though human sexual dimorphism, bimaturism, and your raging hard-on for the girl at the supermarket who is not your wife strongly suggest that we're a polygamous species, so you can go to Christ in the after life and become his bride and share in his eternal bliss. To me, this can be directly translated to say "You're gonna live a shitty life full of repressing your own desires because of the judgements cast upon you by others, then you're gonna die, marry Christ while wearing a ridiculous white dress covered in sequins, and be his butt-fuck bitch for the rest of eternity." See the parallels? I don't think I'm wrong here.
There's probably a lot more I could go on about regarding the ignorance, arrogance, and obtuseness of Christianity (and religion in general), but I have to sleep sometime, and if I don't publish this now, I doubt I ever will.
I almost want to say sorry if this post offends anyone, but honestly, I'm not.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Oh My God! A Post?!!!
Sort of!!! More like a post foretelling more posts.
Oh my gosh, you guys, I have a whopping three followers now. One of you is even a stranger to me in real life. This is serious business. In light of such events, I feel the obligation to put something new on here, AND HERE IT IS! But seriously, there will be new posts someday. I will try really super hard not to abandon this blog thingy. In fact, I have six whole posts started in my little "Drafts" area. I'm almost definitely gonna scrap one of them because I started it so long ago that it's no longer relevant, but the remaining five are awesome! Oh man, when I finish one of those real posts and put it up here, it's gonna be epic. Your minds will be blown. Just you wait. You cannot get your hopes up high enough for this. Are you getting psyched? You should be.
Okay, I'm gonna go to stats now.
Oh my gosh, you guys, I have a whopping three followers now. One of you is even a stranger to me in real life. This is serious business. In light of such events, I feel the obligation to put something new on here, AND HERE IT IS! But seriously, there will be new posts someday. I will try really super hard not to abandon this blog thingy. In fact, I have six whole posts started in my little "Drafts" area. I'm almost definitely gonna scrap one of them because I started it so long ago that it's no longer relevant, but the remaining five are awesome! Oh man, when I finish one of those real posts and put it up here, it's gonna be epic. Your minds will be blown. Just you wait. You cannot get your hopes up high enough for this. Are you getting psyched? You should be.
Okay, I'm gonna go to stats now.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Motivation
So it seems like maintaining a blog is one of those things where you have to be really self-motivated to actually succeed. This is one of those things that I am not. Every time I log into blogger and see that I have zero comments, what little excitement and pizazz I had for writing a new post flies out the window. I think this is why Facebook is so much better and keeping my attention than MySpace was. I love those little red notification numbers at the top of the screen. They make me want to write more clever statuses so I can get even MORE little red notifications!
So really, self-motivation; I have none. In second grade I was one of those kids who never got to go to recess because I wouldn't have my homework done and I'd have to sit inside and work on it with all the bad kids who would just talk and not do any work, and when you'd try to shush them they'd say "-it! OOOOHHHHH YOU SAID A BAD WORD!!!!" and you'd want to punch them and make them cry and/or shut up so you could get your homework finished and go outside to play (I'm not bitter at all). Because it's not like I didn't want to have my homework done. It was just impossible for me to do anything at home. Still is to this day. My strategy for getting things done is to stay up as late as possible, for several days in a row if need be, until I'm so sleep deprived that whatever mental blockade I have has broken down, then I plow through as much work as I can before I either pass out or have to go to class.
I'm pretty sure I've developed a tolerance for all those nifty stress hormones that are supposed to spur a person into action. It used to be two days before a big assignment was due, I'd start freaking out and get started with enough time to do a good job. No longer. I realize when I should be freaking out. I know how much time something will take me and when it would be a good idea to start on it, but my brain just does not respond to my urging. Nowadays I get that necessary, frantic feeling about two hours before the deadline for something, leaving me just enough time to do a really shitty job (which thankfully, for me, is to get an average grade), but still have a complete assignment. If this continues at the rate it has, by this time next year, I won't even get the urge to work on something until the day after it's due. Oh hell, who am I kidding. I have a paper that was due three months ago that I still plan on emailing to my professor. I have no idea how I'm gonna make it the rest of the way through college. For now, I'm still banking on my general intelligence to compensate for my inability to function like a normal human being.
Wish me luck on my final that starts in forty minutes!
So really, self-motivation; I have none. In second grade I was one of those kids who never got to go to recess because I wouldn't have my homework done and I'd have to sit inside and work on it with all the bad kids who would just talk and not do any work, and when you'd try to shush them they'd say "-it! OOOOHHHHH YOU SAID A BAD WORD!!!!" and you'd want to punch them and make them cry and/or shut up so you could get your homework finished and go outside to play (I'm not bitter at all). Because it's not like I didn't want to have my homework done. It was just impossible for me to do anything at home. Still is to this day. My strategy for getting things done is to stay up as late as possible, for several days in a row if need be, until I'm so sleep deprived that whatever mental blockade I have has broken down, then I plow through as much work as I can before I either pass out or have to go to class.
I'm pretty sure I've developed a tolerance for all those nifty stress hormones that are supposed to spur a person into action. It used to be two days before a big assignment was due, I'd start freaking out and get started with enough time to do a good job. No longer. I realize when I should be freaking out. I know how much time something will take me and when it would be a good idea to start on it, but my brain just does not respond to my urging. Nowadays I get that necessary, frantic feeling about two hours before the deadline for something, leaving me just enough time to do a really shitty job (which thankfully, for me, is to get an average grade), but still have a complete assignment. If this continues at the rate it has, by this time next year, I won't even get the urge to work on something until the day after it's due. Oh hell, who am I kidding. I have a paper that was due three months ago that I still plan on emailing to my professor. I have no idea how I'm gonna make it the rest of the way through college. For now, I'm still banking on my general intelligence to compensate for my inability to function like a normal human being.
Wish me luck on my final that starts in forty minutes!
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Secrets
This is completely unrelated to today's post, you guys (or just me, as I reread my post after publishing), but while I was in the shower just a bit ago I was scratching at a little scab at the edge of my fingernail where my finger is sore, and a bunch of pus came out. This is the third time in about a week that this has happened, with two different fingers. Clearly I'm doing SOMETHING wrong with my life. It's probably my habit of gnawing and tugging at hangnails until they tear off and leave a gaping, bloody hole in the side of my finger that's begging to host infection.
And yet, there's a little part of me that lives for the moment when I can squeeze something and be rewarded with billowing clouds of white blood cell waste... I might talk more about this later.
So today's post is about secrets. I thought I should let everyone know (from this point onward, I'm just going to pretend there are people reading this so I can avoid the awkward "or no one" side notes) that I don't believe in secrets. That or I'm incapable of keeping one.
I think it stems from my lack of personal mystique. I tell everyone everything about me, immediately upon meeting them. Thanks to this, or perhaps as a causal factor, I have no mental-to-verbal filter (We'll see how well this translates into keeping a blog). For example, the other day I happened to mention, in front of a good portion of my friend's clustermates, that I'm doubly inbred, with two sets of my great-grandparents having been first cousins. And as soon as I hit that lovely orange "PUBLISH POST" button, I will have shared that fact with the whole internet. But it's whatever. Secrets are for pansies who can't own up to who they are or what they've done. (I swear I'm intelligent and well-formed. No extra or missing digits. Though apparently my tongue is shorter than average, and the opening at the back of my throat as well as my tonsils are unusually small, and I can't roll my r's).
Unfortunately for others, my candidness seems to elicit an abnormal amount of trust to be placed in me. So here I am, Miss Verbal Diarrhea 2010 (oh, it's 2011 now, huh? That's okay, my trophy says 2010), and here are all these people telling me their most intimate secrets (I need to find a good synonym for secret soon), which I will, in a matter of hours, tell my mother, my boyfriend, and at least one of my really good friends. (It might also stem from my mother being exactly the same way. I know far too many details of her intimate life, the private lives of her friends and acquaintances, and the buried secrets of my family members. Thanks, Mom).
Even saying something like, "You have to promise not to tell anyone! ANYONE!" won't ensure the safety of your classified/confidential/privileged information (thanks thesaurus.com!) because, for me, secrets seem to have an expiration date. "Oh, in high school this guy confided in me that he and this other guy were having butt sex with each other all the time. Well, it's not high school anymore, so I'm sure it's alright to tell people now!" That's me. Only it's not like I tell EVERYONE. Only people who I feel it won't matter if I tell. Unrelated people; you know?
Also, secrets are conditional. If two of my friends are having a fight, or one friend has some issue with the other, and they refuse to talk and sort things out on their own, I will notify whichever friend needs to be notified of what he/she needs to know. It's not right to stew in silence and let a friendship fall apart. Communication is key, people! For some reason the angry friend usually ends up pissed at me for explaining how they feel. Fancy that. So, I also tell related people secrets...
Maybe I'm a terrible person. Or maybe people should realize when I tell them all my (non)secrets right off the bat that I have loose lips. Either way, I mean no harm.
This post was supposed to be mildly entertaining and humorous, but I feel like I may have ended up on too serious a note and made myself look bad. Oh well. It's no secret that I have my flaws.
And yet, there's a little part of me that lives for the moment when I can squeeze something and be rewarded with billowing clouds of white blood cell waste... I might talk more about this later.
So today's post is about secrets. I thought I should let everyone know (from this point onward, I'm just going to pretend there are people reading this so I can avoid the awkward "or no one" side notes) that I don't believe in secrets. That or I'm incapable of keeping one.
I think it stems from my lack of personal mystique. I tell everyone everything about me, immediately upon meeting them. Thanks to this, or perhaps as a causal factor, I have no mental-to-verbal filter (We'll see how well this translates into keeping a blog). For example, the other day I happened to mention, in front of a good portion of my friend's clustermates, that I'm doubly inbred, with two sets of my great-grandparents having been first cousins. And as soon as I hit that lovely orange "PUBLISH POST" button, I will have shared that fact with the whole internet. But it's whatever. Secrets are for pansies who can't own up to who they are or what they've done. (I swear I'm intelligent and well-formed. No extra or missing digits. Though apparently my tongue is shorter than average, and the opening at the back of my throat as well as my tonsils are unusually small, and I can't roll my r's).
Unfortunately for others, my candidness seems to elicit an abnormal amount of trust to be placed in me. So here I am, Miss Verbal Diarrhea 2010 (oh, it's 2011 now, huh? That's okay, my trophy says 2010), and here are all these people telling me their most intimate secrets (I need to find a good synonym for secret soon), which I will, in a matter of hours, tell my mother, my boyfriend, and at least one of my really good friends. (It might also stem from my mother being exactly the same way. I know far too many details of her intimate life, the private lives of her friends and acquaintances, and the buried secrets of my family members. Thanks, Mom).
Even saying something like, "You have to promise not to tell anyone! ANYONE!" won't ensure the safety of your classified/confidential/privileged information (thanks thesaurus.com!) because, for me, secrets seem to have an expiration date. "Oh, in high school this guy confided in me that he and this other guy were having butt sex with each other all the time. Well, it's not high school anymore, so I'm sure it's alright to tell people now!" That's me. Only it's not like I tell EVERYONE. Only people who I feel it won't matter if I tell. Unrelated people; you know?
Also, secrets are conditional. If two of my friends are having a fight, or one friend has some issue with the other, and they refuse to talk and sort things out on their own, I will notify whichever friend needs to be notified of what he/she needs to know. It's not right to stew in silence and let a friendship fall apart. Communication is key, people! For some reason the angry friend usually ends up pissed at me for explaining how they feel. Fancy that. So, I also tell related people secrets...
Maybe I'm a terrible person. Or maybe people should realize when I tell them all my (non)secrets right off the bat that I have loose lips. Either way, I mean no harm.
This post was supposed to be mildly entertaining and humorous, but I feel like I may have ended up on too serious a note and made myself look bad. Oh well. It's no secret that I have my flaws.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
This is a Blog
Hi everyone! Or, most likely at this point, no one. This is a blog. I'm not exactly sure what having a blog entails; I didn't think about it much before starting one up. I assume this is a place for me to share my thoughts, rant about whatever strikes my fancy, and otherwise imagine that people might actually care about what I have to say.
If anyone out there actually happens to stumble upon this and (by some small miracle) enjoys it, be forewarned that I am fairly attention deficit, a huge procrastinator, and all around lazy, so the chances of me regularly updating are slim to none. But you surely don't care about that at this point; I haven't even said anything interesting (yet?).
So I'm feeling a smidgen guilty about the title, "Strayed Past the Norm," because I happen to have an uncle named Norm, so this is a play on his name. He's not particularly special to me, in the sense that I specifically wanted to dedicate my blog title to him; it just happened to work out that way. As I said, I didn't think about my blog much before signing up to have one, so I panicked when I had to come up with a title. I'm sorry, Norman. If you ever start a blog and want to use this clever wordplay I've created, I will give up my title rights (maybe).
Today my mom is bringing my three-year-old brother over to my dorm to hang out with me while she goes cavorting with some guy who has a house on a lake. I have no idea how to keep a three-year-old entertained for three-and-a-half hours on a college campus. Wish me luck. Maybe there'll be material from this to motivate me to make another post.
Okay, thanks for your time (if you're actually there),
Much love,
Ariellastray
If anyone out there actually happens to stumble upon this and (by some small miracle) enjoys it, be forewarned that I am fairly attention deficit, a huge procrastinator, and all around lazy, so the chances of me regularly updating are slim to none. But you surely don't care about that at this point; I haven't even said anything interesting (yet?).
So I'm feeling a smidgen guilty about the title, "Strayed Past the Norm," because I happen to have an uncle named Norm, so this is a play on his name. He's not particularly special to me, in the sense that I specifically wanted to dedicate my blog title to him; it just happened to work out that way. As I said, I didn't think about my blog much before signing up to have one, so I panicked when I had to come up with a title. I'm sorry, Norman. If you ever start a blog and want to use this clever wordplay I've created, I will give up my title rights (maybe).
Today my mom is bringing my three-year-old brother over to my dorm to hang out with me while she goes cavorting with some guy who has a house on a lake. I have no idea how to keep a three-year-old entertained for three-and-a-half hours on a college campus. Wish me luck. Maybe there'll be material from this to motivate me to make another post.
Okay, thanks for your time (if you're actually there),
Much love,
Ariellastray
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