The Dailey Luls

Turns out I probably just suck [15/90]

2011-10-27T16:17:00.001-04:00

Wow. I come home, do less than when I was away, and still manage to not post. I'm horrible at this.

There's a lot to be said about good writers. They make our TV shows, our movies, our, well, entertainment. Of course, there's a lot to be said about bad writers too, but I'm just going to ignore them for a bit.

Often times I find myself watching a movie or show or playing a game, or whatever and I'm just awe struck. The lines that people come up with are just so damn good I don't know what to do or say. A moment that has absolutely nothing to do with the actor, and everything to do with the words coming out of their mouth. Sometimes we forget that it's not just the actor and their ability to look really good and say words at the same time. Behind that actor is a writer who knows that character just as well as, if not better than, the actor portraying them. Of course there's a lot of other people involved in this process too, but well, I'm ignoring them too.

Somebody knew Han Solo so well that his response to the words I love you was a simple "I know." Somebody sits up and writes the jokes for Psych and Community and everything else. Somebody who is really very witty.

And I hate that person. Well, sort of. I mostly love their talent. But my own fragile ego won't let me love them for it without hating them as well. I hate them for being so damn witty. I hate them for being so talented. I hate everything about them for being better than me. Of course, I don't really hate them, nor do I begrudge them their success. But god, I hate them.

And I don't really know if that's a problem or not. Constantly being bombarded by feelings of inadequacy isn't the best thing for someones mental well being. But oft times it has a kind of positive effect of making you try to be better. If only so you don't suck quite so much in comparison. I really can't say if my giant complex involving other people is a good thing or not. I really don't know if it makes me try any harder, or if it makes me never want to write again. It probably varies on the day. And today, well today, I really just don't want to suck quite so much.

Quote of the Day:

"The important work of moving the world forward does not wait to be done by perfect men."
- George Elliot

Word Vomit [14/90]

2011-10-24T01:43:00.000-04:00

Words suck today.

No matter what I do they refuse to come out right. Admittedly, I haven't tried too much to force them out, but I don't particularly enjoy forcing writing. If it's forced, it's not real, if it's not real, what's the point?

I believe in genuine writing. I don't want to plan, don't want to think, I want to feel the words. I want to have an idea flow out of me as is. Raw and ugly as sin. Full of cliche's and fragments and things that won't make sense until the third revision. I want gaps and plot holes that need to be filled in later because I'm too busy thinking of what happens next to concentrate on what happens now. I want spelling errors because my brain is moving far too fast for my fingers to keep up. I want to close my eyes and see a scene, to feel it and smell it while my fingers try desperately to keep up. To make sure the moment is captured before the image is lost forever. That's what I want when I sit down to write. That's what I want out of creative writing.

That's when writing makes me the happiest. When I just sit down and let the words flow out of me. Of course, most of these words are garbage with rare moments of words flowing perfectly together. But rarely is something great on the first try. That guy with the lightbulb fucked up about a million times before he figured it out. And science is much more concrete than figuring out how to string a sentence together, so I figure I have some leeway here. Hell, I can't make a lightbulb either, so I really should have a lot of room to work in.

Sometimes I wish I was better at structuring my writing before I actually started it. Then I wouldn't have to stress as much about everything fitting together properly when everything is said and done. As is, I just kind of start, and then figure out if everything adds up as I go through. It can be a terrible way to work, especially when a distinct structure is expected of you. But now that I'm not officially in classes of any sort, I suppose whatever the hell I want to do works just fine.

Like me writing whatever comes to mind. Like I'm writing now. Like how I'm using the word like 700 times to explain something that really didn't even need to be mentioned. Like how I keep typing exactly what is running through my mind at the moment. Of course I miss a few thoughts, but you don't really need to know that when I typed that last sentence I thought about ketchup simply because it was something different than what I was typing at that moment.

I love stream of consciousness. You get to say strange things.
Cabbage.

Quote of the Day:

"I'm always fucking childish, you knew that when you met me."
- Childish Gambino (The Longest Text Message)

Kids ruin everything [13/90]

2011-10-23T00:22:00.001-04:00

I want to do nothing more than sleep. But of course my brain had to think about writing. Which I hadn't done. So now I'm here writing instead of in bed sleeping like I want to be.

I'm home now. After an hour of being trapped on a plane surrounded by screaming, crying, laughing, kicking, hitting kids (I didn't hit them, they hit me) I'm home. I have never in my life been on a plane with so many children. They surrounded me on all fronts. There was one directly behind me. A little boy. The lovely creature was on the plane for all of two minutes before he hit me in the head. I don't really know how it happened. He was so little, I don't know how he reached up over the seat to bop me on the head, but he did. From that moment, I knew I wasn't going to enjoy the flight very much. And that was after I found out I was in the middle seat.

It was an early flight so I was tired anyway, I just wanted to sleep. But sleep was never really an option. Not with all the child noises coming from every direction. Happy noises, sad noises, noise for the sake of noise noises. Any time of sound for any purpose a kid could have was made. Normally kids don't bother me much. But when there's one kicking the back of your seat on a semi-regular basis, and three others making random noises, it starts to grate on you. The kids parents never even told him to keep his feet down. My source of sanity came in the form of several batman comics preloaded onto my iPod. That and music. Loud music. Lots of it. I soon got into my happy place where screaming children barely existed.

I was honestly sad I was surrounded by families. Not because of the screaming kids, but because I am rarely inspired by families. It is easier for me to look at one person and come up with where their life has taken them, and what they might have done than it is for me too look at a family and imagine the same thing. I don't write about children. Children are hard. They're complex and simple. Smart and idiotic. They're confusing. And I don't think about them much. I don't write them because I don't know them. But a single person? A teen, a young adult, an adult? It's something I can relate too more. Something I can understand more. Children throw off my groove. Add a kid into any picture and my mind rarely knows what to do with it. They make writing difficult.

Children demand my attention through laughter and squeals of joy or pain. They rip me from my comfortable little world and throw me into one where my thought process slows and the stories freeze in my mind. It's awful.

I don't like feeling creatively drained. So I avoid writing about children. Or around them. Because they make everything so much more difficult. Even simple things like enjoying a short flight from Atlanta to Indianapolis.

Hospital visit [12/90]

2011-10-21T00:42:00.000-04:00

I commend the me from a year or two ago that managed to update (mostly) every day. I must have been dedicated. Because back then I did things like school and socialize. I don't do anything now, and I still can't manage to update this thing every day. Actually, that's probably part of the problem. I don't do anything, so I don't have anything to say. Ha. Anyway, here we go.

Today I actually thought about writing. Actually writing something. You know, something that takes effort. Not just a small rant where I sometimes attempt to make the words sound nice. I mean, I actually thought about writing a story. It was a simple idea. Just a walk through the hospital. The sights, the sounds, the smells. The chaos. Nothing more, nothing less. Nothing important would happen, at least not that the character would know about. She'd just walk through the hospital, tur around, and walk out. No real point, no real mission, just the human experience. A mundane thing, the kinds of things people do everyday without really thinking about.

It would have started simple enough. A girl walks into the hospital. The reader is never really sure why. Maybe she's visiting someone, maybe she's got a appointment, maybe she's just delivering something. But she walks in. The doors slide open for her. She takes a second to think about that- the doors slide open for her. A few years ago sliding doors would have seemed amazing she thinks. Like magic. She saw that in a TV show once- people who had never seen sliding doors. The hospital is loud and people are rushing about. They come and go from every direction. Some sliding through the corridors like they've done it a million times, others glancing nervously about- clearly lost. She goes about her way and pretends she doesn't notice the lost souls. Everything is the same shade of blue, or at least it feels that way. The carpet stretches on forever. She wonders if tile would be better, it is a hospital after all. But she supposes that the clinic area might not have as much threat of bodily fluids spilling everywhere.

It would go something like that. There'd be a girl, and she'd wonder through the hospital. No real reason or purpose. Just something nice. Something simple. Something that's not up it's own ass in morals and symbols. Something where blue is just blue and a door is just a door.

The beginning of this really isn't very witty at all [11/90]

2011-10-18T23:53:00.000-04:00

Rage against the machine used to be a band. Actually, it might still be a band. I don't really know. Anyway, it is now a (semi)clever way for me to say that I am angry with the institution. The institution in this case being High School education. More specifically, English.

I hate the way we teach English and writing. Hate it. There is very very little you could ever say to change my mind. You go through high school and then you get to college. And when you get to college the first thing most English professors say is forget whatever the hell your high school teachers said. Forget it. It's stupid. (Actually that's the way it goes in a lot of fields, or so I'm led to believe)

We teach our kids to memorize and regurgitate for the sake of tests and funding. We don't teach them how to think or discuss. You know, life skills. We tell them the green light at the end of that fucking dock in The Great Gatsby stands for how Gatsby is so close to his goals but can never reach them. How he's green with envy, or what the fuck ever. We tell them that the eyes on that damn billboard are representative of someone always seeing what goes on. We tell them that Tom loves red and gold because it symbolizes power. We tell them all this shit and we tell them to memorize it. We don't let them think. Or when we do we tell them they're wrong. They can't be right. Because there's clearly only one way to read this book. Because Nick Carroway is a god among men and so much better than all of them. Not the attention starved judgmental unreliable little shit I read him as.

We tell them to write about whatever they want, and then tell them they're wrong when they do it. We don't want them to think outside the box, not really. And that's so wrong. It's so bloody American too. What other culture is so centered on individuality and then telling you exactly how to be an individual? When they say write anything, they never really mean anything. They mean write something along the lines of exactly what I've taught you. Don't speak, don't think, don't do anything at all. God forbid you turn the assignment in on itself.

My little sister, a sophomore in high school, came home with an assignment to write anything. She asked me for help. We decided to write about what you could write about (because I'm such a whore for all things meta). Teacher hated it. Damn near failed her (she got a lovely D-). And for what? Because she didn't see the point. And because it was written in second person.

First of all, fuck the second person rule. Fuck it. Yes, yes, I understand why they say don't use second person. I can understand keeping it out of 'formal' writing. I understand not alienating an audience. I understand not putting words in the readers mouth. But second person is not a sin upon mankind. Using second paper does not make your writing the worst thing anyone could ever read.

And the point, I feel, was extremely clear. The entire thing said that "this is what you could use 500 words to write about." I don't think it gets much clearer than that.

It's frustrating. It's more frustrating than it should be. I really have some issues with the American education system. Most of which aren't very fleshed out. I should work on that.

Everything you know is a lie [10/90]

2011-10-16T12:17:00.001-04:00

I've been in Miami for the past few days. Without stable Internet connection. I'm actually writing this on my phone. 
Anyway, all that great stuff they tell you about Miami is a lie. A bold face lie. A lying out your ass, making everything up lie. A dirty lying lie from the mouth of a liar. 
Miami is full of old people. 
Little old people. Big old people. White heads and dyed heads. All sorts of old people. So many old people that they're all starting to blur together. I can't tell one from another. 
Old people who talk about old things. Old. People who don't know how to work a remote or turn on a computer. Old people who are innately attracted to casinos. 
Which is where I find myself now. Lost in a sea of neon lights and white hair, baseball caps, and balding old men.
Now, I admit I'm biased. I don't gamble. I don't particularly like gambling, don't see the point. Since I was old enough to pick up a controller, I've been able to play electronic poker and gamble away fake money to my hearts content. And even then I was wary. I always cashed out before I could loose my meager winnings. The thought of loosing money like that, even fake money never sat well with me.

So now I'm trapped in a casino with a bunch of indistinguishable old people stating at flashing lights. Flashing lights and loosing money. No appeal. None.

Where are the beaches and babes, and boys with muscles. The jetskis and speed boats. The sun and sand. The random celebrity encounters.

All I've seen is old people, rain, and traffic.

Though I suppose I should have known better when I came to Miami with my grandparents.

Miami: 325 Miles [9/90]

2011-10-13T11:39:00.001-04:00

I'm in a car on the way to Miami. It should be known that I love my grandparents. I love them to death. I love them so much I haven't gotten snippy.

We're going from Atlanta to Miami in a sedan. Not so bad, there's only 3 of us. So far I've spent most of the trip sleeping. Or pretending to.

But my waking moments? They're filled with patience-testing, teeth-grinding, headache-inducing experiences.

So far I've been forced out of the car to walk into a clearly closed wendys, lived through a McDonalds ordeal, and damn near been frozen.

Have I mentioned i've only been awake for about an hour?

Unrelated: palm trees are cool.

I'm currently listening to non-stop Frank Sinatra and similar artists. Maybe I'm uncivilized. Maybe I just hate this style music. Maybe it's because my parents used to put this on to make me go to sleep. Whatever the reason, it is slowly driving me insane.

State of the trip: Miami, 325 miles.

For the last two miles they argued about how to get back home. Sometimes I wonder if they argue just for fun. Miami: 323 miles. New thought, I wonder if they shoot swamp people around here.

No write equals no sleep [8/90]

2011-10-12T01:53:00.000-04:00

It's almost 2 a.m. and it's one of those nights where my body just won't let me sleep.

My mind is racing. Why, I don't know. My insides have turned against me once again. That horridly familiar pain, a sharp, stabbing, leaking pain that assaulting my insides. I've never really been sure how to categorize that pain. I don't even really know what part of my body it's assaulting. It just hurts. And it hurts as expected. Always when I least expect it, but it's never unexpected. It's the pain I associate with having a uterus. I don't really even know if that's what's hurting. Sometimes I wonder what it really is. Most times I just deal.

But my mind is the bigger problem. It won't turn off. It's time for bed and it won't turn off. It's like it wants to suffer under a steady onslaught of self-doubt and self-consciousness. I don't know why. We were having a good time just a few minutes ago. I was watching Torchwood. And now I'm lying in bed fighting my mind and my body. But the same question keeps popping up.

What do you do when you don't know what to do with yourself?

I don't really know if there's an answer to that. Maybe there is. But is it a universal answer? Is there some magic word that can set my mind at ease, or do I just have to live though this as well? Do I just go on and hope I figure it out? What are you supposed to do?

What do you do when you have no idea what to do?

There's so many things a person could do with their life. So many things I could do with my life. But I don't know what. I have no idea. I am out of college and I have no idea what to do. And the only question on anyone's mind is "What's next?"

They say I can do so much.

But is it so wrong to want nothing more than to sit down, sip a cup of coffee, and watch TV? To watch other people live their lives? To want nothing more than a quiet rainy monday?

That can't be so bad.

Quote of the Day:
"Confidence is 10% hard work and 90% delusion."
- Tina Fey

This post is useless [7/90]

2011-10-10T18:30:00.001-04:00

Yeah. So, that 90 in 180 is probably going to be a much better representation of how long it takes me to finish 90 blog posts. This weekend I was with my big sister who magically happened to be in ATL at the same time as me. Anyway, on to today's post.

I watched Midnight in Paris today. I had absolutely no expectations going into the movie (I had never heard anything about it). After, I can probably say it's one of my favorite movies.

There's a writer who idolizes the Lost Generation and the 1920s in general. While wandering around Paris (his dream city) he gets transported back to the 20's and meets all of the greats. The writers and the painters and just about anyone you can imagine.

It was fantastic. I loved every moment. From the camera angles to the themes to, well, everything. It spoke to me on a personal level. Because I've done all that before. I've imagined everything and everyone being different. I've imagined talking to writers long gone, getting their input on my writing, what they would say, how they would act. All of it.

I've met people who think they're smart but they're really just full of it. Talked to people who everyone clearly loves, but who I just can't stand. Had moments where you wonder if you agree with anything your significant other says.

But it's his view on writing that stuck with me the most. The idolizing. The feeling that no one around you understands what it is you're trying to do. It was all so real for me. I can completely understand and relate to where the writer was coming from.

And what I realize more and more as I sit here with my grandma (who watched the movie with me) is how little other people can understand those feelings. Grandma things the guy was crazy. She doesn't understand where he was coming from. And by faulty association, doesn't understand what I feel about writing. (and by the way, Grandpa, who didn't watch the movie, thinks the guy was on drugs)

I think that to be any good at writing, you have to be a little crazy. A little bit confused. Passionate about something, anything. I think you have to be crazy because if you weren't you'd be doing anything else.

Defaulted again [6/90]

2011-10-06T11:56:00.001-04:00

Maybe I should just start calling this the 90 in 180 for all the consistency I post with. I'd say I'm sorry for not posting yesterday, but I'm really not. I actually did some writing. It just didn't end up here. Probably won't ever end up here. Just how things go.

Today, as most days before it, I had no idea what I wanted to write about when I sat down to write. I thought about maybe working on my fiction. But then I started thinking about how my fiction has changed over the years. That's funny. I can say years now. Almost sounds like I've been writing for awhile.

But it has changed. When I write now it's more grounded in reality. When I first started writing for myself all those (four) years ago, nothing was real. Nothing was ever real. They were tall tales about zombies and fantasy and magic. And now? It's metafiction. Or the most ordinary situations you can imagine. I love it.

There's something to be said about finding the truth inside menial actions. Why is that woman really at the gym everyday. Why does that man smoke the way he does. What comforts him about the repetitive actions behind his favorite vice. I love the simplicity.

And metafiction. Whenever I can't come up with something I write about writing. I don't know why. I don't even know when that became my default. But writing about writing is a release. It's all feelings and emotion. It's heartfelt and about as raw as I am capable of. I write what I feel. What I think every time I sit down to a blank page. From the gut clenching fear of never being able to produce the words I see so clearly in my head to the empty frustration while I rack my brain for just the right word. The one with the proper definition. The one that says precisely what I want it to say and nothing more. Or everything more. That one word with the correct connotation and denotation. That one word that isn't unnecessarily long or too hard to understand. Sometimes it can even be about someone who feels none of that. About a writer who simply picks up a pen and out pours The Great Gatsby in time for afternoon tea.

I love metafiction. And if I were ever to write a book I should very much hope that it would be about writing. Because then no one could bloody well tell me I'm doing everything wrong.

Quote of the Day:

"It's the good girls who keep diaries; the bad girls never have the time."
- Tallulah Bankhead

She made me think [5/90]

2011-10-05T00:46:00.000-04:00

Earlier today (or maybe it was yesterday) I started a post about how I admire people who want to change the world. I've scrapped it twice. Because I can't figure out what the hell I'm trying to say. And not in a way where I can just type and have something semi-coherent vomited out onto the page. I guess it's just something I need to think about more. Anyway, here goes.

Today my grandma took me to dinner at one of her friends' house. Her husband died just a few weeks ago. She's not very old- can't be too much older than my own parents. Everything about her was muted. Her voice, her actions, everything. I can't comprehend a loss like that. Today was the first day she's left the house since the funeral I think. Her friend said they went to Walmart. Tomorrow they're supposed to run a couple more errands. The friend says they'll take it one day at a time. I hope she feels better soon. I met her husband once. Seemed like a nice man. I hope she feels better soon.

That woman, she made me think. Not about death or loss or coping, but about me. She asked a lot of questions. Questions about where I'd gone to school, what I'd participated in, who my favorite author was, my favorite professor. What I wanted to do. Some were questions everyone asks. Others, were questions I'd never really been asked before. I had to think.

Who is my favorite author? I'm not sure if I have one. I said David Foster Wallace. He's not really my favorite. If I'm completely honest, I've never even finished one of his books. I've tried, but the man makes me think too damn hard. His writing is exhausting. I get so caught up in his words. In the flow. Then I forget what I'm reading and just drop it. He's not my favorite author. Maybe my favorite writer. In my head there's a difference.

But a favorite author? I can't say I have one. I don't read any one author regularly enough to call them my favorite. My reading is as fragmented as everything else I do. I pick up a book, read some, drop it, and move on to the next with no clear patterns. Favorite author? How can you pick one? They all do such different things. I have a love/hate relationship with Flannary O'Connor. I really like the core DragonLance novels by Tracy Hickman and Margaret Weiss. I've reread Jurrassic Park by Michael Crichton more times than most- but I've never read his other stuff. The Great Gatsby is still one of my favorite novels. I spent the last few days reading nothing but the best and worst of fanfiction I can find. But a favorite author? I don't know if I could pick one.

She asked me when Ball State's homecoming was. I had no idea. Facebook tells me it's this weekend. I never know when homecoming is. I never knew when homecoming was when I went there. School spirit has never been my thing. She seemed surprised that I didn't know anything about it. Or what events drew back alumni. I have no idea. I never thought about it. Never been my concern. I don't have any real motivation to see my peers again anyway. Hardly knew them when we were in the same classes everyday. Funny. Sounds just like how high school ended. Some things never change.

Favorite professor. I actually had an answer for that one. Barb. Can't for the life of me remember Barb's last name. She seemed shocked we called her Barb. Said something about BSU being very informal. I don't know what else we would have called her.

Within minutes of asking me what I'm doing now that I've graduated most people figure out I have no idea. And I'm not being very proactive about fixing that. I'm ok with that. Most others don't really understand that. I should be out doing things. Working. Something. But I'm not. And I'm ok with that. Because it's not about me. It's never been about me.

Everything I do is about them. What they want. What's best for them. What helps them the most. I can't run off and think only about myself. That's not who I am. That's never been who I am. They need me. To keep them from doing something stupid. To make them laugh. To help with homework. To show them that there's always another way. To have someone to talk to. To vent. To tell stupid stories. To let them know everything will be ok. To be there. And as long as they need me, I will always be there. They are my number one priority. I love them more than anything or anyone. Even when I hate them.

Quote of the Day:

"Indecision may or may not be my problem."
- Jimmy Buffett

Possibly coherent thoughts [4/90]

2011-10-03T11:48:00.000-04:00

Ok. Wow. I am fantastically bad at remembering to update. And here I thought I might have a chance of actually doing this right. Anyway, I don't really have an excuse for yesterday. I just forgot. So here's a post to appease my acute writers guilt.

Other people. How are you supposed to interact with them? Should they be the focus of your existence, or should you concentrate on yourself instead? Is the number of people around you supposed to affect how social you are? Those are just a few questions that have been on my mind since yesterday.Since graduation I haven't spent much time in the company of people who are not immediately related to me. And I've really only spent time with them because I live with them. Without that shared living space, I would probably be something closely resembling a hermit. And as I've said, I'm currently in Atlanta with my extended family. An extended family who hasn't had years of dealing with my distinctly hermit-like ways.

And it's brought some things to my attention. I don't know what to say to people one on one. I have no idea. None. Especially if I don't have a shared interest or experience to draw on. One on one you're stuck asking those casual filler questions like how's the weather, or what did you do today. I hate those questions. Most days people do the same things they always do. Oh, you went to class? That's nice. Oh, work huh? That's nice. Unless something spectacularly different from the norm happened, it's boring for both of us. I especially hate it when people ask me that question. You want to know what I did today? Nothing. Same as always. And then they say well you had to have done something. And I'm just like well if you must know, I sat around. I might have eaten some toast. After which I got on the internet. And maybe I played a game or watched TV. Yeah. Exciting life I lead. Aren't you so glad you ask me this damn question every day.

If you have that common interest or experience you at least have something to go off of though. Maybe they also like TV. You can just ask what they thought of the latest episode. Or who their favorite character is. Bam. Conversation. And you get a free pass to judging them when they are so clearly wrong in their opinions. Experiences pretty much go the same way. Oh, I see you like going to the farmers market. I too like going to the farmer's market. We have much to discuss.

One on one people have this odd tendency of asking yes or no questions and expecting you to answer with more than that. "You're quiet today." Yes. Yes, I am. Now that we've established that I'll just go right on being quiet. Thank you for noticing.

In a group setting I'm much better. Because then someone else is always talking, and all you have to do is contribute once in a while. Through out some laughter. Perhaps a question or anecdote. And when you have no idea what to say, there's always someone to cover for you. Groups are great. I highly recommend that everyone who doesn't like to talk, or has nothing to say, hang out in large groups. At first it seems counterintuitive, but really, you do way less talking when in a group setting than you do one on one. And people think you're social when you do. All you have to do is appear to be paying attention and in all actuality you're just thinking about how you'd really like to get back to your book, game, or whatever it is you do when you're actively avoiding talking to people. And hell, maybe you'll even get actively sucked into the conversation you're having with the people around you, and you'll actually become more social. Yay.

Quote of the Day:

"Happiness is a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city."
- George Burns

It's funny because I was running in a Flash shirt and it clearly did not make me any faster [3/90]

2011-10-01T22:17:00.000-04:00

Ha. Man. It only took me two days to fall off the wagon. I really do need someone to watch my every move or I'll just vanish again. BUT, I'm going to pretend I have an adequate excuse (which I really don't). Yesterday was somewhat busy (from about 3pm to 11pm which leaves a lot of room for me being horrendously lazy). This is a formal apology to myself for not writing like I should have. It's only hurting me.

Now that that's out of the way, TRAVEL. Today's topic.

It has come to my attention that I am almost incapable of arriving on time for a flight.
Today I flew from Indy to Atlanta. Fun times. And it really all starts at the airport. Well, I could start before then, but it's really boring. So, airport. We actually got to the airport with plenty of time for checkin and all that other stuff, much sooner than normal. Lovely chat with the check-in lady. Who very kindly game my mom a day pass to the airport so she could walk me too the gate. We are both 90% certain the woman thought I was much younger than I actually am, or this probably would not have happened. I checked my boarding pass, and we headed off towards the security line for concourse A. There was approximately no wait and I spent all of 10 seconds in the star trek machine before going to put my shoes on. Then a nice old TSA agent asked me if I watched Big Bang Theory. It took me a second to get the reference, but eventually it clicked. I'm wearing a flash T-shirt today. Laughter ensued and we headed to gate 15 where my plane should have been.

Gate A15 was a flight to Detroit.

Oops.

I had read the pass wrong and looked at my seat assignment instead. My plane was at B21. The other side of the airport. Mom and I had a good laugh at how stupid I was, and started heading to the other side of the airport. We had made it less than halfway there when the loudspeaker sounded.

".......Airtran flight 407 to Atlanta is on it's final boarding call... please make your way to the gate."

During those initial syllables, it was like a sitcom. That moment where the main characters have finally realized what they've done wrong, that the bomb could explode at any second, that they've left Macaulay Caulkin Home Alone...again. That slow motion moment right before everything goes to shit- where everyone looks at each other, eyes widening, pupils dialating, and the shock fully registers on their face. We had that.

And then there was the running.
And by running, I mean trotting.
And that didn't last very long.

Mom was falling behind. She is not, by any definition, an athlete. I glanced back and made the call.

"Do you want to just say goodbye here?"
"Yeah, go ahead."

There was time for a quick hug, kiss, and goodbye, before I was jogging through the terminal. It is at this point where I decided that running through an airport must be fairly common, TSA and Security are much nicer than the news claims, and/or I really don't look like a potential security threat.
Because I jogged/trotted/power-speed-walked through the backside of security, across the central area, and through the entirety of Concourse B.

And as per my usual arrival time, I was the last one on the plane. And because I was so late they had to change my seat. I got bumped up to the first seat on the plane. You know, the one without anyone sitting in front of you, the one with the extra leg space? That one. Yeah. And as soon as I got on the plane they offered me water. Which was nice because I am an out of shape lazy bum who can't even run through an airport without almost dying. And, because you're so close to the front of the plane the flight attendant cart can't effectively reach you (or something), so you end up with an almost personal flight attendant who every few minutes comes by and asks if you need anything. I ended up with milano cookies and an entire bottle of fancy icelandic water (which may be a lie- it could be from the tap and I'd never know), instead of the standard one cup and maybe a pack of pretzels, for my tardiness. Awesome.

But wait, there's more.
I also ended up getting off the plane first, and my bag dropped almost immediately at baggage claim. I felt like airport god was really happy with me today.

Quote of the Day:

"Millions long for immortality who don't know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon."
- Susan Ertz

It really is frightening [2/90]

2011-09-29T22:13:00.000-04:00

It's only day two and I find myself without a clue as to where this post is going. I'd say I'm sorry but I'm not really.

Earlier today I thought about writing about the rain. It rained somewhat magnificently today- the sky was an orange color and the wind was whipping the trees and rain about. There were kids screaming outside as they half-heartedly ran towards "shelter." Shelter in this instance being underneath a tree. They soon found out that it wasn't nearly as effective as they thought it would be. The downpour lasted all of five minutes before everything settled again. Back to a light rain and skies that were more grey than orange. A five minute scene turned into 500 words. Now that I'm writing I realize I should have tried to capture the moment more. Perhaps to work on description. Maybe for a flash fiction scene. Oh well.

Instead all I can think of is packing. It's what I've been doing all day in a manner of speaking. Saturday I take off for Atlanta again. Three weeks this time. And it's funny, because when I pack, it really isn't about the clothes. I spent all of 10 minutes throwing clothes into a suitcase. It wasn't hard. Underwear, shirts, enough pants to make it look like they may not have been worn the day before. A few pairs of socks and done.

When I pack to go on a trip, it really isn't about the clothes at all. It's about the things. What I'm bringing with me. What I'm leaving behind. I spent all day trying to load up my electronics for travel. Not putting them in a bag or anything like that, but making sure they're equipped for an extended trip. I need the proper amount and variety of books, games, music, and videos to cover any possible situation. Enough to keep me occupied if I get stranded in the airport for hours, or if I were simply waiting in a car for a few minutes. Books and games for short bursts. Or for the long haul. You wouldn't believe the amount of effort I put into being prepared for any possible length of boredom.

I've got a variety of choices between any number of devices. I've set it up so that no matter where I go and what I'm travelling with I can always have a game, book, or video for quick sessions or extended ones. All of this is split between six different platforms. Laptop, Kindle, DS, PSP, iPod, and Phone. I've got it all covered. Hypothetically, I should never have a reason to say I'm bored. In practice though, I'm sure I'll find something to complain about. Between these six devices, I have a frightening amount of entertainment choices.
>br>That's 110+ video games, 50+ books, 80+ hours of video (not including netflix), and 9.2 days of music.
If I complain about being bored. Somebody slap me.

Quote of the Day:

"You're going to travel to Cheydinhal, and find out what sort of imposter is trying to besmirch my good name. And you're going to tell him... *hic*... You're going to tell him I am quite capable of besmirching my good name on my own."
- Reynald Jemane (Oblivion)

90 in 90: Volume II

2011-09-28T11:43:00.005-04:00

I wanted to start off my newest attempts at a 90 in 90 with something light. Something easy. Something simple. But I should have known better. My brain isn't wired that way. I can't just sit down and write something easy. My fingers automatically start typing the first thing that comes to mind. And that is rarely something simple.
Today it was something so complex that I didn't even know where to begin. It was fragmented. Filled with half finished sentences that told everything and nothing. Everything because I knew what they meant. Nothing because no one else ever would. It took me ten minutes of this to find out the real starting point. What I really wanted to say.

I have no dreams.
No dreams. No goals. No aspirations.
Nothing.

At least not anything I'm consciously aware of.

And I don't know what to do with that. I'm twenty-one. I'm so terrifyingly young. And I have absolutely no idea what to do with the time I've been given. I went to school to be a writer. I don't even know if I want to do that anymore.

Writing is hard. Writing is terrible. The words get inside you and break you down. Leave you with nothing but them and a lingering sense that you're not even doing that right. I can't tell you how many times a sentence gets edited in my own head before I start typing it. I can't tell you how many times I start a sentence and then erase it anyway. Writing is hard. It's the easiest and the hardest thing I've ever done.

Maybe I should start small. Something "easy" and not too intimidating. Nothing like writing a novel or winning a nobel prize, Maybe I should just start out with finishing this 90 in 90. An obtainable goal. One I've accomplished before. Ninety days of writing. Ninety days of me trying my hardest to get 500 semi-coherent words on a page. Ninety days of sitting down and looking at a blank screen without giving up before I've started. I think I can look out a window for 90 days and find something worth writing about. Something that I can make 500 words from.

Today, 500 words are hard to find. Because there's so much I want to say, so much I tried to write down when I started this post. I wrote too much. I tried too hard. All my thoughts and feelings got jumbled up and dumped out on the page. Anybody can jumble up words and vomit them onto a page. Anybody. But that wasn't what I wanted to do. I set out to write and came out with word-vomit. And now, 450 words later I still haven't said anything that was really worth saying.

But I suppose that was the point of all this. To write until I know what the hell I'm doing. Hopefully at some point in the next 90 days that will happen. If not, there's another 90 days after that to try and figure out.

Quote of the Day:
"Writing gives you the illusion of control, and then you realize it's just an illusion, that people are going to bring their own stuff into it."
- David Sedaris

90 in 90

2011-09-28T11:38:00.001-04:00

Starting today. At least 500 words.
Because without that written down, I won't do it.
Because I need it.
Because I have to.

Things my family finds funny:

2011-03-06T13:10:00.002-05:00

Poor Poor Souls:

Hi. Yesterday my parents took me to the airport. Shenanigans ensued.

So, before we left the house the main theme was: I do not want to go out in this weather. It was all rainy like.

Cue dad:

"Why is there no limo coming to pick up Lauren?"

Backstory: My sister and her fiancee rolled into town about a month ago. They had limo service to and from the airport.

Cue me:

"Sorry dad, didn't engage to money."

Laughter ensued.

On the ride we were just chillin in the car. It was still all rainy like.

Cue dad:

Seriously, I'm going to have to ask Bill why I have to take my daughter to the airport.

Laughter ensued.

Dad again:

I mean it. He's got a four letter name. He's white. Bill...Rich it should work. Where is the money and me not taking my kind to the airport. The last Bill at least got me free basketball tickets... What's he bringing to the table? I want my mule and grain. -insert dowry jokes here-

Backstory: The last guy my sister dated, coincidentally, was named Bill as well. Except that Bill was the head coach of some NBA team. ...yeah.

Oh dad. Your evil brand of humor is highly appreciated. Much laughter was had at many boymanchild-guy things expense.

Stuff

2011-02-20T14:23:00.002-05:00

Hi I'm Lauren:

And I read blogs all morning so I'm finally going to update my own blog.

This past week I was called "funny" or "entertaining" like twice. Twice is a lot of times so clearly I must be hysterical. Anyway, my shenanigans this week were related to one of my English classes.Here's a little backstory.

This semester I am taking what amounts to a freshman English course. I am a senior. I major in journalism and minor in English. Shenanigans were bound to ensue. This is what the official course listing says:

"An introduction to the nature and interpretation of literary works and to reading and writing critically about literature. Credit does not apply to English majors or minors."

Now, apparently you can be in the class anyway as a minor or something. I didn't really pay attention. All I needed to know is that I would get three whole credit hours for being in the class no matter what. I need them three hours to gradumacate. Not for the minor. I'm already done with that. This is for shits and giggles. Anyway, this is what the prof's description of the course goals are:

This course will help you to develop techniques for reading, discussing, and writing about literature of various genres. It will teach you to think and write critically, as well as nurture your life-long love of reading!

That sentence amounts to all that I have read of the syllabus. Exclamation points mean fun times. I also had a class with this prof my... freshman or sophomore year. I don't really remember which one as all these years are starting to blur together. Anyway, we pretty much talk about race and things. And by "we" I clearly mean the rest of the class talks while I make snarky comments in my head and on twitter.

Last week we had to watch Gone with the Wind. I found out I think the movie is stupid. Every Thursday we're supposed to turn in a journal about what we think about the weeks readings. This week I didn't forget to do mine which was awesome. I wrote it before class and turned it in and went about the rest of my day which largely involves me being non-productive and hanging out in one room in the English department 'cause all my (all two of them) classes are in that room.

Anyway, come class time I settled into my chair and prepared myself for another day of staring at the clock and hoping I've developed the ability to time travel. No such luck I'm afraid. We had an aural quiz over the movie and at some point during the procession the prof was all like "blah blah blah DEATH BY PONY". Now normally, I would continue staring at the clock and working on my superpowers, but today that phrase seemed awfully familiar so I looked up at my professor. Lo and behold she was actively staring at me. Laughing at some inside joke I had clearly forgotten about.

Turns out it was a phrase I had used in my journal about why I thought the movie was stupid. Oops. Then she proceeded to explain to the class that even though I just sit in my little corner not saying anything I am really funny. Or something like that. It was an awkward moment where everybody stared at me and I just continued looking like I was too awesome to be there. What with my hipster garb and stuff and stuff.

Anyway, class continued on with me still working on my superpowers when prof lady decided we needed a group activity. We were going to reproduce a scene of Gone with the Wind. And we were going to act it out. So we split into groups. Aka, stared at the people around us until they decided they could be in our group since they were close by. After some talking and a lot of words that I don't remember I accidentally convinced a group of people that sock puppets were a good idea. I will be bringing in a transformer as the couples new carriage because come on, what says status better than a transforming car?

Anyway, this brings me to the second time I was told I'm funny. This lady I worked with in high school that one time I actually had a job commented on my status. (Of course, after accidentally convincing these people it was a good idea I couldn't not let the internet know so I made it a status.) Anyway, she commented all like "you're one of the few people who i haven't blocked in my feed 'cause you're entertaining." and I'm all like I must be funny! So now I've written a blog about it and you should laugh and call me funny too.

Anyway. Back on topic. After being called funny two whole times in a day I had to go see just what it is I had written in this journal in the first place. Turns out I was accidentally more snarky that I intended on being. Oops. Here's some highlights:

"For the vast majority of Gone with the Wind I wanted to punch Scarlett in the face"

"Ashley was a tool, Melanie (I think that’s her name) was a tool, Bonnie was annoying, and Mammy and the slaves made me want to punch kitties."

"Every time I’d really heard the movie mentioned it was just with references to the civil war and love stories. It (was) never really about how some stupid lady totally gets owned after years of almost torturing the people in her life."

Parenthesis were added to the above because apparently I forget to write all the words I'm thinking. Even when I turn things in...

"Even more amusing were the parallels between Bonnie and her Grandfather, the whole death by pony thing was totally foreshadowed from the get-go."

... I don't know why I think it's a good idea to turn things like this in. Apparently all that academic writing I've had drilled into me since kindergarden amounted to nothing. Because no where in my learnings was this ever really described as ok.

I'm just a kid

2010-12-23T22:54:00.003-05:00

Well I've ignored this for far too long. Here's some thoughts I guess.

Current Thoughts:

Well. I have approximately a semester left of undergrad. I say approximately because I still need to do an internship, but a semester of regular classes is all I have left.

That's it.

One semester.

Holy Fuck.

That's about as far as my thought process gets these days. I'm almost done. Holy Fuck. What the hell am I going to do with myself? I feel like I've blogged/ranted/journal'd about this before. But whatever. It's kind of a big deal.

I really don't know what I'm going to do with myself. I am awful at real life. Awful. I'm a barely functioning member of society. If you can consider someone who rarely interacts with society as a member of it. Anyway, future. Yuck. What the hell are you supposed to do after school? Chase your dreams? Go be a productive member of society? Go back to school? Shit, those are three entirely different plans of action.

I don't really have a dream to chase so that ones out. Or at least I don't have a dream I can think of. Maybe I should work on that. Anyway, the closest things I have to dreams are not career, or personal betterment, or world bettering ideas. They largely involve small goals, rather than big "chase your dreams, kid" type things. So making them the center of my life is still out.

Go be a productive member of society? Well due to the nature of our country I'm likely stuck doing this no matter what. So the only choice would be how to do so? Go career searching? Get some part time coffee serving job and hope I make fantastic Indie Rock friends who will drink and be better than everyone else with me? Back to the career thing. What career? Journalism? Some news gig? Counting words for dollars so I can try to live the life of a writer? Write a book? That no one will publish? Pander to trends and capitalize on them and make millions? Move to Colorado and be a rancher?

More school? My parents are really keen on this one. Like sound like they'll disown me if I don't keen. But what the hell would I go to school for? Journalism? English? Something else entirely? What?

There are far too many options. I just wanna run away and come back when my brain has some basic idea of what the hell I want to do. As of this second taking a bunch of odd jobs sounds like fun. Just for shits and giggles. Of course, that really doesn't do too much for me in the long run, but whatever. In my head working random things might be fun.

Of course, In a week I'll be back to thinking being a teacher sounds like a decent idea. Which makes little damn sense. Who put that idea in my head in the first place?

Quote of the Day:

"Nostalgia isn't what it used to be."
- Peter De Vries

It ain't easy being green

2010-11-15T11:26:00.002-05:00

Kermit said it best:

Of course, Kermit and I are talking about entirely different things. Kermit, however, does have a point. I suppose my version of the song would be "it's not easy being geek" or some other such nonsense.

And I do mean nonsense. Because it's quite easy to be a geek. Sure, there are a few setbacks in the formative years of many peoples lives (high school teasing being one of them) but largely, being a geek is a fantastic thing. The geeks will rule the world. Etcetera, etcetera, yadda yadda yadda, life lesson.

Anyway, this post came about because I just got back a graded column I turned in for class. The grade itself is of no consequence, but the comments on it, however have led me down a train of thought I've been frequenting lately. I miss my nerd/geek friends.

Not necessarily the actual people, but the idea of having a group of similarly geeky friends. I miss that. I miss being able to talk about the newest gadget with fangirlish squeals in the background. I miss the times when saying I want an iPhone and an Android and a Blackberry didn't get me looks of complete and utter confusion as to why I would want so many expensive devices when they all do (in their minds) the same damn thing.

By god I miss my nerds. I miss stupid debates about the merits of one system or another, the talks of building a new desktop, and that group of people that used to (and still do if facebook posts are of any consequence) spend so much time getting pro at fighting games.

And this was all brought on by comments on an inconsequential column for class. We're supposed to be working on "specialty columns" and, like always, I defaulted on video games. Which, in retrospect, probably wasn't my best idea. But it wasn't my worst either I suppose.

I wrote (an admittedly not so great column) on achievements and achievement hunting. Mostly 'cause Kotaku had followed up on a previous article about a woman who was an achievement hunter. In a massively involved way. Anyway, the comments sections of those articles, especially the initial article, were pretty judgmental. Lots of bad mother accusations and similar thoughts were voiced and I thought it was a little obsessive, so I wrote (again, an admittedly not so great effort) about it.

My real problem with the comments arose when I was told to change to reviews (of games) for my next column. Now, ignoring the fact that I'm bad at following directions at times (now most certainly being one of them) I'd still have a problem with this suggestion.

Firstly, reviews are boring. At least I think so. Rather, I don't really like doing reviews. I don't think I'm qualified enough to do a review of... anything really. Sure I'm capable of making a small comment here or there, but largely I'm not qualified to review anything (for one, I'm horrible at actually finishing games that I start. Let alone finishing them in a timely manner).

Secondly, game journalism, from what I can tell, is moving away from a review based model. Yes, reviews obviously still exist, but the industry is looking for new ways and new things to report on. Remember way back when, when you could find several game magazines on the newsstands? Not so much anymore. The market is changing. The review based magazines of the past are, for one reason or another, disappearing. Newer magazines (many of which you actually have to search for to get a subscription) are publishing content with fewer reviews and more substantial, for lack of a better word, content. But of course, I can't expect my prof to have a grasp of that but I still can't let it go.

Thirdly (which I should probably stress is entirely a matter of personal opinion and based on nothing but my own bias) I don't give a shit what a general audience cares about. If this column were to have been published (which it most likely never would be, because as I have said, it's kind of awful) it (most likely) wouldn't be in some general interest publication. It would have been in a place where people who had a base understanding of what the hell I was talking about would have found it. It didn't cater to an audience that would need it explained, because the audience I had in mind would have already known the basic facts behind the article.

This is where "not my best idea" comes back into play. While in my all knowing and clearly fantastic mind, the article was for a more informed reader, my admittedly stupid mind forgot that my professor, the man who would actually be reading the article, had no fucking clue what I was talking about. Oops. Should have seen that coming.

As stated earlier, I found myself sincerely wishing I was still in contact with my techie friends. Not that they would have had any effect on my professors lack of knowledge (and my unwillingness to remember to factor that into my shitty columns) , but every time I find myself geeking out with out anyone understanding, I come back to that simple idea. This ideal that has somehow risen up to holy status in my mind. Nerdy friends. Someone to geek out with. Someone who understands my nerdbabble. Someone who knows more than my meager hold on the technosphere (which really is quite trivial, this is part of my problem as well. When I'm the most "techsavvy" in a room, we have a problem)

Anyway, tl;dr: where my nerds at?

Quote of the Day:

"Nerds are just just deep, and neurotic fans. Needy fans. We're all nerds, on one subject or another."
- Jonathan Lethem

Thoughts

2010-10-29T14:20:00.004-04:00

This post is starting without any real direction. So we'll see where it ends up.

Last night was interesting:

I got annoyed and ranted and raved and vented and probably (at least on some level) scared the shit out of that dumb boy of mine. But that's neither here nor there. And not really what I want to talk about. Relationship problems are boring as fuck and usually resolved when someone stops being a dick. In this case it'll probably resolve itself when I stop showing the emotional range of a teaspoon, and he stops with the emotional range of a temperamental 14 year old girl. On her period. On her birthday. Which also happens to be the day of the big homecoming dance. When her boyfriend dumped her two weeks before. In order to go out with her slutty best friend. And her mom. Twice.

Of course, that's entirely exaggerated. But it was fun to write. So fuck you and except my charming metaphors.

In any case. I've realized that I get defensive and downright bitchy when people mention certain topics. Normally, I can blow off most of what people spew in my direction. I largely do not give a shit what anyone thinks about me (as I've probably mentioned before). However, the second someone starts questioning weither or not I'd help a friend/close associate/group I'm interested in while they're in need. I blow a fucking gasket.

It annoys the shit out of me. Because I KNOW if you even know half of the person I am then you'd know better to even suggest that shit to me. Or to insinuate otherwise. Because god fucking knows that I will be there to the best of my abilities. If I can't physically drag my ass over there under the guise of some lame ass excuse, I will electronically harass said person.

Unless due to other circumstances it is best for me to stay the fuck away. But that's not really the point of this.

Anyway. That shit annoys the shit out of me. It annoyed the shit out of me last night. And it's having lingering effects on today. So don't do that shit. If it annoys me for longer than a day, then you know damn well it'd annoy a normal person for a fucking month. And I can be a downright bitch when annoyed. Equal chances of passive aggressive bitchiness and ignoring your entire existence... actually those are probably one in the same. Oh well.

Either way, I've ranted to the internets about it now. I feel better. I also feel better 'cause of my silly extended metaphor of doom. Now, time to go watch pokémon and blow some stuff up in order to fully recover. Toodles internets, I'll probably be back sooner than normal. I have a feeling tonight will be interesting.

Quote of the Day:

"An effective way to deal with predators is to taste terrible."
- Unknown

Choices

2010-10-18T12:44:00.003-04:00

Ha. Posting. Finally.

Thoughts:

Last time I said I'd try to fill in whoever still reads this blog with information from two weeks ago.

I lied.

You see, the thing is. I tried to write that post at least four times. At least. I have drafts saved everywhere of my thoughts on the matter. And none of them came out like I wanted them to. Most were angry. Some were accusing. None were flattering.

So I've just decided to let sleeping dogs lie. There's no point in my dredging up unflattering thoughts about the past. All in all, my college education is not at stake, and there were just simple misunderstandings. I've moved on, and there are other things to worry about.

Like the fact that course requests starting this week. And I have no idea what to take. Sure, I've already listed the courses that I need to take, but the rest of my courses are supposed to be electives. And I'm struggling with figuring out what to take. There are so many options.

The best idea would be to take classes that add to my growing understanding of different ways to craft the English language (read: more writing classes) It would probably help me in the long run no matter what I decide to do. There's also the option of getting some practical experience by signing up for an immersive learning project centering on writing and design. And it just so happens that I like both writing AND design. Then there's the option to take a bunch of 100 level courses to boost my final GPA and make me look all shiny and smart.

Option One leaves me with more work for my last semester, but probably a greater level of happiness and grumpiness as I struggle my way through news/feature writing. It also gives me a greater understanding of features writing in general, one of the branches in Journalism that I'm actually interested in.

Option Two gives me more options in general. I'd actually have practical experience in my field (something I'm severely lacking in). I'd also probably get a larger understanding of design principles, and thereby something else to add to my satchel of tricks. I'd also probably be a little happier 'cause I wouldn't be bogged down entirely by the overwhelming process of writing. I'd have a little design to break the monotony of pulling my hair out as I stared at blank word documents.

Option Three, again, offers a chance at a higher GPA. Fodder classes that offer a fairly easy A and thereby a greater overall GPA. Which, due to faults entirely my own, isn't as high as it could be.

Option three probably isn't going to be picked. I'd be bored to death taking 5 week classes that I've already taken in some form or another, and the extra GPA points really aren't worth it. I don't particularly give a shit about my GPA. I never have. Yeah, getting about a 3.0 would be nice, but that'll probably happen after this semester anyway. And my major GPA will probably take away most doubts in the first place. Either way, I've never really thought grades mattered much. Sure, having good ones will help get your foot in the door, but if you don't know your shit, no matter what your GPA says you're not going to do well. And if there is one thing that I've taken from these past 4 years, it's how to tell the flow of the English language, and when it's fucked up.

Which leaves me with options one and two. Option two is really really tempting. But not for the reasons it should be. Practical experience is nice and all, but I think I want it for all the wrong reasons. I want it for marketability. Not for the class and experience itself. Which will probably give me issues in the long run (as far as the class is concerned). And if I go with option one, I can take the final fiction writing course. Which, conveniently, is about flash fiction next semester.

I love short writing. Short stories, magazines, columns, feature writing. It is innately interesting to me. Something about having such pure mastery over the written word that you can get an entire story out in just a few words. There's no room for the superfluous. Everything has to be succinct and mean precisely what you mean it too. Every word counts, and every definition counts. In my head, it's the ultimate form of English writing. It's probably why I'm torn between English and Journalism.

Journalism gives me the shorter writing I crave. English gives me the storytelling. Combine the two and it works out perfectly. You know, negating the whole nonexistent income thing. I suppose I should just be happy I'm not a poet.

I think I'll go with option one. It'll be harder, most definitely, but that's never really stopped me from doing anything.

Now... to take care of that hold on my account so I can actually sign up for my damn classes...

Quote of the Day:

"When your work speaks for yourself, don't interrupt."
- Henry J. Kaiser

The Lauren Dailey Patented Method

2010-10-13T00:29:00.003-04:00

My exploits amused me greatly. And this is a filler post until I can sit down and fill everyone in on the last week of my life. It was mildly eventful.

When Dealing With Non-Writers:

Him: What you do now?
Me: paper
Him: O?
Me: yes
Him: Going well?
Me: hi
Me: ok
Me: i'm just going to lay this out flat
Him: ?
Him: I do something wrong?
Me: 'cause i haven't been able to figure out a way to answer that question that doesn't involve stabbing and/or gratuitous amounts of stabbing. and no, you haven't done anything particularly wrong.
Me: i HATE that question
Him: O.o
Me: with a "i'm going to stab something" passion
Him: I'm sorry.
Me: lol not your fault
Him: I didn't know.
Me: just... avoid the how's it going question when i'm writing
Me: it ends in explitives and possible lead poisoning

You see, I become a horrendous prone to stabbing monster when attempting to write. Even if it is this shitty research paper. It's safer to just leave me the hell alone. Let me sulk and whine and make angry noises and type furiously and backspace even furiouser. Just let me be. Don't ask questions, you clearly won't get any answers. The compulsion monster has taken over and the Lauren who is a functioning member of society has left the building. Interrupting me is a conscious decision on your part and I can not fully be held responsible for any angry faces and/or noises I make in your general direction as a result.

And for god's sake. Don't ask me "how it's going" because all I want to do is rage. Rage, throw tantrums, and stab you with what ever writing utensil I have around. It's the most loaded horrible evil awful question you can ever ask me. If you wrote, you'd understand. But you don't. So just leave me in my horrible depression and angst filled writer's bubble. Eventually I will surface a worn and tattered socially functioning human being. Eventually.

Quote of the Day:

"what's the best way to say "i don't respond well to dumb ass mother fucking questions when i'm writing"
"stop talking, i'm writing"
- Lauren Dailey and Dayna Colbert

A whiney rant

2010-10-03T11:42:00.002-04:00

Ha. Clearly I am horrendous at keeping promises to myself.

Here There Be Updates:

So, As of right this very moment I am sitting on my bed in my room at home staring out of my perpetually fogged up window. I wish this were an important detain, but really, it's not. It's just a view that over the years I have taken for granted.

Year after year the tree in our front yard grows larger and I can no longer fully see the houses across the street from me. I see snippits between the leaves, but that's about it. I'm sure I'll see them again once fall really kicks in and the leaves all fall off, but again, that's not important.

What is important, however, is that soon. Maybe really soon, I won't be "living" in this room. This house won't be "my" house. Eventually, an eventually that is fast approaching, I will have to make my own forays into the world and learn how to live on my own. And not a college dorm type of on my own. An on my own that doesn't involve me moving back home at the end of the semester and jaggedly trying to mash my piece of the family puzzle into a spot where its no longer fits.

And I don't know if I'm so independent as to be entirely ready for that.

By July (hopefully) I will have completed an internship and graduated. I will be one of... three friends doing so. Ray will be graduating after the fall semester, Brittany after the spring, and me in the summer. Thats it. I don't really know anyone else graduating. The vast majority of my friends are a year or so behind me in schooling. Theres not going to be a massive send off of, "hey lets keep in touch and hangout and explore our lives as newly freed adultlike things". There's no "hey, I'm not exactly doing anything yet either, want to be roommates?"

But then again, last time I tried that shit it ended horridly and I would have been better off moving across the country to reaches unknown without the safety net in place for all the good it did me.

But still, it'd be nice to know someone in a similar situation. Not a feeling of, oh hey you're going off to be all graduated and lonesome as all of your friends are still chillin back at school.

This blog has become epically whiney. And I feel the proper response is, for now, to quit worrying so much and grow a pair. Because growing up is a part of life, and it's not like I haven't been through this before right? You know, minus thew whole grown and with bills and loans to pay back thing.

Well, that didn't go as planned

2010-09-29T10:29:00.003-04:00

Ha, said I'd do daily then screwed up the very next day. Oops.

Do what you love:

I suppose there's merit in that statement. The "happiest" people are always the ones who love what they do and do what they love, right? At least, that's what they want you to believe. I'm not sure if it works out like that in the end seeing as I have minimal "real world" experience. But I'd like to believe that's true. It's why we tell people to follow their dreams and whatnot, right?

As a result we end up with a kind of split culture. We have those kids who have always known what they wanted to do, and have worked at their goals since forever. But we also end up with the kids who seem to just be meandering along hoping something will stick someday.

I'm pretty sure I'm in that second group.

I have hobbies. I function in society. And at the risk of sounding conceited (which admittedly, I probably am) I'm normally half-decent at whatever I put my mind to. But I'm also in my senior year of college with very little idea of where I want to go from here. My hobbies have very little professional impact. Unless I wanted to magically take up game design (which I don't- programming bores me to death).

So far, my path has been "do what you don't hate". Which isn't a terrible way to go about things, but probably not the best way either. This particular train of thought has run rampant though my scant few "adult-like" years. Have a project? Somehow relate it to video games or fencing. At least then I don't entirely hate the project.

Like now. I'm in a design class where I'm designing my own magazine. My magazine topic? Fencing. Why? Because the pictures will probably turn out half decent, and because the existing fencing magazine pisses me off. As a result, I don't particularly hate this project, and I'm learning more about design.

Honestly, I came into this blog believing I'd rant and rave about that project. But clearly that didn't work out so well and larger whiny and complainy bits of me took over.

In short, I guess I know what I'm doing with myself in this very instant, but I also have no idea how to go about the future. At least, not the long term future. I'm not quite equipped yet to say I've chosen the career path I want to go down. And even though I know people on a whole end up doing lots of things and that your undergrad major doesn't entirely define you as a person for the rest of forever, I'm still vary about it. Because that's how the world wants to make me feel.

Sign up for a journalism major? Clearly you are going to be a reporter for the rest of forever and do hard hitting news stories and uncover the next watergate. Lies and deceit. There's more to journalism than that. And there's also the fact that I'm a lazy ass reporter. I don't particularly like it. Column's are ok, but getting a column seems much more difficult than getting a beat. Hell, it's probably more difficult than moving to the middle of nowhere and being a "writer".

I suppose it'll come to me someday. After I get more practical experience in the world. Maybe I'll concentrate on that for what's next in my life. Practical experience. Take a few internships, pay off some loans. Then figure out if what I'm doing is really what I want to be doing. Or maybe I'll just run off to grad school, get my MFA, and teach at some college for the rest of forever. Who knows.

Quote of the Day:
"The place where optimism most flourishes is the lunatic asylum."
- Havelock Ellis

Back on Track

2010-09-27T23:01:00.003-04:00

Alright. I've been more than neglectful. I need to put a stop to that.

On a random note, there are people screaming outside my window:

Back on track. I mean that. Or, at least I hope I do. This post will, hopefully, be the reboot of me and writing and such things. For the better part of the summer I didn't update nearly as frequently as I should have, and not for any particular reason (other than perhaps shear laziness on my part).

I am now five weeks or so into the semester, and I'm getting into a much better rhythm of what to do, and when it needs to be done.

But that's not really what's important here. What's important is that I'm back. Full blown. I'm not going to commit to a 90 in 90 again (at least not yet), but I am going to commit myself to at least attempting to update this thing once a day. It isn't guaranteed to happen, but the motivation is back. I need to get back into the swing of things. The art of crafting words into coherent thoughts and getting everything out.

I miss it. I honestly miss sitting down and ranting and raving about nothing more than the trivial details of my journey's through writing. Of course this time through won't be exactly the same, and there will be far less "Damn you Brad" (which unfortunately will probably make for a less amusing blog). But in its place there will most definitely be more "Damn you Literature writers" because I am drowning in David Copperfield at the moment. And David Copperfield is not something that I ever imagined I would enjoy drowning in, but apparently I do. (Something about the ridiculousness of every bad thing in the world that could possibly happen to this kid happening is distinctly amusing in my eyes)

In any case, I intend to get myself back on track. As far as writing goes at least. So here's to nothing, or rather, something. Hopefully more somethings will be appearing on this oft-neglected blog sometime in the near future.

Quote of the Day:
"Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple"
- Dr. Suess

Write it out

2010-08-03T01:21:00.002-04:00

Back again. Need to write it out, you (might) know how that goes.

People Person:

It's funny. Half the time I'm largely a people person. The other half of the time, I hate everyone. But that's not really true. I love people. I always have. They fascinate me. Everyone does in some way or another. But I'll be damned if I want to deal with them all the time.

I am not capable of dealing with people on a constant basis. I've tried. Believe me, I've tried. I just can't. After a while, I snap. Well, not really snap it's more of a shut down. I need to recharge and reboot before I can deal with people again. Not just large amounts, but small amounts of people too. I just need time to sit down, not think, and not interact in any detailed manner with anyone.

Every now and again, I need time where the most human interaction I have is with the lady in the checkout line, reading posts online that other people that I don't particularly know have made, and utilizing human made goods. Thats it. I don't care who you are, honest to god no matter how much I love you, but you need to shut the hell up and leave me alone.

Yes it's rude. Yes, you probably will feel like I'm being short tempered with everyone around me. It's probably true. But just give me a day or two of space. Time when you leave me to my own devices, and I'll be back at fully functioning capacity in no time. I really am a social creature, just one that needs a break and time to recharge.

For the last month or two or three I've been going nonstop with people who constantly demand my attention for one reason or another. And my patience is wearing thin. Yes, you can be just as loud today as you were a month and a half ago. But today, I'll be damned if you aren't driving me insane and practically begging me to punch you, whereas last month I may have laughed.

It's not you. It's me. But please people, know when it's time to just shut the hell up and leave someone alone. The demands can stop for a day or two. I have yet to fully recover from the demands of having three large family gatherings in a row. I love my family to death, but I'll be damned if it isn't a zoo when we're all together.

Zoom Zoom

2010-07-17T00:14:00.002-04:00

Le Gasp. Another post. My brain must be functioning again. Weird.

I wanna go fast:

I just went go-karting with the family. I don't know if it's just me, well no. Actually, I know it's not just me. But I really, really enjoy going fast. I know it's not just be because there are entire industries built up around this ideal. But that's not really the point. Not yet at least.

There's just some trivial basal level of joy I get when ever I go fast. Sprinting. Cars. Go-Karts. Motorcycles. Mini-Bikes. Boats. Whatever. There's just something about the world zipping by faster than I'm used to that I enjoy. The wind whipping through my hair, and all those other crappy cliches. I love it all. I don't know why. But something about those little carts today. Something about moving in and out of the cars. Going from the inside lanes to the outside for a pass, and back in for yet another. Something about those little bits of rubber flying up and beating the shit out of my face and eyes. (yeah, I even enjoyed it when I couldn't hardly see). It's all just exhilarating.

It's kind of funny that I like going fast so much. Everything else I do is at my own (normally slow, lazy and lethargic like) pace. I don't drive fast. I don't particularly walk fast. I don't like running (because the term "running" usually entails a jog which I find quite boring). None of my usual hobbies entail any quick movements, and even if they do, I tend to rely on an alternative approach.

I can see why people like racing so much now. Even though I can't bear to watch it myself, participating would be a blast. Well, except for the fact that I'd probably end up crashing and blowing up. But the not crashing or blowing up parts would be great.

I should probably just stick to going fast on things that realistically, aren't really going all that fast. Like go-karts and mini-bikes. Less chance of me blowing up, still maximum feeling of "Awesome I'm going fast!".

I'm going to stop now. Because really, there's only so many ways for me to say "I like going fast" before I run out of things to say.

Drug of choice

2010-07-14T22:18:00.005-04:00

Inspiration just hit. Might as well record it.

Past and Present:

Alright. So, on my facebook a "friend finder" box popped up. I wasn't going to click it, but it started irking me, so in order to remove it, I clicked. What appeared was a list of people that I don't particularly associate with, or even remember any more. Except for one name. A name that is attached to a kid that used to be an extremely important part of my life.

I know I've ranted about this topic before, but it's one that I can't help but revisit every once in awhile. This kid used to be my best friend. We were near inseparable for years. But we grew apart. That's how the story always goes, isn't it? Well, at least, that's the story I'm used to. There are those other kids who have known the same people their entire lives. But fuck them, I'm telling the story. And this story is about people who don't have people like that.

I just facebook creeped a little. His profile is mostly closed off, but I could see the pictures. It's interesting. I've lived across the street from this kid for a while now. I learned more about his current life from those scant few pictures than I've known in a long time. It's so... interesting to see how people have changed. I don't even think about him that often anymore. Just a passing thought when his annoying ass car pulls into his driveway at all hours of the day (apparently he's really into cars now (doesn't make his fucking car any less annoying)). But now I'm wondering. What would have happened if I'd stayed in touch with him? Would we still be friends? Would we just be acquaintances? I mean, hypothetically I would just walk across the street and start up a conversation one day.

But I won't. Probably never will. I'll probably just sit around and wonder every now and then. I might even think back on better times when we ran around and played together. But it's just so strange. Thinking back on all the people who used to be so important to me, who are now little more than a passing face. But in a way it's nice. I can think back on the good times I used to have with this kid, and there's little animosity. He's one of the few that I parted with on good terms. There's so many others that if I passed them on an entirely empty street, I'd still pray they didn't see me. But after 10 minutes or so of looking through snippets of his life I'm left mostly curious about how it's been going. And with a lingering negativity left by others who are also no longer parts of my current life.

There are so many other "best friends" from once upon a time that for one reason or another, my body just has an unavoidable urge to run away from. Funny how that works. Ex-best friends seem to always be the ones you want to see the most... and the least.

And every time their names or faces pop up in my news feed there's a tiny whirlwind of emotions. Part of me is curious and wants to see how they've been doing. Another part remembers the good times. Then there's the part that remembers what went wrong. And then there's the tiny part of me that always wants to reach out and start anew. Pretend the past never happened, pretend that just talking to them would make everything ok. Pretend that neither side had done any wrong, that everything was the same as before. I always end up drowning out that tiny part. It's locked in some tiny closet in my mind gagged and bound.

Occasionally, like now, I wonder what could have been and what could be. Generally it's prompted by something, like the facebook updates, or even a dream. But like always, I'll drown out the thoughts with my drug of choice- the stories, and the friends who are still around. Tales of Vesperia has quite a few interesting characters. And there's almost always at least one person around who can distract me from my thoughts.

But tonight, I can only hope that I don't hear his car pulling into the driveway. Memory lane was never my favorite place.

Quote of the Day:

"I have lost friends, some by death, others through sheer inability to cross the street."
- Virginia Woolf.

Learning

2010-07-11T20:07:00.003-04:00

It's been awhile. I can't say that I've been doing all that much. I mean, I have, but nothing that would prevent me from blogging if I wished to do so. Anyway, here's a post. Just a small trickling of things on my mind.

I don't know how to say this:

It's no big secret that during the summers my creative output seems to grind to an unappealing halt. Actual pen on paper, or fingers on keyboard type writing is always at a minimum. It happens occasionally but never with any real results. Just rantings, drabbles (that could admittedly one day turn into something should I ever feel the need to revisit the scribblings) and diary type entries, much like this one. But largely any creative tendencies my mind has are just passing thoughts, and possible fan characters for existing series. Nothing really spectacular. The closer I get to graduation, the more the lack of free writing worries me.

All summer I've had the nagging feeling at the back of my head that I should be doing something. I should be writing. I could be creating a world no one has ever thought of, crafting the beginnings of a tale that could capture the worlds hearts or some shit like that. But then I go back to doing whatever it is I'm doing. Mostly because, I haven't found my original world yet. I haven't been able to sit down and plan out what the world will look like, what will happen to it, and who will be there.

But then, as I wrote that last sentence, I remembered something (which means that this blog post probably won't go where I wanted it to go at all). (In my opinion) The best stories are never planned. I've never written that way. My best work never comes from something that I've tried to plan out, in any aspect of my life. I like not knowing what will happen. If I don't know what will happen readers probably won't either. There's a certain lack of predictability when the story flows straight from the heart. The characters come alive in a way that they're not allowed to when they're preplanned.

So I begin to wonder, why am I so concerned about writing in a way that has never come naturally to me. The best thing for me to do, would to be to just sit down and write. Not from some pre-planned notes. Not from a half-formed out line, but from my heart. And if sitting down to write produces nothing "inspiring" then there's even a form of inspiration in that. Of course, this process only works well for the fictional realm. The second I tried to apply this method to a more non-fictional setting, everything fell to shit in 30 seconds flat and I ended up cursing myself, my 'work', the assignment, and everyone even mildly involved.

I suppose the purpose of that mild revelation was to tell myself to just relax. To just find a character (of which there are plenty floating around in my head) and write about their lives until something interesting pops up. It doesn't have to be amazing. It never has to be amazing. Even the most (seemingly) ordinary situations can provide incite into life and the human condition. Which is the only thing I've set out to do from the beginning anyway. To show life as it is, for better or worse. Be that through dragons and goblins, or average ordinary people. The goal is always the same, and I needed to remember that. So I'm glad I did.

But that wasn't the point of all this. What I set out to do was detail what I do, without fail, every summer while I'm distinctly not writing much.
As I've said before, my obsession with stories, and the art of written storytelling has kind of been ingrained in me since I was little(er). And as such, while to the outside viewer I may appear to be doing jack shit with my summers, I have always been amassing a large amount of stories. Of all kinds. I've been through countless stories this summer alone. Some I read for the craft, to see how they were put together, what the good parts were, how it was accomplished, if I've ever done something like that, if I'll ever be able to do something like that. Other's I've read for the simple joy of the story. To see where the story is going, what the characters feel, and if that feeling was transferred over to me.

I've been trying to sample all different kinds of stories. In high school, my primary reading base was fantasy novels. With a few science fiction adventures thrown in. I've expanded my tastes more, I've read different kinds of stories (I have yet to expand myself into the sappy love stories that my sister loves so much, but I'll probably try at least one sometime soon) my bookshelves are no longer solely inhabited by fantasy works (though I won't lie, MOST of them still are).

Not all of them are stories contained in the pages of novels though. The same process happens with stories in any medium. Movies, games, plays, anything. I look at the words on the page, and while part of me is enjoying the story simply for the story, as time wears on (and this part of me starts becoming more noticeable) the other part is taking note of the words used, how they're being used, why they're being used, and the effectiveness. This part of me is becoming both comforting, and annoying. I'm glad that I'm discerning these details now. It means that I have actually been learning something at school, and retaining it. But it also means that I get ripped out of the fictional dream because of bad prose. Not too bad of a trade off, but when I'm simply reading an article in time and then literally laugh out loud and change stories because of a poorly done lead... well I'm a bit concerned. Normal people don't read the newspaper to see if the writing is up to par. They read it for the news. I read it to see if it's shit or not, who cares about the content.

Mildly concerning indeed. But. Again, it means that my own craft is improving. And that I can see the mistakes of others, and try not to repeat them myself. I don't know how well it's carried over into the journalistic side of things, but at least my prose has improved. Journalism style writing, well that's a different beast that will probably require a lot more work before I can even pretend to say I have any idea what I'm doing. But some aspects have improved, and for now, that's enough.

...though, ridiculously soon that won't be enough either... stupid looming graduation.

Quote of the Day:

"Friends have the power to excel your life, or destroy it."
- Adam Murphy

When words fail

2010-06-21T09:23:00.003-04:00

Yo. It appears that I'm back. And by back, I mean "hey look a post".

It Happened Again:

And by it happened again, I mean, I woke up from a dream intent upon capturing it. It's been awhile since that last happened. But the last time, it wasn't visual. It wasn't really a dream. It was all flowing text that my mind could only barely keep up with. But last night, last night was a definite image.

I had a dream that there was some crazy lady in my grandparents garage, and she wouldn't leave. Which, you know, is kind of interesting. But more interesting was her face. Or at least, to my sleep muddled brain that was most interesting. She was a hispanic lady, maybe a young looking mid-50s. She didn't have many wrinkles, but there were traces of her age. I don't remember much of her facial features anymore (I fear I waited too long to write this out) but I do remember the grin. She had a creepy, sadistic type grin on her face in one of the frames of my dream. Just one frame. Mere seconds dream time. But it's stuck with me. It immediately struck me as off. And so it should have, because any time a grin of the face of someone in your dreams reminds your unconscious self of the creepy grin you saw in an anime last week, you know something is off. I can't exactly explain it. Though, believe you me, my brain desperately tried. Which, hours later as I finish this post, sparks a question in my mind.

Am I forever doomed to have to define certain things in terms of other things? Am I not capable of defining them in their own right? Or is it just this one smile. The smile that so easily reminds me of the dwarf in the flask? Is that why people appreciate a well thought out analogy? Similes? Metaphors? Because it's easier to grasp and because we lack the ability to define some things in their own right? I don't think it's just me. Or so many cliches wouldn't be similes. But still, I wish I could explain the grin in words and not similes. Or at least in a simile that didn't cater to japanese pop culture.

Quote of the Day:
"The artist doesn't have time to listen to the critics. The ones who want to be writers read the reviews, the ones who want to write don't have time to read the reviews."
- William Faulkner

Tutoring

2010-06-08T15:24:00.003-04:00

I'm so neglectful:

But I can't help it. Or, rather, I could, but I simply don't put forth the effort to remember to not be neglectful. Right now, I'm staring at my brother staring at a math packet. He's working on equivalent fractions. Now, of course, the only thing he's doing is complaining that he doesn't know how to do what he's supposed to be doing. But unfortunately for him, we went over essentially the same thing yesterday.

So while he continuously gets frustrated, I'm sitting here writing about him getting frustrated. He's not seeing the link between the two sets of problems. I could be the person that walks him through everything. I could just flat out tell him he needs to find the common denominators and cross multiply and all that bull. But thats not what I"m here for. He needs to work it out for himself. Once he works the problem out for himself, he always understands better in the long run. Which is something his teachers always manage to neglect. And seeing as I can't get fired for being neglectful to a 5th grader, he's getting the crash course he needs now, before he goes into a class with 1 teacher and 20 something other kids.

Which is a funny feeling. I can tell he hates me and is frustrated with himself and the work every time I leave him hanging for an extended amount of time. Of course, if he still doesn't get it after awhile, I help him with a problem, and leave him to the rest. And I am immediately reminded of my own forays into the academic sphere. I don't think I ever had quite so many issues with the learning process when I was his age, hell even when I was older. But I do recognize the teaching method I seem to have acquired. I can almost name all the teachers who (seemingly) left me out to rot before giving me an abrupt nudge in the right direction right as I was about to give up.

Which makes me wonder if I should keep someone around to for all intents and purposes appear disinterested and then yell and throw me off cliffs when I come to them. I'd probably hate and appreciate them as much as my brother hates and appreciates me. But god, I don't know if I want a bastard like me hovering around while I'm pretending to be productive.

Quote of the Day:

"Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work."
- Thomas A. Edison

Gotta Catch 'Em All

2010-05-24T16:46:00.003-04:00

Fist off, I'd just like to say that I adore how I said I'd continue this blogging thing, and then the first thing I did was abandon ship. Oh me.

What'll I do now:

Well, for the past week or so I've managed to keep myself occupied. And by "occupied" I mean, I read 365 chapters of the pokemon adventures manga. I'd have read them all, but for the life of me, I cannot fine a translated copy of 366. I don't know exactly when I started this mission, but damn did I enjoy it. I'm well aware of the fact that I could be ridiculed into oblivion for this, but hell if I care.

The manga follows 13 main characters (the characters mirror the main games(for those of you sensing a number discrepancy pokemon green version was released in Japan only alongside pokemon red version and blue was the third edition while yellow was an additional version. The Japanese version of Blue was the formula for Red and Blue everywhere else, and yellow functioned as the third wheel.) and they're all well done. Compared to the anime at least. The manga, on a whole, is much more enjoyable than the anime. The characters are better done (sorry Ash but I'll choose Red every time now), the themes are better, the pokemon are more badass, and the evil gangs are actually a threat. It's infinitely cooler, especially for me, 'cause apparently the manga world is closest to what Satoshi Tajiri (creator of pokemon) had in mind when he created the world. Shit blows up, legendary pokemon wreak havoc, and people and pokemon die. It's badassery.

Overall I've determined my favorite characters in the series from this. Before actually reading the manga my favorite character was automatically Gold. I'd read up a bit on the characters and seen artwork and stuff and basing my favorites off of that Gold came out on top (It doesn't hurt that Gold has always been my favorite of the game entries either, and the character design from that is still my favorite.) But now Gold has been moved down to a still respectable second place. I now have a ridiculous love for Ruby.

Which is mildly ironic. Ruby/Sapphire were my least favorite of the games. Probably because of the time frame in which they were released. I was in jr. high/high school when they first came out and not as willing to admit my all encompassing love for pokemon due to peer pressure. Since then I've given the 3rd gen more of a chance (I played through most of the game (Sapphire version I believe) when they first came out). Last year I played through a significant portion of Emerald version and I don't hate it nearly as much.

But back on topic. Ruby is undeniably my favorite character from the series. He goes against the archtype. He's superficial, a bit flamboyant, and entirely obsessed with Pokemon Contests (the more 'girly' aspect of the pokemon universe). I loved him from the moment he was introduced. In his first appearance he tries to subdue wild pokemon by asking them to join his team because they looked "cool" when that inevitably failed, he tried to subdue them with cool looking, but battle worthless moves. He ended up having to run away as they chased him. Of course, his character grows over the course of the series, and you learn more things about him, and through it all I enjoyed his growth more than that of any of the other characters.

As I type this I've been trying to come up with a list of my favorite characters from the series, but it's been hard. I've got the top three filled out, but ranking the rest has been hard.
1. Ruby
2. Gold
3. Diamond
4. ???

No luck with the remainder of the list. Maybe listing them all will help.
Red
Blue
Green
Yellow
Gold
Silver
Crystal
Ruby
Sapphire
Emerald
Diamond
Pearl
Platinum

Listing isn't helping. Maybe tiers.
Ruby. Gold. Diamond.
Blue. Red. Green.
Crystal. Platinum. Yellow.
Pearl. Sapphire. Silver. Emerald.

That'll work. I can tier them. Though that doesn't really mean much either. Outside the first tier, it's not very set.

In the long run, I don't know why I'm trying to rank my favorites. I hardly ever bother to rank things. Outside of the top three it doesn't really matter. But I just had this compulsion to try to rank them. God only knows why. But I had it. And I failed miserably. But I'm ok with that. Maybe that means it wasn't really that important in the first place. Dunno, dun care. I'm going to go play Batman now. Ray's inspired me.

Quote of the Day:

"The future will be better tomorrow."
- Dan Quayle

Ranting

2010-05-18T21:29:00.002-04:00

And here it goes again.

It's been a week:

Just a week. I've been out of school for a week, and it already feels like a month. A week ago I was mildly excited to be free for the summer. Now, a week has gone by, and I"m almost ready to go back. I'm at the point where I'm a few boredom filled days away from saying I'd rather be fighting some article for J280 again, rather than sitting at my kitchen table staring at the piranha swimming into the sides of his tank for the billionth time.

I'm tired of being here already. Now, this isn't a sad lonely "wah my high school friends kinda sucked, I hate fishers, I'm so lonely" type post. This is a I'm starting to feel the boredom post. This is a I'm tired of cleaning up my siblings messes, carting them around like a taxi cab, and generally having nothing to do type post. Of note: I'm also tired of the stench my brother seems to radiate. Ten year old boys are so gross.

But at the same time. I'm not ready to go back. I don't want to be responsible. I don't wanna have to be all adult like in a year or so. I don't wanna have assignments to do. I don't wanna do the school thing. I'd honestly settle for the early semester gig. The part where you're not doing much, the projects haven't piled up yet, and generally you have more free time than you should. That part would be cool. There's still a bit of work to be done, but mostly it's just goofing off. But then theres the knowledge of mid semester work, and that sucks, so I'd almost rather be here, sitting at my table staring at dumb ass fish.

I'm supposed to be helping work with my dads website right now. But I don't feel like it. Which is bad, because I'm hoping to get paid for all this, so I need to be earning my keep. But every time I start working on it, I remember exactly why I've never been a CS or graphics kid, even though I have an innate interest in it all. the work is boring as fuck. I can only take so much copy/paste and the like. It's killing me a little bit (not really, but more than an hour of it is of severe detriment to my work ethic). I've always liked the outcome of all the work, and the process for most of it. But damn if I don't get bored actually doing the work.

Which is why I'm sitting here typing out this blog instead of copy pasting my ass off so that I can get new shoes (I'm still aiming for finishing this summer with some fly ass shit). I need to be copy pasting. But I figure blogging is a better way to not do work than playing Torchlight again. And god knows, If I weren't blogging and talking to people on facebook, I'd be slaying some zombies and skeletons with my bad ass (mostly bad) Torchlight skills.

Quote of the Day:

"The sweat of hard work is not to be displayed. It is much more graceful to appear favored by the gods."
- Maxine Hong Kingston

Party time

2010-05-16T19:01:00.003-04:00

Hello again, missed me, didn't you?

Well that's interesting:

Alright, so yesterday was my brothers first 10th birthday party. I say first, because apparently next weekend there will be another one. Damned spoiled little kid has so many friends that he gets two birthday parties. Hell, I wish I had had enough friends to have one. Haha. In any case, it was an interesting affair.

Bill came down from Muncie-town to visit/help out with the party. We ended up getting chased around by 10 year olds with plastic swords for hours on end. Those little bastards are evil. One of them was wielding the damn thing and practically spanking me with it while I was trying to restrain my brother. I let go and ran away after 3ish hits. Bill was consistently pelted with flying blades, poor fencing attempts, and thrown, yes thrown, double ended spear toys. I felt bad for him. So bad, in fact, that I jumped him and held him down for a bit so he'd get attacked more. I'm so nice.

We ended up beaten and bruised. Bill has, or at least had, a lovely Harry Potter-esque scar on his forehead from where we think one of the kids stepped on his face. Poor guy. We only made two kids cry during it though, so thats a plus. One got the wind knocked out of him, and my brother may have gotten a little squished. But all in all, nothing too major with the kids and injuries. We were the ones taking most of the beating. And by "we" I clearly mean him. My method of fighting has always been to run away and hit when the opportunity presents itself.

We then proceeded to partake of the kickball game from hell. I swear, at some point during the day, we went from 6 little boys to, the entire neighborhood trying to play. It was ridiculous. We were babysitting the entire street. The kids argued the whole time. Bill laid down the law, and when that didn't work I used my epic ability to be loud as all hell. Screaming shut up seems to be highly effective. Only one more kid cried during that, and he wasn't one of ours, so all in all, good game I suppose. Felt bad for the poor kid though, he was so confused.

Over the course of us getting our asses beat and injuring ourselves (Bill did something to his knee, I'm just lazy and out of shape and wearing the wrong shoes constantly). Bill managed to meet dad. Later on they did the whole question answer session, for which I pretended to be sleepy so I wouldn't be included in any of it. I'm so nice, throwing the poor boy to the wolves like that. But seeing as death threats were kept to a minimum "if he stays, he's in the basement with the boys. if he's found elsewhere, he's dead and buried in a neighbors yard" I think it went well.

T'was funny though. Mom pointed out today that he's a bit... clingy? Touchy-feely? Something of the sort. Of course, I cannot deny these claims. He really is. Has to be half a centimeter away at all times. We talked about it a little, but mostly it came down to "yeah, I know. But it is better than he was before... haha?" I haven't really garnered Dad's opinion on him, but I'm sure I'll get it eventually.

It all amounted to a very interesting day. From which I am still recovering. I'm sore in places I have no clue as to why they'd be sore, and I've been managing a headache with meds all day. But it was fun? I guess. It wasn't bad at least. I just don't know if I can do that again for next weekend. This next batch of kids had better be calmer. I don't wanna have to play rough like that again. It's so exhausting.

Quote of the Day:

"You can't help getting older, but you don't have to get old."
- George Burns

Sendoff (90 of 90)

2010-05-15T00:56:00.002-04:00

Holy shit. This is it. I made it 90(ish) days of continuous writing and blogging.

Update ya:

Alright, for the final(ish) send off I'm going to fill you in on what I've been doing all night, then move into the inevitable "holy fuck 90 blogs in 92 (I think) days" bit.

So at some point tonight my dad decided to throw me in on his business projects. I've been working with the IT guy all night on getting his website up and running, and so far so good. It's a good thing I'm a quick study. I don't actually know much about IT or... tech in general really. I'm just good at looking like I know shit. So this has been interesting. But, hey. I'd like to think I've been of some help, and that I've contributed. At the very least, I'm hopping the write ups of PR stuff will sound decent what with the me writing my way through school. But yeah, had fun hanging out with the old guys and listening in on old dude talk. Interesting stuff.

Now, for the meat and potatoes. This is my 90th blog post. I haven't been the most consistent updater, but I haven't been bad at it either. At least, I'd like to think I haven't. I made up for nights I didn't manage to post, and I have consistently managed to write at least once a day. It's been fun. I've talked about my life, and a bunch of other random shit that that entails. I hope any readers I've managed to gather have managed to stay entertained over the course of these past 90 days. I know I've enjoyed my exploits in blog writing.

I honestly don't think I'll quit the consistent updates. They may not be quite so regular seeing as I won't feel bad for not writing before passing out, but they will continue. It's been a good project. If I'm supposed to be working at being a writer, I might as well write, you know? What kind of writer doesn't write? I don't know where the rest of my adventures through blog-land will take me, but then again, I didn't know where my blogs were going when I wrote them either. This blog has evolved into a tale about well, life. It's been about writing a lot (mostly bitching about writing, admittedly), its been about friends, it's been about a little of everything. It'll probably keep being about a little of everything. Mostly because that's how my brain works.

So here's my great 90 in 90(92ish really) sendoff. See y'all tomorrow night lovelies.

Lauren.

Quote of the Day:

"I shall never be ashamed of citing a bad author if the line is good."
- Seneca

Age (89 of 90)

2010-05-13T22:40:00.003-04:00

What? On time again? Preposterous.

Oh Lawd:

Summer continues as usual. And by as usual, I mean, I hardly know what day it is, dad has secretly supplied me with food at all hours of the night, and I've generally moved very little. But, it's getting more exciting. My computer to TV cables came in the mail today, so now I can watch pokemon on a bigger screen! It makes hulu so much more exciting. Shut up. Stop judging me.

But in other news. I'll actually be leaving the house tomorrow. I'll be with Stephanie and her rugrat Shelby in the morning. Then I may or may not be making my way to Muncie for the day-ish. I honestly hope I can get down to Muncie, but it's kind of inconvenient. I'm supposed to get my brother to speed camp (that damn little beast and his freakish training) for 10am Saturday, then he has his birthday party which I've been roped into helping with.

That little monster is going to be 10 soon. It's crazy. I feel all old and sentimental. Where's the time gone? He'll be in 5th grade. Lindsey will be a freshman in high school. Fuck, I'm (hopefully) graduating next year. What the shit? When did we all get old(er). We were cleaning out the basement the other day, and of course all the baby toys and stuffed animals were the first to go. We all just got so... big at some point. I don't know when. But we did. My brother is turning into a boy thing. He's got shoulders, and he's all tall and shit. What happened to the little kid I could beat up with no effort what so ever? Now I actually have to mildly attempt to restrain his scrawny ass.

It's weird. It's really weird. I'm that old person at home now. I've hit that "old" brink. For my area at least. Which is weird. Because at school I'm little. But at home, I'm surrounded by 15 and unders. Which really isn't that big of a gap in the real world, but this isn't the real world. This is home. At home I'm the oldest kid on the street. At home I'm the resident "old" kid. Surrounded by tiny little things that I almost run over in my car 'cause they're still too stupid to not dart out into the street. Shit, I'm not even that much older than the high school fucktards running around. But there's a difference. There's a difference between me, and those 18-19 year old high school seniors. I can just sense it. Maybe it's because I'm a jackass and I hate everyone (it's probably because I'm a jackass and I hate everyone) or maybe there really is a difference.

Maybe at some point in the 2-3 years age that separates me from the high school kids, I learned something. Or maybe I really do just have a god complex and think I'm better than everyone. It's probably both. Mostly the holier-than-thou attitude. But every time I see them around I can't help but smirk. Mostly because outwardly they (generally) fall into a category of people I can't help but laugh at (admittedly there's a high chance they're not all whores and meatheads, and that they're all very nice and good people on the inside). But still, a lot of them project that douche-y aura. (Of note: there's a chance that some of them aren't even in high school, some of the younger ones look epicly of whore) What the hell happened to kids?

My brother collects some bracelet thing called silly bands. I hope he stays like that for a while. I'm already loosing Lindsey to the "more grown than I should be" crowd. Can I keep one innocent one please? It'd be nice. I'd hate to have to come home and beat the shit out of males and females. The boys will be easy(er) to beat off. The girls? Those bitches get fearless.

Quote of the Day:

"Your first appearance, he said to me, is the gauge by which you are measured; try to manage that you may go beyond yourself in after times, but beware of ever doing less."
- Jean Jacques Rousseau

Steam for Mac (88 of 90)

2010-05-12T23:01:00.003-04:00

Steam for Mac Steam for Mac Steam for Mac

Steam for Mac:

I'm ecstatic. Steam is finally on Mac. When my PC crapped out on me a few months ago, I thought I was doomed. And by that I clearly mean my dad convinced me to get a mac (he's a mactard hardcore) and I thought I was going to have to kiss gaming goodbye. Not that I game on PC often (I really haven't participated in much more than guild wars) but I was still going to miss my few steam purchases.

But now, now it's on mac. And I'm stoked. I haven't actually booted up a game yet (mostly because the games I did have still haven't been ported over, but theres a high chance that at least a few of them will) but I will eventually. Maybe tomorrow. Valve is so awesome they decided to make portal free for awhile, so I took the ages of downloading and managed to pick that one up for free. I've always wanted to play, but it tried to explode my poor little HP. Hopefully this macbook will be able to handle it better, not that I'll be surprised it it decides to explode as well.

My only question is: Where the hell is TF2. I wants it. I've wanted to play for years now, but again, poor little HP and it's exploding tendencies. The mac should be able to handle it, but unfortunately, TF2 isn't here yet. So I'll have to wait. Semi-patiently. I want mac to be a semi-established platform. Then again, maybe I don't. I hardly ever PC game as is, it'd be just another excuse for me to buy games I'll hardly ever play.

Speaking of games I'll hardly ever play, I'm highly tempted to go buy Monster Hunter Tri. But I don't have anyone to hunt with, and I never hunt anyway. The game is far too intense for me to play on a regular basis. But I wants it. Probably because its shiny. This is my problem.

Me and games, we go way back. Give me something new and shiny and I'll love it. I really will. Hell, I'll learn everything there is to know about a game that I'll never buy, never play, and never care about past its release. But for the months before the release, I'm its biggest fan. After, not so much.

Maybe it'll go the same way with me and Steam. We'll see. I don't think I'd fall out of love so quickly if there was something to keep me coming back. Something persuasive. Something addicting. Like Guild Wars. It kept me coming back for years. I still want to go back (but alas, I have a mac and no working bootcamp). I've been going back to pokemon since 1997 when it first came out. Something about those damn little monsters. I'll go back for black and white even though the starters are ugly as shit. Something has to capture me.

Something about the world. Something about the story. If the story doesn't capture me, there's no hope. I'll never come back regularly. So maybe I'm downloading the wrong type of games. Maybe I need to get more RPG's again. Because lately, my tendency to return to games is slim. I haven't consistently played anything since Infinite Undiscovery last summer. Again, an RPG. I'd go for FF-whatever number they're on, but I never make it through those either. Probably gameplay related, because the story is always pretty boss. So come on desktop games, help me out here. Pull me in. Capture me. I'm waiting.

Quote of the Day:

"It is not necessary to understand things in order to argue about them."
- Pierre Beaumarchais

Hobbies (87 of 90)

2010-05-12T13:06:00.003-04:00

Again, late post. Whoops.

You need a hobby hun:

You see, the problem with this statement is that I have plenty of hobbies. I may or may not have watched approximately 30 episodes of pokemon yesterday. Now, is there a problem with this, inherently, no. There was a problem once I started getting bored and fell asleep during numerous episodes (which I then restarted from the last part I remembered), but there's no inherent problem with pokemon being my hobby.

Well, maybe. I am a 20 year old female, so it is a bit against the grain. But I have no trouble with against the grain. But I see where the boy is coming from. I need a normal people hobby. A hobby that doesn't involve me sitting in pj's all day and watching 10 year old cartoons. Of course, my reply was that I have plenty of hobbies. I really do. My problem is that they're all story related. Or expensive, hell often times they're both. It's been discussed, but I'm obsessed with stories, the good and the bad. I will just as easily be captured by say Twilight's (admittedly terrible) story line, as I will the Monte Cristo's of the world. But books are mildly expensive and I am fast running out of shelving space. This hobby also doesn't require the donning of pants.

I've also made fencing a hobby. But I just don't believe the neighbors will appreciate it if the quiet girl who never leaves the house suddenly comes out waving a sword around at their children. Doesn't seem like it'd be the best idea I've ever had. So while this hobby may require pants, It also requires someone to stab at, which I don't have.

Video games are a constant source of love and entertainment in my life, but again, they do not require pants for me to enjoy. So, what then, would I take up as a hobby to both keep myself entertained, and leave the house. Dancing has been suggested, but as Dayna knows, that's almost impossible to get me to do. If I run, I treadmill it, If I play, again, it's electronically.

What is this ridiculous obsession with the outdoors? Yes they're pretty, yes its nice to be outside once in a while, but why do I have to go out there all the time to be considered "normal". Tanning is stupid, reading outside is a pain, and playing games (of the electronic variety) is even worse. I was not made for the average 20 year old girl activities. And trust me, if I had friends I'd go outside and play with them should the occasion warrant it. But, you see, I don't have those, so solitary indoor activities are just fine. Now, is there a problem with me not having any friends, maybe. But that's another blog post.

For now, the lack of friends hasn't become a detriment to my summer. It inevitably will as I slowly become more hermit like again, but for the moment, I'm alright not having those "friends" of which you speak. And by friends, I clearly mean the kind you can call up and physically see within 20 minutes or so. I have plenty of friends overall. Just very few within seeing distance at the moment.

Quote of the Day:

"A waist is a terrible thing to mind."
- Jane Caminos

Grades (86 of 90)

2010-05-11T10:49:00.003-04:00

Late again, I got sick-ish last night and passed out unexpectedly early. My B.

It's that time of year:

The time of year when half my known universe is excited, and the other half is reluctantly excited. Constant Facebook updates tell me that half my friends are enjoying home, and the other half would gladly be anywhere else. I'm falling in between the two groups this year. I'm glad it's all over, really glad. But I'd rather be glad elsewhere. Glad somewhere where I didn't automatically dislike 90% of the population.

But along with this time of year comes the inevitable flood of the grade induced Facebook status. Grades came in last night, and my poor Facebook is drowning in them. I'm happy from my friends and acquaintances, really I am. They seem to be happy with themselves this time around. It's always disheartening to wake up one morning and find one of your friends might not make it back the next semester. But they seem to have done well this time around, and I'm happy for them.

As for me, I'm fairly happy too. An A and all B's. Not too shabby. I earned that A. And I (maybe) earned one of those B's. The rest are throwaway. Grades given not based on effort or any work ethic on my part but on latent ability to not suck. But I saw all of these grades coming, except for maybe that surprise B I (possibly) earned. But I have this feeling, that this last semester was the start of something. It's taken me 3 full years (in college, 20 years if we're looking at my life) to get to a point where I honestly work at something. Hopefully it'll carry over to this next year. Because, honestly, I'm getting tired of relying on latent ability to not suck. Two of five classes challenged me to do anything more than sit in class and pretend to pay attention. I swear, occasionally, it makes me feel like a genius. Which I'm not.

I'm not super intelligent. I'm just not an idiot. I'm decent at retaining information, which is how I've made it this far. I have close to zero study skills because I've never had to learn them (again, decent at retaining, why study when you can retain enough to get a B in the first place). And I'm not particularly good at anything. Except for maybe writing. Emphasis on the maybe here. I'm not even going to pretend to be God's gift to anything.

Any talent I have probably came from an innate ability to read. That's about the one thing I do well on my own. I can read, and therefore have been gifted the ability to steal as well. Which is a trait I believe is residual talent in all writers. People are decent writers, not of their own design, but because they've gathered the ability to uniquely jack talents and ideas and concepts from the things and people around them and smoosh them all together in a fashion that becomes their own "style". And the tenacity to be willing to sit down and be told their shit sucks about a million times before they have even one word right. But that's just being stubborn. Which, I suppose can be considered a talent in this field. Without a stubborn sense of the divine self, you probably couldn't make it too far as a writer (not a person who writes mind you).

So, my semester really came down to: latent ability to not suck, innate reading skillz, and my stubborn nature. Even being forced to utilize those last two counts as a very good semester in my book. I'm proud of my A and hard (possibly) earned B. And looking back, those are the only type of grades I've ever really been proud of. The ones where I actually had to write. There have been far too few moments like this, but as my senior year approaches, and a future hopefully spent writing, I can't help but think I'll actually be forced to work again. And the thought, well it's bittersweet. But mostly sweet.

Quote of the Day:

"When the going turns weird, the weird turn pro."
- Hunter S. Thompson

Silence is Golden (85 of 90)

2010-05-10T00:56:00.003-04:00

Happy Mother's Day y'all. Hope you appreciated the women in your life. The ones who raised you, even if they're not your mom.

Once again, I don't know what words will follow:

It's mother's day. I feel I should be compelled to write about my mom and all the whatever's we've gone through, and all the awesomeness she is. But I just don't feel that compulsion. She's just not the (writing) topic of the day. Even if this is a day we as a society have set aside for her.

Instead I'd rather concentrate on me. Again. Tomorrow marks the day I'll officially begin changing my summers at home. I'll run a mile or two. Probably. Hopefully. I'm determined to finish setting up my room. And I'll hopefully manage to feed myself. There's not much food around here... at least not food I want. If all else fails, I'll go up to subway and have them make me food.

But tomorrow is the first day I'll be alone again. Alone in my house. Hell, the first time I've been alone in a while, just in general. I haven't really been alone for longer than sleeping in an extended period of time. I honestly can't remember the last time I was by myself. It'll be interesting. I've got a month of weekdays spent alone. I'll have to adjust again. It's strange. I normally have to adjust to being around people so much, but over the past few months, I've been continuously surrounded.

I'll probably play music. And clean more. And fill the silence with something. It's so strange going from one mode to another. I'll have to switch gears from this "social" mode I managed to pick up, and go back to normal mode. Or it's going to be very hard to not hate this summer. Very very hard. The more I think about the people here, the less I want to be here. It's a feeling I'd rather have forgotten, but it comes back every summer. Every summer I'd rather be somewhere else and here all at once. I want to be with my family. But I'd rather be with them somewhere else. Anywhere else. Because here, they have lives, and I have a vat full of memories. Ew. Who wants those creeping around.

Quote of the Day:

"You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than a year of conversation."
- Plato

Random (84 of 90)

2010-05-09T17:10:00.002-04:00

Haha, late again. It seems that even when I'm not at school, weekend posts are a never constant thing.

Weird:

So, today I realized that I hadn't gone a 24 hour period without talking to that boy for a exceedingly long time. As in, it had been since Spring Break. That's about a two month period. I'm pretty sure I've gone longer periods without talking or seeing people I've lived in the same house with, hell, the same dorm room.

It was strange. I could tell I hadn't talked him all day, it was like some weird absence thing. I fear this won't bode well. In any case, I spent all night talking to him on skype. My siblings were highly amused, especially my sister. She took the opportunity to talk as much as she could. As in, while I was off unpacking and cleaning and moving things around in my room, she'd steal my computer and start a conversation. Haha. Crazy little girl.

My room is a wreck. It's worse than it was before. But I'm slowly getting things in order. I want it to be clean, so I won't feel bad playing xbox and generally being the lazy ass I am. In fact, I only feel bad now because my things are still occupying a section of the main level as well. Once I get everything cleaned up to the point that my stuff is all in one place, I'll probably feel better about the cleaning thing. But for now, I'm still surrounded by a mess of books, games, and memorabilia. In fact, right now my feet are resting on a box of my younger years. Yearbooks and old trophies abound. Along with old sparing gear and police brutality sticks. I was such a rad kid, and violent. I love my tonfa though, I wish I had spent more time learning them. We also found my boken in the basement, which is pretty rad. It seems I move from one violent weapon to the next.

It's swords now, they're much stabbity-er than the other weapons I've played with. But fencing blades are pretty blunt if you think about it, especially the stabbing/poking weapons I play with, as opposed to the slasheyness of sabres.

Looking back, this blog post makes little sense, but that's ok. It matches the clutter in my mind, and in my room.

Quote of the Day:

"If the English language made any sense a catastrophe would be an apostrophe with fur."
- Doug Larson

And so it begins (83 of 90)

2010-05-08T00:02:00.003-04:00

Well, blogger. I'm home.

Home is where the heart is:

A short few hours ago I was romping (well, more like zombie-shuffling) around BSU. I was exhausted and dragging my ass to and from finals. And when the last one was done, it didn't even register. The semester is over. It's over.

I still can't believe I won't be heading back Sunday night. Back to the place I've grown to love. Back to my friends, my second family. I can't believe I won't be back for months. Even as I sit here staring at the boxed up parts of my life. Ever since I got home I've been moving. Changing things around, tearing down posters, unloading boxes. I've been preparing.

My room is coming along nicely. The walls are bare, the TV and xbox are up. My books are scattered around, waiting to replaced on their proper shelves. And I already feel lighter. It's as if a weight is being lifted off of my shoulders. A weight I hadn't known was there. In this house, my childhood was suffocating me. But I can already feel the change. See the shift being reflected in my possessions. And I'm glad I've managed to stay up long enough to start changing things. I'm still exhausted.

But, I miss them already. My second family. It hasn't even been 24 hours since I last saw most of them. But it's a Friday night, and instead of being dragged off for some shenanigan filled adventure, I'm sitting at home, staring at the computer screen that will once again become my best friend. My friendship with my computer has been on the back burner for a while now. And honestly, I didn't miss it. But now I'm home again. Back in a place where I have few friends. Back in the place that I so desperately want to escape for that very reason. My only attachment to Fishers is my family. I don't particularly have HighSchool friends. I don't have any connection to this town any more. I haven't wanted to be here since I started college. Not after my past with people from here.

I'm still mildly terrified of running into a large group of my old friends. The thought of it is not something I relish. I can handle maybe one or two at a time. But a group? I don't know how well I'd manage. Especially when theres no one else to turn to. No one close by anyway. It can be so lonely here. It hasn't fully hit yet, but after 2 summers experience with the feeling, it's only a matter of time before it strikes again.

Quote of the Day:

"Actions lie louder than words."
- Carolyn Wells

Love it (82 of 90)

2010-05-07T09:15:00.003-04:00

And another delayed post. Mostly because I got dragged off to dinner, then to fencing, then to ironman last night. I do not regret this.

I am Ironman:

But not really. I'm Lauren. I wish I were Ironman, or rather I wish I knew him. Not just Robert Downey Jr. but Tony Stark.

You see, I've always had a love/love relationship with Tony Stark. Ever since I found out about the character, I've loved him. In some ways, it doesn't make since. He's an archtype that a lot of people dislike. He's rude, arrogant, full of himself, rich, and alcoholic. It's a daunting combination of bad character traits.

And a lot of the dislike for Tony Stark stems from this. Which, in some ways, is understandable. Most people naturally dislike ass-holes. It's a built in reflex. If someone is an asshole, then well, you really don't like them. I, on the other hand, have some sort of fatal attraction to them.

Charismatic assholes are my favorite. In real life and in fiction. They're just all sorts of fun. Of course, I don't just mean your run of the mill average asshole. But the assholes with a purpose. The one's who know they're assholes, and continue to be one anyway. Not because they're genuinely terrible people, but because there is a method to their madness.

But, unfortunately, many people don't see the method in the madness. And over time, I've decided it's because they have never had to deal with a proper ass-hole before. I've spent my entire life surrounded by this particular breed of asshole. It's probably a large part of why I am the way I am now. And I think more people need to be raised by assholes. Or at the very least, come into contact with them. Two of the most influential people in my life fall into the category of asshole. They pushed me more than anyone else ever has, and I thank them for that. They may be assholes, but it's a breed of assholery that helps people grow. I spent my childhood with assholes, I'm not afraid of them now. I'm not afraid of authority. Difficult people are a welcome challenge. Why? Because I've dealt with it all before. It's easier to take in stride.

So, Tony Stark. I love him to death. He's an asshole, and he knows it. He's a fucking genius, and he knows it. He acts better than you, because he is better than you. But he won't leave you hanging. He saves the world in his trillion dollar suit of brilliance. He's got your back. Even if he's an arrogant prick about it along the way.

Quote of the Day:

"The trouble with jogging is that, by the time you realize you're not in shape for it, it's too far to walk back."
- Franklin P. Jones

Crusader (81 of 90)

2010-05-06T13:14:00.003-04:00

Alright. Here we go. Last nights post was delayed due to procrastination.

Bad Religion:

So, I was thinking about religion earlier. I'm not entirely sure why, but it just crossed my mind. Maybe because I'll be going home soon, and as such, will most likely be attending church more frequently than I do now. Which is to say, I'll go at least once, haha.

In any case, I've been thinking about the different types of religions, how I was raised, and what my beliefs are now. And, I've found, that over time, my beliefs have changed.

Which they probably should have. You know, what with the growing up and "finding yourself" bull shittery and whatnot. But when I was younger, I don't think I particularly had a religion. Yes, I went to church. Yes, I was baptized as a baby. Yes, the only thing I'd been introduced to was Christianity. And as such it shaped me and my morals. But my family has never been super religious. We were your average Christians, church on sundays, celebrated the holidays, baptized the babies, said our prayers, and touted God's grace when it was appropriate.

But by and large, we honestly weren't all that religious. And I myself, am even less so now.

In a way at least. i don't really go to church all that often anymore, but I do say my prayers every night before bed, and before most meals. Partially because it's how I've been conditioned, partially because I do what to give thanks. But the difference is, now I know who I'm praying to. When I was younger God was just that big guy in the sky mom said to pray to. Now, he's a definite force of ideals that I believe in. I don't know if I fall under the Christian sense of God anymore. At least not in the strictest sense.

The way I've structured my ideals generally comes down to "don't be a dick". Which, coincidentally, coincides with a lot of religious beliefs. I believe there is a God. Just one. I believe that he make take on different forms. And as different forms, different people see different things. Which is why I'll never knock (most) any religion. In your world, God is this. As long as you're not "being a dick" you're square. Hell, you don't even have to believe in a God.

But everyone believes in something. And I think, that as long as you're a decent person, why's it matter what God you do or don't believe in? Just because I consider myself to (loosely) be Christian, and you consider yourself atheist or pegan or pastafarian or whatever, it doesn't mean I'm any better a person than anyone else. I don't believe there's a God who actively interferes with our lives (and if there is I bet he's playing the sims with our lives, watch out for disappearing doors and pool ladders). I think our strength and wisdom and ability to learn comes from people.

We learn through stories, which is why the Bible is so loved. It's got a shit ton of stories in it. Even if they're all written in funny language that takes forever to understand (which is precisely why I've never made it through). But just because you haven't read the Bible, or the Torah, or the Quran or whatever, doesn't mean you don't learn. There are plenty of other stories that you can learn the exact same lessons from. And some of them come with dragons, which, come on, are infinitely cooler than a kid with a sling shot.

So all in all, this really isn't a post about my religion, or lack there-of, but about being a decent person. None of us knows for sure what happens when we die. And all of us are trapped on this planet we call Earth with a few decades to live and make a life for ourselves. So why waste it arguing religious bullshit and judging others based on things that don't particularly matter (unless ones religion is douchbaggery). Not all Christians are bible thumpers, not all Muslims are terrorists. So for _____ (insert religious figure there) sake, shut the hell up and argue about something important. Like hungry babies or something.

Quote of the Day:

"Am I not destroying my enemies when I make friends of them?"
-Abraham Lincoln

Dear Non Writers

2010-05-05T01:14:00.004-04:00

Alright, I'm going to write this earlier than I initially planned, only because I think there's something you need to understand. And I'm feeling the need to rant.

Dear Non-Writers:

If I happen to be bitching about writing, just accept it. Don't try to console me, don't try to sympathize. Don't try to say you've been there before. Don't try to compare your page limit to mine. Don't tell me how many papers you have to write. Just, please, don't.

You see, the truth of the matter is, none of it, and I mean none of it is helpful. I'm bitching because I need an outlet. Not in any way shape or form do I want you to do anything about it, or even comment more than a general "that sucks". You cannot do anything. Anything. Let me restate that, you do not have the qualifications or capability to understand anything. Yes, I understand you got decent grades in English in high school. That's fine and dandy. But you are not a writer. You have never been, and unless something changes, you have no intention to be.

And I'm ok with that. Really I am. I'd hate to hang out with only writers all the time. We're such self important God-Complex wielding bitchy assholes. All of us. If you're a writer and you're reading this, and you dare to deny it, I will flat out call you a liar. Search your heart, you know it to be true. But really, it's fine to not be a writer.

But there are times, like now, when I really don't want to hear your non-writer advice.

No, I am not writing a "paper", yes, occasionally I will call it so. But only because I know your non-writerey mind doesn't fully understand just how distinct the differences are between a short story, an essay, a critical essay, a creative critical essay, a news article, a magazine article, a feature, a criticism, a public interest piece. Among the many other differences I deal with on a daily basis. And normally, I won't begrudge you the difference, because you just don't understand. Which is fine. But as I near the end of my rope with the non-cooperative articles I'm fighting, not writing, but fighting the inability to understand the difference irks me.

No, I cannot increase my word count by adding more "the's". That's ridiculous. Yes, my word/page count is almost always more of a guideline than a set thing. No, you can't help with critiques. Again, I know your skills were adequate for high school, and yes, you could probably catch the grammar and "this makes no sense" mistakes. But it all comes back to the understanding bit. You have to understand the craft before you can adequately edit anything. Know what I'm doing, what I'm trying to do, where it's falling apart, what's missing, and what I need to get there. And largely, non-writers cannot provide what I'm looking for. Nothing against you, but you probably suck and can't help me much.

There's something you have to understand about being a writer. Not just someone who is told to write something, but a writer. There is something that separates a writer from someone who writes. Something that you can't really be told, it's something you learn/come to realize on your own. But that something, is why you're all of no real assistance. Sorry loves, but really. There's just a certain writer-ly pain and annoyance and attitude that you can't really understand unless you've attempted to be, or are trying to be a writer.

So please, non-writers, when I bitch, just bitch back about your respective fields. I know you don't understand. You know I don't understand. Let's just keep that happy medium, shall we. I really don't need you channeling another narcissistic, high and mighty, asshole of a writer. Especially one that has no idea what their doing. Go back to being nice, normal people. I bitch at you, because I don't want to hear writer bitching back.

End bitchy self important I pretend I'm a writer rant.

Quote of the Day:

"It's none of their business that you have to learn to write. Let them think you were born that way."
- Ernest Hemingway

Dual Nature

2010-05-04T02:20:00.003-04:00

Hello there. On time blog post again? What what!

Simplicity:

Well, I was supposed to be writing today after I distinctly did not write yesterday. But that didn't happen because I was yet again kidnapped by ones Bill and Raymond. We brought Morgan along for the ride today as well. T'was fun.

It was simple again. Just four people occupying the same space. I don't know why, but that feeling is like my ultimate... something. I don't know what word to put there. But the calmness of people being able to occupy the same space without necessarily interacting the whole time is something I love. It's amazing.

It lets you know that you're comfortable enough with someone to just sit. You don't have to talk, you don't have to do anything. You can just be near each other and be happy for the company. Maybe that's why I enjoy it so much. Because I've hardly gotten the chance to just be comfortable like that.

Contrary to popular belief, I'm an extremely chill person. I don't need to be doing something all the time. I'm not all that loud 90% of the time and I'm really not all that hyperactive. Now, of course, a lot of people only see me in the 10% of the time when I am hyped up, loud, and operating with the attention span of a rodent. But for the most part, I'm really not that way.

So when I get the chance to just be me and chill in someones presence I can really appreciate it. It's rare that people get to know that side of me and I'm actually happy when they do. I'd rather have everyone know that I'm not some hyperactive easily excitable twit all the time. I'm only that way sometimes. You are more likely to find me lazing around quietly, than running around excitedly.

But the excited part of me is the only part that some people know. The loud, mildly obnoxious, irresponsible, carefree twit I can be. It's both a persona, and a part of me. It's a part of me I play up to my advantage on occasion. It's a part of me that allows me to live the way I do. But it's also a problem on occasion. There are goods and bads. But I think the two sides of me even out. At least in a way better than Harvey Dent could handle. And, honestly, I'm ok with being almost split in my behaviors. It's what makes me, me. Even if people discredit me because they only know one side. It's always amusing to surprise them with the other side on occasion.

Quote of the Day:

"I like long walks, especially when they are taken by people who annoy me."
- Noel Coward

Geekdom abound (78 of 90)

2010-05-02T22:38:00.003-04:00

Ah, well'p Sunday well spent.

My Pokemans, Let me show you them:

So, it's funny. Two days ago I said I wanted to be all healthy and stuffs. Lies and deceit. Well, at least in practice it's a lie. Or, rather, I haven't implemented the whole "healthy me" game plan. Hopefully I'll start once I get back home. In the mean time...

I've been watching pokemon all day. ALL day. Nothing but pokemon episodes. Watching pokemon, playing pokemon, researching pokemon. I have a problem. A poke-problem. I'm entirely addicted. But my team is beginning to shape up. Sure, it's still entirely unbalanced and ridiculous, but I'm finally getting more of the members of my final team.

So very many hours of pokemon. As I type this, I'm watching the end of Bye Bye Butterfree, and going back and forth between this and Pokemon Gold. I've decided to train a Murkrow for the first time. I normally go with Hoot-Hoot/Noctowl, but I decided to switch it up this time.

In other nerdly news, we went to steak and shake today. Had many lovely conversations. And by many lovely conversations, I mean, we spent the entire time talking about Pokemon, Batman, and Macs. So very much time spent geeking out. It was enjoyable. I don't get much "geek out" time anymore, what with me talking to semi "normal" people now.

It's nice knowing that should I need someone to geek out at, they're available. It's been a while since I've had a bunch of dorks to geek out at. That being said: here's what's on my mind, geek wise:

1. I hate and love apple. (as I hate and love myself (lol see that LotR reference go go go but I don't really hate myself)))
I know it's terrible. I know I could have gotten a much better PC for the same amount of money as the macbook I'm typing on now. I know that gaming is shit on this thing (but looking up with Steam for Mac coming out April 4th Valve time (which means, god only knows human time)). I know that I can't do much with this thing. I know. But. It's so damn pretty. So damn pretty. And the iPhone, yeah, I'd be better off with a droid. But, iPhone. App Store. Convenience. Buh. Damn you Steve Jobs. Damn you. I've fallen into your target audience trap after years of struggling. I blame my father.

2. My pokemon team is shaping up nicely. I've got 3.5 of 6 pokemon choosen to follow me through the game. I say 3.5 because I'm not entirely sure if I'm going to keep my Furret with me. It's so cute. So TM-able. But so... not good. Haha. Hypothetically, and in the story line I've made up in my head, it's an amazing choice. But for battle functionality, it's not so great. But oh well. The story line is more important to me anyway, and in the story version... Furret is the Pikachu to Tony's Ash.

3. My boy knows things about comics? What? Score. I foresee many moments of pure geekery. And also agrees that Namor is 1000% better than Aquaman in all aspects. Now for the Psylocke (Betsy Braddock) v. Jean Grey (Phoenix) v. Emma Frost conversation. The choice could be a deal breaker, haha.

L is for the way you Look at me

2010-05-02T03:12:00.004-04:00

Alright, update for tonight. It's actually on time, which is mildly shocking. And by mildly, I mean, I didn't expect this either. Haha.

You said what now?:

Alright blogger. I'm going to lay it down for you. What I'm thinking, what I'm feeling. What's happened in the past few hours. I normally do that, but I don't know if it's ever been to this extent. So lets see how this works, shall we?

Today, I hung out with Bill and Ray for the majority of the day. As the night wore on, Tori and Dayna showed up. Followed by Morgan. Which isn't so odd, it's the usual suspects really. Bill, Ray, and I played various video games and just kinda chilled. An afternoon at Ray's apartment. Nothing really of note.

But as the others arrived we started getting closer to party time. It was a small thing, just the above mentioned people. Nothing fancy, just the 6 of us hanging out and doing our thing. We played rockband all night. Nothing fancy. I just got back a few short minutes ago.

That boy. I think he said I love you. And by "think", I mean, I know he said "I think I love you" or some such thing. I, of course, pretended to be tipsy. I'm not shocked. I'm not surprised. I'm not scared or prepared to bolt. I don't know what I am.

I think I'm more contemplative than anything. Why say that now? Why me? Why now? What? Why didn't I say "I know" like Han Solo? That would have been badass. Instead I simply replied "mmkay" and continued my tipsy performance. Why does this kid think the sun shines out of my ass?

I don't understand people. I don't understand myself. Somehow, I just never envisioned the "I love you" talk ending like this. I was prepared for an "OH SHIT, FLEE" moment. Not... this. Whatever this is. I guess I'm just curious is all. I mean, what the hell. I'm an asshole, I'm awkward, I'm mildly evil, and the list goes on. -sigh- crazy boy. What am I going to do with him?

Ringing (76 of 90)

2010-05-01T18:11:00.003-04:00

Alright, here's last nights post. I'm getting really bad about updating on time again, haha.

Weekends Destroy the Posting Schedule:

Today's topic is a brand new one. Shocking, I know, considering that I neder post anything that doesn't involve bitching about writing. Writing about bitching. Or friends or other such nonsense. But my problem of the day is health.

My ears have been ringing for a week or so now. Like, hardcore. They normally do so occasionally, but they haven't stopped in forever. Which brings me to a main point, maybe I should see a doctor more often. I haven't been since freshman year. And even then it was only for shots for college. I also haven't been to the dentist in about a year. I don't think I've picked up any more cavities since then, haha.

And most importantly, I haven't been to an eye doctor in about two years. Now, for me, that's a real problem. I'm supposed to go at least once a year so they can check and make sure shit hasn't fucked up with my eye. I don't think anything has changed, but I'm no doctor, I also on't recall, or right down things when I have problems. Probably should start doing that. But most of the time it's not a big enough deal for me to think about writing anything down.

Now, for the moral of the story time. You see, I should probably pay more attention to my health. I'm generally a healthy kid, and I generally don't have major health concerns. But all the same, I'm not as healthy as I could be. I have the strangest eating habits ever, I don't exercise, and I don't eat particularly healthy.

Take today for instance. I didn't wake up until 11-noon -ish, I didn't get out of bed until almost 2pm, after which I walked to taco bell where I proceeded to eat a chicken quesadilla, a taco, and one oreo. I drank Hi-C fruit punch if that's any better than soda. And since then, I've been at a friends apartment playing resident evil 5. (Love this game by the way)

And I'm no where near in good shape. I'm not in terrible shape, but it's not good either. The only "physical activity" I engage in is fencing. Which, for me, isn't nearly enough. Yes, it can be intense, but for the most part it's not. It's no where near enough activity for me. So this summer, I'm going to start running again. And I mean that this time. Hopefully.

I say that every summer, but I really do want to follow through this year. I have a few goals for the summer, and of of the main ones is getting back into some semblance of "in shape". As of right now, I'm just some twig masquerading as a healthy person.

Happy (75 of 90)

2010-04-30T14:08:00.003-04:00

Sorry, didn't post last night due to passing out. Haha.

Temperamental:

So here's how it goes. I'm not sure if I've blogged about this before, but I feel like I might have. Either way, I'm not changing topics for tonight. Boys. Men. Inbetweens. Whatever you want to call them. They are temperamental.

The girls as emotional creatures thing is a lie. The part where they're the only emotional beings bit at least. I swear to God boymanchild things are just as bad. And they flip moods just as quickly as we do. To quote Bella. (yeah I know, kill me later) the mood swings are giving me whiplash. One moment, all is peachy. Next, WTF did I do something?

Is it just me? Or is this some common thread between people that I didn't really pay close attention to until recently. Maybe it's because I actually care if I'm the source of the seemingly psychotic mood swings. Or maybe I'm just more observant in general. It's probably because I'd like it if people actually stayed happy for once. My happiness has somehow been entwined with theirs, and these mood swings are killing me. I don't think it's ever been so hard for people to be happy.

Male, female, whatever. Hot damn people, can't we all just be happy? Why is that so much to ask?

Quote of the Day:

People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within.
- Elizabeth Kubler-Ross

Update

2010-04-29T12:15:00.003-04:00

Would have posted last night, but you see the thing is. Sleep. I need it. 4-ish hours a night is killing me.

Ho-Gawd WTFBBQ:

So. I spent the night writing. Again. No real surprise considering the end of the semester approaches like a looming something or other on the horizon. In any case, I went through and started writing my 2nd article for Mag. Problem being, that this article really did not want to be written. It argued with me the whole way through. It's still arguing with me. And by still, I clearly know I'm going to have to re-do the thing. It's a POS at the moment.

But that's ok. Because I do have time to do the revisions. Huzzah. Death rays averted. I still feel bad about it though. I hate turning in shit. I'd at least like to pretty it up a bit and put on a nice bow before presenting it. This is just shit in a box. Sorry Brad.

In other news, tonight should be my last night of massive amounts of lost sleep. Three cheers for the semester being over. Well, almost over. I'm now down to two finals, an article, and an article revision before I can leave. Not too shabby. Well, not too shabby considering all the other shit I've been doing recently.

Last week I turned in my final short story draft for Barb. This week, she returned them. I don't know why, but I love getting papers back from Barb. Like I commented on twitter, they smell of smoke and excellence. I think it's the only time I enjoy the faint aroma of smoke. It's refreshing somehow. Strange, I know. In any case, the odd feeling of calm was well warranted. Ended up with a good grade on it. It's also a bitter sweet feeling.

That was the last class I'll ever have with Barb. She's retiring after this semester. I wish she could put a hold on her retirement and finish out another year, haha. It'd be nice to have a prof around that I know and that knows me.

Quote of the Day:

"Egotism is the anesthetic that dulls the pain of stupidity."
- Frank Leahy

Apology (73 of 90)

2010-04-28T02:37:00.003-04:00

Hello again blogger.

Finished faster tonight:

I should be writing for magazine now that I'm done with English. But I can't. I won't. Both. I'm not sure which. I'm tired. I'm running on about 4 hours of sleep. Not the least I've ever gotten, but not healthy for extended periods of time either. By all means, I should be sleeping.

I finished the paper for tomorrow. Now all I have to do is wake up on time, and study for a quiz. Then write some more. And call some people. And write some more. And find time to eat and sleep. Mostly eat. Sleep is for the weak. And damn, am I weak. I miss sleeping, haha. I'd have gone to sleep without posting if not for exterminating circumstances. The boy will be sad if I disappear on him while he's away.

I did well on my last article. I'm glad. It means that when I inevitably drop the ball and fuck this one up, I'll have the chance to re-do it. I know it's bad to plan for the worst, but really. I do feel like this next article will be the worst. Maybe because I haven't written shit for it yet. Yeah, that's probably a large part of my problem.

I'm worried again. I don't want to drop the ball. I think I surprised him with the last one. Now he has expectations. I hate high expectations, now he's going to want to see more of the same. And I'm not sure if I can knock it out the same as before. Not in the same way at least. I think I can do the same quality of work with the extension added on, but for Thursday? I don't think I can manage it. There's just so much else for me to be thinking about. It won't be like before. I don't want before to be a fluke. I want this next article to come out as (relatively) easy as the last one. I want to keep up the good name I accidentally built for myself. I think it'll crumble a bit though. I'm sorry for that. I shouldn't have let everything build up so much. Now everyone's getting less of what I have to offer. So long story short, I'm sorry Brad. I'm sorry Barb. I'd rather you see the best I have. Instead of the best I can manage at the moment. But the best for the moment is still decent, so that has to count for something, right? Probably not.

Quote of the Day:

"Fortune does not change men, it unmasks them."
- Suzanne Necker

Passing out now (72 of 90)

2010-04-27T03:23:00.003-04:00

Late night update once again.

It's 3.30 in the A.M. right about now:

And I just did an entire final project. The whole thing. In less than 24 hours. I'd be proud but my body hates me already. I'm sleepy, and my stomach is doing that weird "you need to sleep" pain thing. But, the project is done. It's done. That's one class down.

It kind of looks like shit though, the project I mean. But that's not entirely my fault. I wish I knew more about computers and stuff, I'd have worked on making the website look presentable. But for the purposes of News 201, I suppose it is presentable. I went the extra mile with a few things, to make up for the shittyness of others. Like my audio package, damn is some of that audio horrible. So, I made an extra audio slide show for the website. Genius. Two has got to be better than one, right?

I'm not sure how well the online writing and the audio writing will go though. I think I adapted the online well enough (because according to J-School all online readers are fucktards with no attention span who love to click things and see intrusive ads). But I'm fairly certain the audio bit won't go over as well as I hoped. It's essentially the same thing as the online writing. Though I'm not entirely sure if it was supposed to be set up like radio or what. Maybe it was broadcast. It's kind of in between all three at the moment, so maybe my bases are covered?

I hope so. I'd like to not fail news. It's not like they're offering this particular class ever again...

I'm going to go pass out now. Then I get to repeat the cycle tomorrow, except the homework will be for Brad and Barb. I'm mildly afraid I'll go insane again and Flannary O'Connor's ghost will come back and haunt my brain again. Hell, I know she'll be back. Dammit. Stupid insanity.

Quote of the Day:

"You can't have everything. Where would you put it?"
- Stephen Wright

It was Lupis (71 of 90)

2010-04-26T00:30:00.002-04:00

Hello dearies. Here's today's post.

Thoughts:

So. I'm an aspiring writer. I do believe we go over this at least once a week. But here it goes again. I'm writing another creative critical essay for English. And I do believe these are slowly contributing to my growing insanity. I've mention the compulsion to write that I seem to have acquired. But I'm not sure if I've gone over it in any detail.

I was talking with Tori today on our way to dinner. Just passing thoughts about what I might write about for this essay. When it hit me. I went into today thinking my essay would be over Burke and my growing love for him as a writer. But alas, this is not the case. He might show his face later on in my tale, but another has entirely taken over my mind. There's no escaping her.

Flannery O'Connor won't leave me the hell alone. Crazy old dead lady. Crazy mind. I don't know what's going on in my head exactly, but I do know O'Connor has something to do with it. She's damn near haunting me. I can't do anything else. Just stare at her book and go over her stories in my mind. She's taken over my essay. Writing really is a compulsion. This essay isn't something I wanted to do. But something I had to do. I don't think O'Connor would shut up long enough for me to write about Burke. So instead I have the beginnings of an essay about her.

Crazy old broad. I hope she's happy about this. But, I'm not going willingly. I'll fight her till the end. This essay will be a battle. A struggle of wits. Me against O'Connor. The short story master, and a lowly under graduate peon. I don't know who'll win. Maybe by the end of this, my opinion of her will change. Maybe it won't. Maybe I'll find my way through her stories. Maybe I'll drown in The River. I don't know. But I will fight. I have no choice.

There was never another option. Only to write what feels right. To write what my brain tells me. And for now, my brain is duking it out with a dead lady. What the hell...

I swear I'm crazy.

Quote of the Day:

"If people never did silly things, nothing intelligent would ever get done."
- Ludwig Wittgenstein

Stabbity Stab Stab

2010-04-25T23:21:00.003-04:00

Hey! That last post was post number 100. Ridiculous, isn't it? Anyway, sorry this is late. Weekends do that to me.

Saturday:

At 8am I turned off my alarm. At 8.12 I scrambled out of bed. At 8.45 I was making my way towards Ball Gym. The start of a long day. But it was fun. A blast really. I didn't fence as well as I should have, but I had fun nonetheless. Here's a quick rundown.

I ran around all morning trying to help get things set up for the tourney. Taping down strips, looking for clipboards and stopwatches, that kind of stuff. I was supposed to help run bout committee but, thankfully, I weaseled my way out of that one. In between bouts I ran around with my voice recorder and camera and tried to be a good little journalist. I think I got a lot of good natural sound. I mostly thank Brian, Jared and Bill for that. Their bouts were hard core on the sounds. Lots of yelling, metallic clangs, and general strip noises. As far as what I'm going to do with the stuff I collected, I have no idea yet. I should figure that out. It's due Tuesday morning after all.

As far as my own personal fencing, I'm mildly annoyed. I didn't fence as well as I could have. I did alright in epee. Beat one of the 3rd place finishers in epee. Lost the rest of my pool bouts, but I managed to get 4-5 on a lot of my bouts. Brian, Jacob McNeal (Summit City fencer), Derek, Ray, and myself. At least I think that was it. I can't recall. Either way, I did ok. Won my first DE against Brittany, only to get my ass whooped by Brian in the next match. I ended up 7th of 10. Mildly annoying, but not as bad as I could have done.

Foil, however, is still annoying me. My pool was fairly simple. Only major competition being Brian. Overall line up was, Rebecca (from Summit City as well), Jessica, Ray, Brian and myself. Again, overall not a difficult pool. And by that I mean, 5-0 bouts against Rebecca and Jessica. I felt kind of bad, but I tried to give them as many chances as I could to do something. Anything. Rebecca did fairly well, even if she didn't actually score any touches. Jessica could have done better, but her mistakes can be easily fixed. We're just gonna have to get her to be more aggressive, she wouldn't attack me for anything, haha.

Ended up fencing a 2-5 against Brian. Not as well as I wanted to do, but not too shabby either. One of these days I'll get him. But Ray. Here's my problem. By all means, I should have beaten him. I'm annoyed at my self for not beating him. He fenced well today, but I should have beaten him. It sounds conceited. It probably is. But I'm not denying that he fenced well today. He fenced very well. It was one of the best bouts we've ever had. But gah. I'll be damned if I shouldn't have won. The match was 2-3 in his favor. We ran out of time. Beaten by the clock. How annoying.

I ended up ranking 5th for DE's. Which put me in a hard match against Jared for my first bout. I think I surprised him a bit. Which was cool. I started off really well, but then, as per usual, it all fell to shit. He figured me out after a few touches, but still. It was a pretty good match, and I think I surprised a lot of people. I hate it when they count me out. So watching their faces and hearing the surprise in their voices as I didn't fail miserably was very much welcome. Told them bastards I could hold my own, haha. Ended up finishing in 5th place for the day (I think. I should have been ranked there, but i'm not entirely sure). Annoyance. Could have gotten higher if not for that bout with Ray. Haha, good job Ray.

Quote of the Day:

"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on."
- Robert Frost

Oh Dear (69 of 90)

2010-04-24T02:09:00.002-04:00

Ya... here's a post.

Trends?:

Well blogger, it's 2.09am on Saturday, April the 24th.

I have a tournament to be at for 8.45am. Which is clearly why I'm still awake. I think it's become some sort of ritual for me now. Fencing in the morning? Clearly you need to stay up all night. I was tired hours ago. I should have been sleeping hours ago. But instead I watched a movie. The third Naruto Shippuden movie if you must know. I enjoyed it, as I always do.

But that's not the trend I really want to talk about. I want to talk about obligatory behavior. Generally speaking, I ignore and avoid it at all costs. I don't like obligation. I hardly ever feel obligated in the first place. But tonight, well, I seem to have retrieved a car all of my own accord. It was like second nature. I'm not sure how I feel about this.

I didn't particularly feel obligated. Nor did I even consider not going and retrieving the car. A short few weeks ago, I would have laughed and said good luck. Hell, a few weeks ago, I wouldn't have gone to say goodbye. But somewhere in there, something changed. And it's interesting. It's not necessarily bad and I'm not sure if its good either. Just different. Entirely different from what I'm accustomed too.

I wonder if this is a new trend. If it is, it'd be convenient if it came when it wasn't all rainy and cold. Or didn't involve me wandering around in search of the right automobile. But then again, apparently I'd still go anyway, so what do I know.

Quote of the Day:

"A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it."
- George Moore

Club

2010-04-23T03:02:00.004-04:00

And for tonight's post.

I had fun:

The club went to B-dubs after practice again. And despite the horridly long wait we seem to always have to go through, as always, I enjoyed myself. Tonight, however, was a bit different from the norm.

Instead of my usual group of people, it was the usuals, plus a few others. I spent the time sandwiched between Bill and Brian either annoying or teasing whoever would listen. It was quite amusing. Erin joined in on the Brian teasing, along with Josh on occasion, and we had ourselves a jolly good time.

It's always fun to tease Brian. I'm not sure when I decided that, but it really is. In any case, we're having our mock tournament in a few days, and as such, duties were divvied up. I've volunteered to help out with a couple things, what exactly I can't recall. But it should be fun. As long as everything goes as planned. But even if it doesn't I'm going to enjoy myself. I get to spend the day stabbing and journalisming. I think my project will turn out really well if I can manage to portray the atmosphere like I want to.

I was thinking about that earlier, and I really want the piece to be laid back and fun. I want it to showcase the emotions of a tournament, and the anxiousness of some of the fencers, but I also want it to show all the camaraderie. I want the before's and the after's. The change from comrades off strip, to opponents off. I want to try to get intensity in strip pictures, and laughter and happiness off of it.

Maybe that's because I'm so closely involved. Maybe it's because that's how I feel about fencing. I want everyone else to see what I see every night I walk in there. I don't know if I'll be able to pull it off, but I can damn well try. I think it'll be a fun project. If I find time to do it properly that is. I've got a lot to do for the tournament itself, and for actual fencing wise. But it shouldn't be too hard to run around with a camera and a voice recorder. I run around with a camera half the time anyway. We'll see how it goes. But my plan is to enjoy myself no matter what.

Quote of the Day:

"If a cluttered desk is the sign of a cluttered mind, what is the significance of a clean desk?"
- Laurence J. Peter

Bitching

2010-04-22T12:14:00.002-04:00

Alright. Here's last nights post. It's late for a very good reason, I swear.

Oh Dear:

So, it's crunch time. Obviously. I've only been bitching for about a week or two. And I don't know if I'm going to make it through. This next week is going to be hell. Not because of any one class, but because there's stuff do in almost all of them.

And the hell part? Well that's entirely my fault.

I wish I could bitch and moan like some of my counterparts. And I don't just mean the regular bitching and moaning, everyone bitches. It's just what we do. But there's a specific type. I'm not entirely sure how to explain it. But it goes a little something like this. I bitch and moan not because of what I have to do, or when it's due, but because I can. It's not bitching for the sake of anything, it's just bitching for the sake of bitching. Complaining because I can and because other people complain. It's a shared bitchiness. It really only comes out in group settings. I don't bitch to myself about what I have to do, I bitch to others because it's sort of a stress relief. Maybe. Or something like that.

I don't believe I have the right to bitch with a purpose. It's not like the demands made of me are unfair. I've known about the deadlines for a semester now. It's no ones fault but my own that I have so much work to do now. If I were smarter, or at least less of a procrastinator, then I'd have started things long ago. But I'm me, and I procrastinate. This is my fault, and my burden. I'm well aware of that.

But for others it can be different. The bitching is really expressed in a way that at times leads me to believe that they don't think they had anything to do with the situation they're in. And it's weird. I've never liked that kind of bitching. I've always found it annoying. I'm not sure if I'm explaining the differences properly, or if I'm being a hypocrite about all this. I probably am. But the point still stands. If you're going to bitch, make sure you know what your fault in the matter is before hand. Don't bitch bitch about something that's 90% your fault, you know?

Quote of the Day:

"Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance."
- William Shakespeare

Moody (66 of 90)

2010-04-21T00:10:00.003-04:00

This is a last ditch effort to stay awake and feel motivated.

I am, in fact, female:

I'm just as moody as the rest of my particular half of the species. It's irritating. I like to pretend I'm not, and nine times out of ten, I don't think I'm that moody. But the truth of the matter is, I really am. I don't mean to be, and I do notice when I am, but the fact remains; I'm moody as all hell.

I can't help it. It's stress. It's hormones. It's ovaries. Whatever. I'm moody. End of story. I don't know why, but I'm a moody little girl. Just like every other little girl. I'm prone to snapping at random moments in time for no apparent reason. God only knows what set me off this time. It's probably a multitude of factors. I don't know when exactly it hit, but I can't say I'm surprised. It's amazing I've only been tired so far.

I have a lot to think about right now. And when that happens, there's always that straw that breaks the camel's back, you know? That one thing that just sets someone off. Well whatever that one thing was, it happened. And consequently I'm a bit moody, and not in any particular talking mood. I mean, I will talk if conversed with, and by talk, I clearly mean respond (I will not guarantee any actual conversation, I know better than that). But I'm just not up to talking with anyone. And I mean anyone.

Sometimes I wonder if this is just a standard part of being female. Doing things for no apparent reason I mean. But that's not true. There's logic to everything we do, even if it is somewhat convoluted. I told that to a friend today, and I believe what I said. If you just know what to look for, it's easy to see the logic behind all of our crazy female actions. We don't do things for no reason, it's just not who we are. Sure, guys (and even other girls) may not understand why we do the things we do all the time, but there is logic there. And I think I know what's wrong with me now.

But I'm not willing to talk about it. It's not something that really needs to be addressed. It's not really a problem, and I'm sure any other day at any other time I would have been just fine. But the culmination of events led to me ending up all moody like, and for now I'll just have to live with it. Except by "live with it" I clearly mean "go to sleep so I don't have to worry about it". Sleeping sounds good. I'm so tired. I'll wake up earlier tomorrow, and actually accomplish things. I don't think I can write decently like this anyway.

Quote of the Day:

"How come we don't always know when love begins, but we always know when it ends?"
- L.A Story

Stupid Writing

2010-04-20T00:59:00.004-04:00

This is being posted now because I seem to have hit the metaphorical writers wall, again. Damnit.

Why now?:

I just wanted to write this draft. That's all. I wanted to write it, and get it sent out. I know it's not the best. It's not as bad as it was though. That's something. But, I'm stuck. I've hit the wall again. I made it to a certain point, and now it's hard to keep going. I'm brain dead. I want to quit. I want to quit more than anything.

But I can't.

I want to move to become a hobo and send Brad hate mail from Mexico. I want to throw my laptop in front of a bus. I want to jump in front of a bus. Anything to keep me from writing this article. Anything. I want to switch over and do my revisions for creative writing. But I can't. It's not time for that. It's time to write this article. And my brain doesn't want to cooperate. It wants to bitch and moan because it can't come up with anything. It wants to have moments of self doubt.

But I've never been any good at self doubt. I don't doubt that I can write this. I don't my abilities as a writer (much). I don't even doubt that I will juggernaut my way through this wall sooner rather than later. I just, can't do it right now. It's difficult. But, for as long as it takes, I'll keep running my head into the wall until it falls. I'll keep on typing shit until Shakespeare comes out. Well maybe not Shakespeare, but Dailey. I'll keep tying until I show my face in my writing. Until the steaming piles of shit have been shifted through, and only the halfway decent bits remain.

Quote of the Day:

"Believe those who are seeking the truth. Doubt those who find it."
- Andre Gide

Distractions (64 of 90)

2010-04-19T10:55:00.003-04:00

Weekends never fail to make me late on postings. Here's yesterday's post.

In which I mildly complain again:

School. The semester is finishing up. And along with that comes the hell hole of final projects. In every class of course. I'm hoping I'll be able to finish them all. I think I will be. I just need to buckle down.

But I don't want to. There are other things I want to be doing. Friends to see. Places to be. Things to do. Outside of school. Well, outside of school work. It's all school related. Because once the semester's over, who knows when I'll see them again. You know? Semester ends, and everyone goes their separate ways. And I'd like to get in as much time with them as I can before hand. Which is why I don't particularly complain when people ask to do something and I'm clearly supposed to be writing.

Who says I can't write and hang out with people at the same time?

Logistics really. It's almost impossible. I just have this inherently hard time doing productive things around them. Sometimes I can over come it, most times I can't. I'm hoping I get better at it. But the thing is, I hardly ever get substantially distracted by the people. Generally, we're all pretty good about attempting to keep to ourselves and finish work. I get distracted by well, distractions. Movies. Music. Cats. Mostly movies. I have come to accept that I cannot be productive with a TV on. That's probably why I never turn it on. I can't watch a movie and do homework. I end up watching a movie with an unwritten paper on my lap. Which I can live with. But throw in movie and friends and paper. And we have a problem. I can only manage two at once apparently. Or at least I can't juggle How To Train Your Dragon and Mortal Kombat with homework. That might be a key factor.

But I'll probably continue to (not) put up a fight when people ask to do things. Because they seem to have found my weak spot. Damn them.

Quote of the Day:

"Friendship is love without his wings."
- Byron

Future (63 of 90)

2010-04-18T00:01:00.004-04:00

And here we go.

Home:

Wake up in the morning lookin like Mufasa.
Grab my phone I'm out the door I'm gonna hit the shower.
Before I leave brush my teeth with some aquafresh
'Cause once I leave for my clothes I'm gonna be all wet.

Yeah. That's what me and my sister came up with earlier. I really did miss being home. I'm honestly not sure when I was last here for over twenty-four hours. I woke up this morning to my sister playing some stupid song in my ear, and telling me my hair looked like Mufasa. Then when I finally made it downstairs, she was making pancakes.

Talk about awesome.

I wish it could just stay like this. The carefree feeling I get when I come home. But I know it can't. Because every time I turn around someones all like "get a job" or "what're you going to do when you graduate". I don't know what I'm going to do. I have no idea. And I don't want to tell them. I don't want to be disappointing. But I also don't want to do anything I don't want to. I know I'll probably go to grad school eventually. It's always something I've planned on doing. But for what? You know? Do I want to go for journalism? Do I want to go for English? Do I want to go for something else entirely? Do I want to go at all?

I don't know. Part of me wants to take a year off. But what would I do with that year? I've never been that person that's so driven to do one thing. I don't want to go to grad school just because I don't know what else to do with my life. It really seems like such a waste. I wouldn't be getting everything out of it that I would if I went because I wanted to. But if I take a year off, what would I do with it? I don't particularly have anywhere to go. And I certainly don't have anyone to go with. I'm not really the type to up and take off on my own. Or maybe I am. Maybe I will be? Maybe It'll be my chance to do something by myself for once? But I don't know if I like the idea of being alone.

I came to college with a security blanket. Of course, it tried to strangle me (metaphorically speaking of course) and then proceeded to sever all ties with me, leaving me essentially on my own. But even then. I came home on weekends and it wasn't so bad. I knew how to cope. Then there was last year. I somehow managed to make due again, and came out better than before. And this year is even better than that. But next year, who knows? I have no idea what will happen between now and then. And even farther in the future, again I don't know. I'll be graduating at some point. I'll be forced to do... things. Adult type things. Not this pretend world I've been living in. And I don't know how to go about that. Maybe it'll come to me some other time. I hope it does. Otherwise, it'll be hard explaining how I have no life plan. Haha.

Quote of the Day:

"You have got to discover you, what you do, and trust it."
- Barbra Streisand

No more bending over for you (62 of 90)

2010-04-17T23:43:00.003-04:00

Hello Blogger. I'm late again, sorry.

Well, that was unexpected:

So today was the day Bill got his wisdom teeth out. Not a fun process really. In any case, here's how it goes. I'm home for the weekend. Now, I left a little later than intended, so when Dayna and doped-up Bill showed up at my window imagine my surprise. And amusement. He looks quite silly all doped up. In any case, I had to babysit dopey boy for a few minutes while Dayna went and grabbed her things (dopey needed babysitting for the night).

I'm a terrible caretaker.

Haha, it's probably a good thing I wasn't around to watch him. In the fifteen or so minutes I was there he almost: stuffed massive amounts of gauze in his mouth, passed out in prime "blood drip down my throat" position, and fell over. It was actually kind of funny. And by that, I mean I laughed like the horrible person I am. It really was amusing. I handed him gauze so he could switch it out. He was all like "what do I do with this?" and proceeds to attempt to stuff it all in his mouth. Luckily my frenzied "NO!" stopped him and I managed to get it rolled up properly. Silly dopey boy.

It really is a good thing someone not me was around to watch him. I'm far to forgetful for things like that. "Oh you're in pain? Well shit, I don't remember where I put your meds... sleep it off." Yeah, doesn't sound like a good idea. I can hardly take care of me, let alone another person.

Quote of the Day:

"You can tell a lot about a fellow's character by his way of eating jellybeans."
- Ronald Reagan

Critique (61 of 90)

2010-04-16T01:47:00.003-04:00

Hello. Here there be posts.

I have no idea what I"m about to write about:

Looks like my brain has decided on writing again. And by writing, I mean writing about writing. Sorry if you're getting sick of it. But thems the breaks. This is the life I've chosen, so you're just going to have to deal.

I was reading through my critiques from English today. It's still a weird feeling.
I can tell I'm getting better about not feeling too defensive. I know freshman year at least I was really bad about that. But I feel I've grown somewhat, and I'm able to handle the full critiques and the workshops much better than even last year. But at the same time. I can't help but get annoyed at some of the comments some times. I think that's a part of it. When you write something that you think is the shit. And everyone else just thinks its you know... shit. There's a few lines like that in my draft. One in particular that I liked, hardly anyone else did. How frustrating.

But still. I'm getting much better. I can take the advice to heart. And I know I'll be implementing most of the changes. Because I know it will make my draft better. Make my prose stronger. And that's what I'm after right? The ability to hone my craft. To know what areas I make mistakes in and fix them. So that maybe next time my draft will be even stronger. So that one day I'll be able to try to be published.

On that note. Brad said something in class today. Something that struck me. He said that many people are either writers are reporters. People are either information gatherers or writers. Rarely are they good at both. And I can accept that. I believe that. I can understand that. But the question is, which one am I? I'm not sure. I think I'm a writer. Maybe I'm not even that. I think I can gather information, but I'm not sure if I'm particularly good at it. I don't know if I'm good at either of these things. I only have Barb's word to go on really. And she says I'm better than I was. And that's all I can ask for I suppose. The knowledge that at least I haven't been wasting my time here.

I can tell I'm getting better. My prose is getting tighter. My drafts are getting better. My ability to analyze text has increased exponentially. I critique better. I'm more confident about both my writing and my critiques. But that's mainly English. I have no idea where I stand journalistically. Hell, I'm not even sure I can stand yet. I feel like a toddler. Just learning to lift my head. I can't walk, can barely talk, and I damn well sure can't keep my head above water on my own.

Maybe one day I'll learn to walk, hell at least crawl, on my own. But for now, I'll just have to be led through the process. Until they kick me out of the next and expect me to fly.

Quote of the Day:

"Success is not the result of spontaneous combustion. You must set yourself on fire."
- Reggie Leach

Remix (60 of 90)

2010-04-15T01:19:00.002-04:00

Hullo. Once again on time.

Inspiration:

I want to change it all. Remix it. This summer will start it. Imma be me. Just me. Every time I look at my sisters blog I think that's what I wanna do. I just wanna be me. I wanna be me and all of me all the time. I want my space to look like me. I want my face to look like me. I wanna ball. I want every part of me to scream me. I want to look my best even when I'm at my worst. I want to do what I want to do. I want to live. I want to laugh. I want to love. I want to write. i want to be the best there ever was.

I want to change my room. I want it simple. Full of my joys, my sorrows, my everything. I want people to walk in and say "this is Lauren". I want everything about me to scream me. I want the flyest shoes. I want the flyest clothes. I want a job that I'll enjoy. I want cash. I want to make bank. I want it all. I want it all.

I want those pictures that will remind me who I am. Who I was. What I'm working to become. I want everyone to know I'm a writer. Everyone. There will be no more doubts. No more, be a biologist. None of that. Just me. All me.

Every time I look at her blog I see that. I don't know if that's how it really is, I don't wanna know. But every time I look, I see someone free. Someone happy. Someone working towards what they want to do.

And I want that. I want all of it. I want to be my own person, with my own goals, and my own space. I want every inch of me to scream LOOK AT ME. Look at who I am. Who I've become. Who I want to be. I've always wanted that. I've been working towards it. But now, I think I'm ready for the full transition. I'm ready to just be me.

I know what I want.

I want a desk by the window. A small one. I want to be a pretentious writing ass hole. I want to be artsy and clever and colorful. I want books. I want them everywhere. I want games. I want them everywhere else. I want openness. I want space. I want to be free. I want my closet full of color. I want boots. I want leggings. I want to run again. I want to spar again. I want to fence. I want it all. I want notebooks and binders and stories everywhere the books and the games aren't.

I want to be me. I want a pokedex next to the count of monte cristo. I want a nerf gun next to a notebook. No holds barred. Everything bared for all to see. I want to begin the transformation. Little by little. I want to be the me I am now. And I want my belongings to reflect that. Not who I was, but who I am. And who I am does not center around lord of the rings. or stars and moons. or clutter or any of that. I want it clean, I want it sparse. I want it open and assholeish and perfect for writing.

So, in short. thank you Krystal. Thank you for being so awesome. I know I don't talk to you much. I see you even less. But somewhere along the line I developed a big sister complex, and I'm glad I know you. I'm glad I have the chance to look up to you and say "That's what I want to be." Not in any I'm going to be a model that's hot when bald and is becoming a DJ. But in a, I want to one day be able to fully say I chased my dreams and accomplished what I set out to do. I want to be able to say I've done everything I can to not let haters, perceptions, or myself stand in my way. I don't know where this complex came from, when it happened, or why it happened. There's usually no reason to it. But as long as it continues to push me, to help me strive to be a better person, then it's all good.

I'm happy with where I am now. I'm happy with the direction I'm going. I don't know where I'll end up yet. I honestly have no idea. But I'm glad things have turned out like this. I'm glad I can start taking those steps towards the person I'll become. I'm glad I have some idea of how I want to better myself. I'm excited for this summer. I really am. Maybe when I come back in the fall, I'll be a better me. A fuller me. A me who is ready to take on the world.

Quote of the Day:

"Livin Lovin, Lovin Livin, It's all good."
- Will Smith (Fresh Prince)

My idiots (59 of 90)

2010-04-14T10:06:00.001-04:00

Alright. Post time.

(random fun fact: I wrote this last night, but apparently passed out before hitting post)

I don't think I can say this enough:

I love these guys. God only knows why, but I really do. They're the only ones who can keep me around for hours doing jack shit when I need to be working. It's cool to be comfortable sitting around watching pokemon while everyone else is fencing.

And I mean that in the more, I can be myself around them. No holds barred. Just me. The crazy, ADD, pokemonaddicted, fuckup that I am. It's a nice feeling. But at the same time, I'm worried. I don't want to get too attached. But I think I'm already in too deep. Especially with some of them. I've gotten attached to this group. And while it's awesome, it's troublesome.

Because it's always harder once you're attached. The letting go I mean. But I'm happy to be a part of the group. Even if we're largely a bunch of idiots. There's just something that draws me to these particular idiots. They're my idiots now, some of them more so than others. And I'm ok with that. I like having them around.

Quote of the Day:

"Writing is not necessarily something to be ashamed of, but do it in private and wash your hands afterwards."

-Robert Heinlein

I be on that grind (58 of 90)

2010-04-12T23:11:00.002-04:00

It's been a long day. Here's a post so that I can keep being sane.

I have to do what now?:

Alright. This is going to come off a bit complain-ey. I'm sorry. It's just that well, I feel overwhelmed, you know? And maybe it'll feel better once I get all of these thoughts out of my head. I hope it does. Because I wanna quit it all and be a hobo right now. And hobo's don't have constant Internet access so it's not really an option.

Now, you might be asking "But Lauren! Why are you so overwhelmed? I thought life was grand?" But hell, you can be overwhelmed and all grand like at once. I think the grand bit adds to everything being so overwhelming.

The truth is. I have a lot to do. Or at least I feel like I do. Maybe I'm complaining about nothing. In the long run, I probably am. But for now, it feels like I have a lot to manage to do in not a lot of time. Today I had to go to an early morning meeting. Or I'd literally fail one of my classes. Had to go to one in the afternoon for the same reason. So that was extra stuff on my plate that's not normally there.

I also had a paper due for class today. I finished it last night. I forgot to print it off this morning because I was reading through stories for another class. But at least my professor is understanding, I get to turn it in Wednesday thank God. I had just enough time between class and the second meeting to eat lunch. After wasting an hour of my life in the meeting, I had to run off to the library to do a project for yet another class. A design project. It's not so bad except for the fact that my knowledge of Indesign and Photoshop is quite basic. So I have grand ideas and no physical ability to put it on the page. Luckily Bill came and found me of his own free will. He helped me put the last poster together. It would have taken me infinitely longer if I was left to my own devices.

I took about an hour break afterwards. I needed it. I couldn't have kept going at that pace all day without passing out accidentally. And then back to the grind. Wrote the paper for news that I'm not actually sure when it's due. It's either tomorrow or next week. Therefore it's written today.

I've got four critiques to write up for Wednesday. So once this post is done, I'll be going back to working on those. After those are done, I'm not sure what's up next. Either work for Brad, or studying for the test I have in Media Law.

And that's just assignments. I've got other side things that also need to be done for class or there's a massive chance for failure. It's ridiculous really. How much piles up so quickly. I want a break. I want to lay down and sleep. I want it all to go away so I can play games in peace. But it's not going anywhere. It just keeps piling up as new things come onto the schedule. And the more that piles up the less I want to do.

But I suppose I have to start somewhere or I'll drown in it all. So for now, I'll work on these critiques. And when they're done, I'll start on something else. I don't think I'll finish them tonight. I know I won't. I'm too tired. But I want the basics at least filled out. So that I only have to type them up. It's a start. Sometimes, it's hard to see the forest for the trees. And right now all these trees are fuckin redwoods. But the goal is closer than ever. So close. That's why it's so hard now. And as long as I can keep the end in sight I can keep going. Keep on reading and writing. But these damn trees keep getting in the way.

Somebody get me an axe.

Quote of the Day:

"Everyday I'm hustlin."

- Kat Williams

I can has? (57 of 90)

2010-04-12T01:32:00.003-04:00

And last but not least, today's post. Enjoy.

Productivity:

I have none. I woke up around noon today. And only because I got a text message. I suppose sleeping in is acceptable considering I was up late last night, but I don't like it anyway. I spent my day writing a last minute research paper. And boy does it read like it.

The damn thing makes very little sense, the flow is all off, and I wish it didn't exist. Yeah, it's that bad. But I'm not going to fix it. Mostly because I'm lazy. Partially because I don't know what I'd change it to. It's somewhat acceptable and it'll stay that way.

I cleaned today. I also spent money, again (I need to stop doing that). I did homework for other classes. Other classes that should be just as important. But hell, I always feel like I'm not being productive. Even while writing papers, attending meetings, and reading for other classes. By other here, I mean not Brad's class.

It's strange. I'm being very productive. I really was all day. Until recently that is. But highly productive on the whole. But I still feel like I didn't accomplish anything. All because I didn't work on magazine today. It shouldn't carry so much weight in my life, but it does. It's almost like it's the only thing that matters.

And I think that's why I'm so reluctant to do anything for it. I'm terrified I'll fuck up. Terrified. Yes, I'm scared of messing up in creative writing as well. But it's never been like this. Never so bad that I can't think of anything at all.

I think I need to just follow Brad's latest advise tomorrow. Just write. Stop thinking and write. It'll be terrible. It'll be an abomination upon writing kind. But I'll have something. Anything. But I can't get over that wall. I've hit that damn wall. Like marathon runners. Except with less options. I have to get over this fear. Have to. I can't quit now. I don't know how I'm going to get past mine. But I really want the Juggernaut to come in and just fucking run through the wall for me. Be all like "I'M THE JUGGERNAUT BITCH" and burst the thing down.

Maybe I'll try it. Just run in screaming "I'M LAUREN BITCH!" and destroy this hold it has over me. Of course, I'll have to replace running and walls with typing and the fear a blank page inspires within me, but still. Metaphor stands. I've been writing an awful lot about not being able to write. And I'm getting tired of it. I'm tired of being terrified. I'm tired of not having anything. I'm tired of sucking so much. Maybe I will Juggernaut it. Then at least I'll have done something. Even if it's only to type recklessly and leave a huge mess behind me. I'll be the writing Juggernaut. All word count. No substance. But I'll have a cool fan made slogan.

I'm the Juggernaut Bitch.

Quote of the Day:

"Faith is taking the first step, even when you don't see the whole staircase."

- Martin Luther King Jr.

Tourney (56 of 90)

2010-04-12T01:03:00.004-04:00

And Saturday.

At least I wasn't last:

Well, a few days ago I mentioned I might participate in a tournament. I participated in the tournament. It was interesting.

I spent the past few days wondering how it'd go. And as per my usual, in my head I was entirely awesome and walked out with first place and a brand new set of admiring fans.

Of course nothing like that happened. Nothing at all like that. I finished 7th of 8. A far cry from my first place dreams. But still, I think I did pretty well. And I had fun. And I didn't spaz. That's what's important.

It was funny. I suited up and expected to have to fence someone new. Someone different and better and older. My first bout was against Bill. Haha. A bit anti climatic. Waiting for this amazing new experience, and instead getting to stab someone you spent the past few days with. He won this time around, but it was still fun. I think it was actually a nice transition. Fencing someone I know inside and out as a warm up kind of. Sure it was part of pools, but it was Bill. I didn't have to think and worry so much.

Of course, then there were the 6 other fencers. But I had already fenced out any jitters I managed to have. Which weren't many actually. I was pretty calm all day. Maybe too calm. I think it might be my way of controlling the anxiety. Withdrawing I mean. Fencing Bill kind of removed the tension, the nervousness I felt for days.

For one of my matches I was consistently on the end of the strip. It's kind of fun fencing back there, back foot on the edge of the strip. I had no choice but to attack. It's definite motivation not to fuck up. An adrenaline rush if you will. No where to go, no real options and a left handed giant (compared to me at least) with a tendency to flush staring you down. Definitely a fun experience.

In another I almost won. I mean, until I impaled myself on the end of her blade. But it was fun. Bout ended up being 4-5 in her favor, but I came really close to winning. I found out later she was B-rated. I swear I could have beaten her in a longer bout. That could be my ego talking, but I really think I could have. I suppose that shows my respect for rank, frankly I just don't give a damn.

There was this other guy who was a damn spaz on the strip. Bill pointed out that he fenced like Ray. I totally lost, but still. He was like a big Ray. Crazy large parries that I could have gotten around eventually. Eventually wasn't soon enough for the bout though, oh well.

I'd talk about my DE bout, but I really don't remember any specifics. Only that I knew I was going to loose. But I managed to hold my ground. Final score was 7-15. I managed to annoy the shit out of the guy though. I love how tiny my target area is. Enjoy your off targets you evil little girl stabbing man. Toward the end I stepped it up a bit though. Made a decent come back. I was determined not to fail to badly. After every touch the only goal was to get another one. Not to win. The goal was never to win. The goal was to make the next round count. And I think I did that. I managed to get a few good touches, and ninja/imfuckingtiny my way out of a few of his. Overall, entirely satisfying. Totally tired and not accepting of patronizing comments afterwards though. They probably didn't mean to sound so patronizing, but damn did it sound like it to my tired and clearly loosing ears.

Overall, it was a really cool experience. I'm glad I decided to go. Next time my goal is to be not last or second to last. I'll accept third to last. But I'm done with this bottom two shit. My dreams of grandeur cannot allow a repeat performance.

Quote of the Day:

"I wanna be the very best. Like no one ever was."

- Pokemon Theme Song

I wanna be a hero (55 of 90)

2010-04-12T00:52:00.004-04:00

Haha, it was only a matter of time before I was back playing catch up. Here's Friday's post.

Halloween in April. I think so:

I went to a costume party tonight. Why? Because we could have one. No, it doesn't particularly make any sense, but it didn't need to. We just wanted to play dress up.

And I love that we can do that. That we feel comfortable enough around each other to dress up in entirely ridiculous costumes and enjoy our selves. Not the traditional halloween costumes either. You know, the ones where the girls are sluts and the guys are... man sluts. The fun ones. The ones from when you were little and Halloween wasn't about getting some. We were drag queens, super heroes, ass slappers and mortal combatants. We looked ridiculous. Even more so as the night wore on. But you know what, it was fun.

That's all that matters isn't it? That everyone has a good time. It's so easy to forget that nowadays. People are always trying to fit in, trying to be someone they aren't. We constantly have to push ourselves aside to be something for someone else. We're good students because we have to be. We're responsible because we need to be. By day we're prospective architects, journalists, teachers, and anthropologists. But tonight. Tonight we were just us. Just a group of kids trying to enjoy the little moments of free time we can find.

Tonight I ran around in underpants, leggings, boots, goggles and a cape. I was the super hero equipped with chocolate axe and a tendency to do something retarded. It was freeing. Yes, I should have been doing something else. Something productive. But I don't regret it. Not one bit. I had fun. I hope everyone else did too.

Quote of the Day:

"And it's true that I love you. And it's true true, that you're the only one. And it's true, I adore you. You make me feel alive."

- Black Eyed Peas (Alive)

Ego-maniac

2010-04-09T01:51:00.003-04:00

Well hullo again. I'll be continuing this streak of updating on time, haha.

I have no idea:

So. Here's how it goes. I might fence in a tournament this weekend. I don't know if I want to. I'm a little weary of the whole situation. Why? I'm not sure. I think it's because I'm still not sure of myself fencing wise.

Which is weird.

I'm a ridiculously confident person. Like, all the time. I hardly ever have bouts of self doubt. It's just not something I really go through. I know my capabilities, I know my limits, I know what I can and can't do. I know that occasionally I can come off as big-headed and egotistical because of it. Which I don't really mind, I'd much rather be confident in myself than have low self esteem or confidence. If I don't believe in myself and my capabilities, no one will.

Leading me back to my little fencing problem. I don't know why I'm so reluctant to actually fence people. Not just goof off at practice and fence people I know. But actually fence people on a competitive level. I think a major part of it is that I'm afraid I'll be terrible. I don't want to suck it up when there's something on the line.

I suffer from dreams of grandeur. I want to be the best. In my head I'm so damn awesome that I win everything on my first try. Of course, that's never how it works out, but I'm starting to believe that it's not such a bad thing. It's the confidence thing again, If I go in thinking I'll be the fucking bee's knees I'll have a better chance at actually being those knees. You know? Everything you do is substantially a mental game.

And if you get your head straight first, that only leaves the physical. I have no idea if my physical game is up to par. None at all. It's probably not. But the only way to know is to try right? My mental game is there and there's hardly any chance of getting inside of it. But the physical aspect. The physically being able to manage the awesomeness I project in my mind, I don't know if I can do it. Maybe I should try anyway. I think I'll try anyway. I'll ask daddy tomorrow. I can't think of a better person to ask.

Only problem is... I should probably figure out right of way before hand if I do go through with this. Oh well. Since when have I let silly little things like rules and everyone being better and more experienced stop me?

Quote of the Day:

"Every man is the architect of his own fortune."

- Sallust

I'm so Starstruckk

2010-04-07T12:33:00.003-04:00

Today's post. Arriving first class priority mail. Weird.

Concept Stolen From Others:

A few days ago my friend Dayna wrote her blog about how she got interested in writing. A part of me wants to copy that idea, and in fact that part of me won out.

But you see, the thing is, I don't know how I got interested in writing. It's just not something I've ever really thought about. Why write? Why did you choose Journalism? My answer has always been "well it was either this or English. and this seemed like a pretty good way to go." I don't think past that. so why do I write, why journalism?

i know why i write. I write because i can't do anything else. I write because those damn voices in my head won't leave me alone. It's a compulsive behavior and it's entirely insane. But I write and I read because stories drive me, it's how it's always been. But you already know that. I've written about it before.

But how did I start? What started that compulsion, after all I'm at least partially sane so something must have started it right? The truth is, I don't know. I have no long tale about how my blah blah blah grade teacher showed me the magic of words and how the next years I ate up the curriculum and wrote every chance I got.

I'm not that person. I have never been that person. I hated grammar lessons, I paid attention to writing essays just enough to get by. I never particularly compared myself to others in terms of writing ability. I never took a creative writing class before college. Hell, I don't even remember most of what I did in terms of English and writing in high school.

Many of the English majors/minors here have these stories about what they read in high school and how it effected them. I don't have that. Yes, I mildly remember what I read in high school, mostly because the remnants are still sitting on my shelves. I vaguely remember being force fed information about books and not being allowed my own opinions. I"ll be damned if the green light in The Great Gatsby isn't some kind of symbolism. High school mandated symbolism. Maybe that's why I never really cared. High school never made me think. That's why I don't remember most of it. You don't actually think there, so any effect was negligible. I don't remember my English teachers as individuals, or at all for most of them.

I do remember my writing composition teacher from 8th grade. But only because she lost my paper and made me cry. Not for any special talent and effect on my life. I remember my senior year teacher. But only because I loved my senior valedictory project. I don't remember her at all. I remember my teacher junior year, but only because I had a friend in her class one semester, and someone died from her class the next. Also because I wrote a halfway decent (for the time) poem and paper in there once.

Maybe that was the breaking point. The paper and the poem I mean. It probably wasn't. I mean, it wasn't enough to make me not be a biology major. I took creative writing my first semester here at BSU though. I loved it. It was fun. Barb was fun. I've taken a class with her every year since then. The class pushed me closer to the breaking point. In any case. I still don't know what that breaking point was. The point where English took over for Biology. The thought of English has always been in the back of my mind. Well, I mean since choosing a major was a mandated part of life.

I can't really say any teachers influenced this decision. At least not any elementary, middle, and high school teachers. I never gave two shits about them. As for college, I know Barb has had an influence. I love that lady. Brad probably has too.

I can tell the difference between college professors and high school teachers. It's clearly there. I just don't know what makes me so prone to actually paying attention to the college ones. Maybe it's because we're forced to know each other better. Maybe it's because I spend more time with them. Maybe it's because they treat you like equals (stupid ones, but equals nonetheless). The sense of "I'm infinitely better than you" so you have to listen to me all the time and my opinions are better than yours isn't there. You're allowed to be friends. Maybe that's the main difference. You're allowed to get to know these people as they get to know you. It's kind of fun.

I can't even claim any writers I've drawn inspiration from. Sure I've read. I've read quite a bit. But I can't overtly say that any of them have "influenced" me. Not consciously at least. Maybe Margret Weis and Tracy Hickman. I know they've probably subtly influenced my fantasy writing style. But overall, I'm not sure.

Leading us back to square one. I have no idea how the hell I ended up here. But I'm enjoying it anyway. It's like falling asleep during a car ride. You have no idea how the hell you ended up at Disney World, but I'll be damned if the results aren't magical.

Quote of the Day:

"Only the shallow know themselves."

- Oscar Wilde

Registration (52 of 90)

2010-04-07T02:00:00.003-04:00

And again with the on time post. I'm on a roll.

To shank or not to shank:

That is the question. Well not really. The answer is always shank. It is fencing. The goal is to shank. But the real question is whether or not I want to register for tournaments.

I don't know. Part of me wants to. Because I want to try it at least once. Actually doing stuff you know. But the other part of me is all like but you suck and you'll fail and it'll be a waste. And then you'll be poor, and you should have just bought the shoes instead. But still. I think I want to try. I think I want to go and attempt to not suck so much. But then, I'd have to pay attention more. Not that I don't pay attention as is, but pay attention and attempt to apply what I'm watching.

Like tonight. I fenced Brian for a bit 'cause I had asked him to fence me. I lost of course, I wasn't entirely expecting a win, but I notice a lot of things while fencing, and while observing. I just can't figure out how the hell to take advantage of said things that I've noticed. Like timing. I get timing, it's just something that comes fairly naturally. If you give me something that I can put into a pattern, I'll figure it out fairly quickly. I understand bouncy fencers. It's not difficult for me to figure out their patterns. It is difficult for me to get inside that timing. It's annoying.

But I think I'm getting better at it. Maybe. At least, I'm getting better at getting inside Brian's timing. I think he knows it too. I just have to get better at not getting lured fully. Or lunging deeper more frequently. Or following through with my attacks. Or something. Haha. I think I'll get registered. Just to see. Who knows, maybe I'll end up being God's gift to fencing. Haha, probably not. More like God's gift to bored fencers who need an adorable distraction.

Quote of the Day:

"The reason lightning doesn't strike twice in the same place is that the same place isn't there the second time."

- Willie Tyler

Fuckup (51 of 90)

2010-04-06T01:04:00.003-04:00

On time again? Preposterous.

Procrastination:

I have a draft due for magazine in less than 12 hours. I will spend approximately half of that time sleeping. Approximately 3 additional hours will be spent in class. I don't know where the other three will go.

I have one sentence written. Well, two. Neither of which I like very much. I want to backspace them, but then I'm back at square one. And square one is a bad place to be in. I don't know what I'm writing. Which is probably why writing is so hard. Brad is entirely right (again, as always, etc etc I bow before the commander of my existence for the moment yadda yadda yadda). I can't even bring myself to bullshit. I physically can't. I cannot create utter bullshit for this class.

I want to. God knows I want to. I want to write something, anything, so that I have something to turn in. But the part of me that wants to succeed is too great. Not just make the grade, the part that actually wants to succeed. For a while now I haven't been in this for the grade. The grade doesn't matter, I could care less. But actually succeeding, that does. And for me to actually succeed. I can't be writing bullshit. I can't just put down a bunch of words that I know (and that he'll probably know) mean absolutely nothing. Which is why this is so damned difficult.

I can't write anything for real without knowing what I'm doing. And for this story, I have no flipping clue what the hell I'm doing. So much so, that I can't even come up with an introduction. At all. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. My brain is empty. But I get the feeling that that's ok. I mean, it's terrible for deadline and whatnot, but still. I don't know why, but I think it's ok. I still feel like I'm in a better place than I was when I started. Just knowing that I can't write bullshit has to be better than the bullshit writing fuckup I was before, right? Now I'm just a fuckup. No bullshit writing pretenses. That's progress. I think. I hope.

Oh who am I kidding, I'm still fucked.

Quote of the Day:

"One of the advantages of being disorderly is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries."

- A. A. Milne

Open (50 of 90)

2010-04-05T01:18:00.003-04:00

Yet another on time post. Weird.

Happy Easter:

So for the first time in my twenty and change years of existence, I wasn't with my family for the holiday. No traditional early morning church service fallowed by oodles of family time. Instead, I slept in late, watched a movie with the other floor members who weren't with their families, hung out with my boy, and hung out with friends. Instead of the traditional Easter dinner, I ate Chinese food. (which coincidentally is not agreeing with me).

Overall, I enjoyed the day. I wasn't nearly as lonely as I thought I would be. I was lonely Friday after everyone left, and even a little bit on Saturday, but today I was just fine. Maybe I'd made peace with not being with my family for the holiday. Or maybe I was just too tired and flippy outey to give a damn.

That being said, I did something I don't normally do today. I vented. I sat down and talked to people about what's been bothering me. Maybe I'm getting better at this being open thing. More likely, I just legitimately have no idea what I'm supposed to do about all this. I need someone to bounce ideas off of. I choose my best options and went with it. Of course, they turned out to have no better idea than I do (which is to say, no ideas at all) but still, it's kind of nice to know that someone knows what's bothering me. I might bounce ideas off a few more people and let time tell how I should handle the issue. I've been tempted more than once to call my dad. I might before the week is up.

Quote of the Day:

"Do what you feel in your heart to be right- for you'll be criticized anyway. You'll be damned if you do, and damned if you don't."

- Eleanor Roosevelt

It's been a long day

2010-04-04T03:27:00.003-04:00

I promised Dayna an update tonight, so here it is.

Racing Thoughts:

I'm not sure how to start this, but here goes. I think I need to come with a warning label. Not one of those slippery when wet signs or some other useless common sense drabble, but a legitimate warning label. A "Buyer Beware" if you will. I'm prone to breaking things. Or people as it were. And if I'm not breaking something, I'm probably confusing it to no end.

I'm a terrible communicator. I don't know how to say what I'm thinking or feeling. Or whatever. It takes me considerable amounts of time to find the correct words to say things. And then even longer to actually say it. I'm sorry, I can't help it. Sometimes I'll manage to just blurt whatever it is I'm thinking out, but for the most part it takes time. Try to understand, it's not as controllable as some might think. Sure, you might be all hunkey dorey with just saying things, but I have never been one of those people. I probably never will be. Even when I want to say something, anything, to make whatever I've fucked up better, it still takes me a while. I can't help it.

I'm also entirely infuriating. Yes, I am well aware of this fact. Sometimes this is intentional. Others its not. It goes back to the terrible communicator thing. Among other things as well. I'd apologize for this, but I'm not really sorry more often than not. Except for with certain people.

There's a possibility I'm terrified of commitment. This is a (very) recent development. I usually don't have any commitments to be afraid of. But I might be. I don't think I am, but there's a chance. I'm not sure what it is I'm afraid of exactly.

I have a tendency to let you think as you please. If you say you think I blah blah blah about you, I'll probably just let whatever it is go. You think what you want to think. Why? Because clearly you believe I've done something to that accord so why bother correcting it? It's a stupid philosophy I know. But also, I want you thinking. Its probably twisted. But I'd rather you ponder than to just set the record straight on most issues. God only knows why.

I am not a conversationalist. Contrary to popular belief, I'm actually not all that loud. Or vocal. I don't talk all that much. I am entirely comfortable with silence. I don't feel the need to talk to you just because you're in the same room. Or same space. Or whatever. There's nothing wrong with me if I'm being quiet. I'm not broken, I'm probably not thinking all that intensely. I'm just being me. I'm quiet and I find ways to entertain myself. It's just how I am.

I am a bag of contradictions. I know I don't make any sense. I'm sorry for that. But again, I can't help it. It's not my fault I'm a walking oxymoron. I wish I could do something to make this easier on you, but I can't. But I'm trying.

I think I'm done ranting for now. But really, I should come with a warning sign. A "this is what you're getting into". I always feel bad when I realize that inevitably I'm going to do something entirely stupid on accident and probably cause some harm. I am an uphill battle. And I don't think you know what you've signed up for. I'm not caring, I'm not nice, I'm not affectionate or girly. I'm scared shitless every time I remember just how much faith is placed in me to not fuck shit up. It's daunting really. Which is probably why I fully intend on staying up as late as possible so that I can sleep as late as possible and conveniently avoid any mishaps because I am passed out.

Me? Flighty and non-confrontational? Never.

Quote of the Day:

"The pursuit of happiness is a most ridiculous phrase; if you pursue happiness you will never find it."

- C.P. Snow

Poor Boy (48 of 90)

2010-04-03T01:42:00.003-04:00

A post on time? What? Preposterous.

Worries:

Alright internets, here's the problem. I'm female. Not that that's necessarily bad or anything. I'd much rather prefer my bits, to the dangly uncontrollable ones. The problem is the mood swings.

[Insert mood swings giving whiplash twilight reference here]

But really, I'm quite worried about these little buggers. As we all know a few days a month girls and women have inexplicable mood swings more frequently than normal. Except they're not really inexplicable by any means. They're hormone and OH MY GOD MY UTERUS IS A TREACHEROUS BASTARD COMMITTING MUTINY! induced.

Now that that bit is out of the way, let me say this. It's most unfortunate for the males in our lives when this occurs. Especially when said male has been dating you for approximately a week. I feel terrible for the poor boy, I really do. I don't normally mood swing so badly, but hell if I can fully control it. The best I can do is say "don't poke me or it'll end badly". Of course, when asked "how so?" I can't fully provide a response because really, who knows what my hormonal self will deem appropriate punishment. So of course the poking may continue. And by may, I mean did. And he has no idea how lucky he is I'm not completely insane. Or he would have lost a finger. Or three. I need a new movie. Not "How to Train Your Dragon" but "How to Train Your Boy". Rule One, do not agitate hormonal woman. Rule Two, follow rule one.

Still, I feel a bit bad since my mood was off. Oh well, I bought more motrin, so maybe I'll be a functioning member of society tomorrow.

Quote of the Day:

"One never knows what each day is to bring. The important thing is to be open and ready for it."

- Henry Moore

Fighting Dreamer (47 of 90)

2010-04-02T10:36:00.002-04:00

Post for yesterday! Only a few hours later than normal, haha.

Strangeness:

So I had a few interesting dreams last night, and I figured I might as well document them. One was really awkward because it was about people I don't converse with regularly (then again, so was the other one, so bear with me).

In the first dream, I was in my room (at home) and just you know, chilling out maxin relaxin all cool. I then heard a voice that sounded suspiciously like Max downstairs, but I continued doing my own thing. Eventually who comes in my room but David and Max. I was all like "Sup. Dude, aren't you supposed to be in Japan?" and I don't think Max ever explained how he was inexplicably back in the U.S. But anyway, I then noticed he was significantly shorter than he was before he left. So being the curious person I am, I asked him what happened. Max then proceeds to pull a flier out of his coat pocket and says that the surgery is cheaper and safer in Japan. I then hang out with Max and David in my room before waking up to Tori talking on the phone.

The next dream was also weird because it was HvZ based. And I haven't really played this year. And I don't even halfway know the people who were in my dream. But anyway, the game was kind of set up like Dead Rising. Everyone got a camera and we were to go find the three zombies that were wandering around, and try to take awesome pictures of them. So everybody rushes off to take these pictures, but I'm slow. And so is another guy (whom I can't exactly recall). We laze about taking our time getting things ready, and then decide to take a bathroom break before starting. So I waltz into the bathroom with this big 'ol camera hanging around my neck, and what should I find? A dramatic male zombie sitting in one of the stalls. So like any logical creature, I scale the tops of the stalls to go get my picture. And then Lemmy walks in. What Lemmy was doing in the girls bathroom, I'll never know, but he was there with his camera ready. So we're both standing around taking pictures of this overly dramatic zombie (who loved to pose) when slowly people start coming back our way. I don't know what happens next though, because I woke up.

But in any case, strange dreams indeed. Maybe I'm not allowed to eat chicken wings before bed? I don't know, but I'm glad I got to sleep lol. And that my dreams were so interesting.

Quote of the Day:

"Laugh and the world laughs with you, snore and you sleep alone."

- Anthony Burgess

It seems I'm head over heels a case of L-O-V-E

2010-04-01T01:49:00.003-04:00

Haha! A post on time! Let's see how long I can keep this up...

Doctor, Doctor I've got an emergency:

I'm entirely addicted to Family Force 5 at the moment. I blame Ray. But that's not really the point of this post. I've been working on news articles all day/night. It probably shouldn't have taken me so long. But as we all know, I'm easily distracted. And some not so secret part of me was probably avoiding doing things for Brad's class.

I'm still terrified of how that's going to turn out. I could fail and have to be here forever and fail and fail and bleh. Or I could magically be awesome, but I doubt that. Apparently I'm ahead of some of the kids in my class, which is cool. I'm not the bottom of the totem pole. I'm somewhere closer to... not the bottom. But still, I bet they're better with interviews and stuff.

I still can't get up the courage to just call people and ask for information. It's terrible. How many weeks has it been? I'm going to force myself to do it tomorrow after class. Force. Like, have someone dial the numbers and throw the phone at me if need be.

I've got to get over this irrational fear. But then again, I haven't gotten over a lot of irrational feelings. Like the thought that every mark on my wall could be a spider even though it's been there all semester.

This month is going to be terrible. It's officially hell month. So much to do, so very much. Brad's class on top of other projects and tests and papers. I'll be lucky if I'm still standing by the end of the semester. I think I can make it. I hope I can make it. But if I can't do it on my own, well, I think I've got a few people to lean on. To keep me sane. To slap me around and tell me to stop being a fuckup. Haha. Yeah, I can see it now. Keep me on my feet guys. I don't know how well I'll do on my own.

Quote of the Day:

"We lie the loudest when we lie to ourselves."

- Eric Hoffer

Just A Little Shut Eye (45 of 90)

2010-03-31T14:54:00.004-04:00

Here's Tuesday's post. I'm finally not so far behind, haha.

Oh Sleeping:

I have awful sleeping habits. I'm just going to admit that now. During the summers and breaks my sleep schedule doesn't particularly have a semblance of normalcy and during the school year, well it's pretty messed up too.

Today I accidentally passed out for 2.5 hours after class while attempting to do work on stuff for said class. It was all accidental I swear. But that's not out of the ordinary. I frequently pass out for a bit after Mag. But I've gotten really bad at night.

I have a tendency to stay up talking to people until I pass out. Quite literally recently. For instance, a few nights ago I passed out in front of my computer. Left it open with people still talking to me. I woke up at 5 laughed a bit and closed the monitor. Then passed back out without putting it away. Earlier tonight though, well that was a bit different.

Apparently I managed to pass out within two minutes of my last out going message. I only know this 'cause I had a response not two minutes later, that I don't ever remember seeing. I woke up long enough to flip the monitor closed again, and actually manage to put my computer away this time though. Which I guess is a plus. But still, I really need to kick this habit of passing out like that. It's getting highly inconvenient. I passed out at an inopportune moment last night, I wish I had have made it at least five more minutes. But alas, there's not much I can do about that now.

Quote of the Day:

"When you don't share your problems you resent hearing the problems of other people."

- Chuck Palahniuk

Femme Fatality (44 of 90)

2010-03-31T10:51:00.003-04:00

Here's Monday's post.

In which I bitch and complain:

I believe that one of the worst physical pains any normal female can experience is the pain of waking up to a pain in your gut. And not just any pain, but one that said female knows is uterus induces. It's just a terrible feeling all around.

Eventually the pain will subside, it always does, but the waiting is terrible, and in the beginning you're never quite sure if you'll get over the pain all by your lonesome, or if you're going to require a shit ton of drugs to help kick start and finish the journey. For some reason I feel like that could be a metaphor for something, but hell if I know what. It' s5am and my stomach hates me. I can't be expected to understand what the hell I'm thinking.

Quote of the Day:

"We forfeit three-fourths of ourselves in order to be like other people."

- Arthur Schopenhauer

Oh Sunday... (43 of 90)

2010-03-31T10:38:00.004-04:00

Alright, I know I've gotten behind again. But well, through a series of unexpected events there was a lot of shit thrown at me the past few days, so yeah. A little lateness in getting these uploaded is to be expected.

Sunday's Post:

Today I woke up and had the strangest craving for pancakes. Which would normally be a problem seeing as it was 11ish am and breakfast isn't served on campus past 10.30. But, I know a bunch of awesome people, and pancakes are always a good idea.

So approximately 2 hours later I found myself in a car with Ray, Tori, and Bill on our way to deliciousness. T'was fun, and pancake filled. From there we decided to pick up Tori's car in case we decided to do something else that day, and then go back for homework time.

Of course, me and homework are mortal enemies (with homework winning almost every fight) so I resisted doing anything. We ended up at Ray's to "do homework". Tori accomplished things. I watched Ray play Final Fantasy. I really should have done some work.

Because as I sit here, I've managed to accomplish jack shit, other than eat a vast amount of cake because my life is a piece of interesting. It's funny how quick a day can go from awesome to wtfbbqomgdamnshitfuck. My foresight on buying copious amounts of cake was amazing. I'm so awesome like that, haha.

Quote of the Day:

"Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to pick up the pieces when it's all over."

- Octavia Butler

Long Day (42 of 90)

2010-03-29T13:05:00.004-04:00

Here's Saturday's post.

Oh Lawd Was Today Long:

So after the lack of sleep that was last night, today began fairly early. And by fairly early I mean approximately 7am or so. After the shenanigans of 10 people or so trying to use 1 bathroom we made our way to McDonald's for breakfast. I won a small fry off of my hash brown.

The tourney was huge. It seemed like there were even more people than last time even though we had the full gym as opposed to just half the gym. The bouts were pretty intense, and it was a lot of fun running around snapping pictures and seeing who the competition was. We made some interesting observations. And by 'we' I clearly mean, Tori, Ray, Brittany, and myself.

We found a guy who kinda looked like Patrick Stewart, a truckload of gingers, a calvin klein model, a polo model, a barack obama vampire, among others. Hilarity ensued. But admittedly the best event of the day was watching Brian fence Hannahan.

Why? Because it's always fun to watch the underdog win. And even more so when you know said underdog and can see him getting more excited the longer the match goes on. It was entirely enthralling and you could tell how excited everyone was getting. Good match Brian, you've officially earned your bigheadedness, for now at least.

We were watching bouts from approximately 9.30 until 7.00 or so. I can't say that I ever got bored with the fencing. Congratulations stabbing sport, you've managed to hold my attention longer than just about anything else.

Overall, the trip was extremely fun and I'm glad I went. Sure, I missed a lot of sleep, and sure, I could have been doing something else. But it was a blast, and honestly, much better than last semester's trip.

Quote of the Day:

"If you can't say anything good about someone, sit right here by me."

- Alice Roosevelt Longworth

Oh well, had fun anyway (41 of 90)

2010-03-29T12:33:00.002-04:00

Alright, I was gone this weekend, but these are a bit later than I expected anyway. Life happens.

It's Friday night:

Alright, so it's 3.45am and I"m still awake. Not because I particularly feel like being awake, but because I'm on drunk duty. Our favorite saberist drank himself sick, and I'm attempting to make sure he doesn't barf himself to death. He should be fine now, but just in case I'm going to watch him for at least another 15 minutes. His breathing is regular, and he's on his side, but still. He was pretty bad earlier... Can't have the kid dying on us.

Why am I on watch? Because most people are competing tomorrow. Or were sleep before we managed to get him down. Or are unwilling. So here I am, playing pokemon, and writing my blog entry at damn near 4 in the morning. I think I'll sleep soon, he should be fine. But at the same time, I'm worried. Kid's never really been drunk before, had a lot of rum, wretched for at least an hour, and is sleeping on the kitchen floor.

Someone in this house is a freakishly loud sleeper. Honestly, I think it might be Tori. It's not snoring per-se, but more of a stuffy nose sleeper. It's quite amusing and annoying at the same time...

I'm not sure how I'll act in the morning. Or how much sleep I'll get. I'm hoping I can be civil, and mildly awake for tomorrow. I don't wanna throw a bitch fit or anything... I suppose we'll see how it works out. But damn, I'm kinda sleepy, and it's fucking cold. And there are a lot of snorers.

Quote of the Day:

"My mind tells me to give up, but my heart won't let me."

- Jennifer Tyler

Should be Interesting (40 of 90)

2010-03-26T01:06:00.003-04:00

Ha, told you it'd be here, on time for a change too!

Lets not talk about writing shall we:

So we're all supposed to be heading out to Purdue tomorrow and it's supposed to be fun. I guess. I'm not sure how this is going to play out exactly lol. We're all heading up tomorrow evening-ish in two cars (which apparently just changed from three? I don't know... I just get and pass on the text messages...) to do essentially what we did last time.

Which is fine by me on a base level, I have no issue with noms, friends, and fencing for a day and a half or so. I'm just curious, and mildly wary, of how it's going to go down. We've got a different group of people this time, and different circumstances. Ok, I'm lying. I'm mostly worried about me, haha.

Now I don't really say this out of worry for myself, per-se (which I realize is entirely different from what I said in the last sentence) but more out of worry for others. And then there's the worry for myself. Now, if you know anything about me, my general behavior, and my current situation then you'd understand the wariness (somewhat, not fully though. probably). I'd take the time to explain it here, but I'm not entirely comfortable with just throwing all of that out here on the internet. Hell, I don't even tell the people I'm closest to what I'm doing half the time.

But needless to say, if any shenanigans should occur, I will tell the internets about them.

Quote of the Day:

"They can do it all because they think they can."

- Virgil

Realization (39 of 90)

2010-03-26T00:47:00.003-04:00

Ok, here's yesterdays post. And yes, I will in fact put up tonights as well.

In which I complain about writing some more:

Articles are hard to write. Like, really hard. I don't think I ever realized that until I actually sat down and tried to think of what to write. It's entirely different than news stories.

In news, I can bullshit my way through. At least so far. They give you the information, you write about it. Inverted pyramid. It hasn't been very challenging yet. But for magazine, it's really proving to be an entirely different beast.

Which is probably why I'm staring at a blank word document wondering what the hell I'm doing.

I know what I want to write, sort of. But none of it is right. Nothing. What I do manage to write sounds like shit, looks like shit, and probably legitimately is shit. And surprisingly, I think I'm ok with this. I think that's the point of all this. I don't know shit about anything, so it seems like writing shit right now should be ok. It's a learning experience. Now I know that I don't know shit about what I want to do, so I should learn what the fuck I'm doing before I attempt to do it for real, you know?

I just wrote that paragraph, and I feel like I'm just restating everything that's been said in class. Because I am. But even if you think you understand what's going on, and believe that you believe what's being said, there's still a difference between that and actually knowing. I now know what I don't know. I know that I don't know anything. And well, that's half the point of this class, isn't it?

Quote of the Day:

"Reality is the leading cause of stress amongst those in touch with it."

- Jane Wagner

Transform (38 of 90)

2010-03-24T10:06:00.003-04:00

Yesterday's post. Man, I really should remember to post before bed more often...

Ha, well then:

I'm supposed to be writing again. Not that that's really any news. I'm always supposed to be writing. Which is probably why this blog has evolved into me ranting and raving about writing, the writing process, and anything else involved that I haven't mentioned.

I'm kind of happy that this is turning into a writing based blog. By all means, it's still somewhat random, but it's evolving into a blog about my journey. Which is, I suppose a good thing. Because maybe one day I'll be able to look back on my daily (which by the way, is a word I cannot spell correctly, I automatically insert an E before I think about what I'm doing) struggles with writing and think, "oh lookit little me. I had such a hard time!" Or hell, maybe I'll look back and go"... yup. nothing's changed."

It's an interesting prospect. Dialoguing my struggles with, love for, and hatred of writing. And hell, I'm still an undergrad. I don't even know shit yet. What happens when I actually know what the hell I'm doing, or supposed to be doing? Will it get easier? Or will it get worse? What happens if I get a job where I'm supposed to do this shit? What then? I have no bloody idea. But in the mean time, I'll keep cranking out assignments and blogs about assignments, and maybe a few random lines here and there.

I haven't done anything yet, but maybe one day I will. And in the mean time, I'll do what I can.

Quote of the Day:

"My heart's beginning to, slightly over rule my head."

- Natasha Bedingfield

School Woes (37 of 90)

2010-03-23T10:25:00.004-04:00

Here's yesterday's post. I got distracted and never actually put this up.

Oh Lawd:

So today (for the second day in a row) I have attempted to do my critiques for English. Normally, I wouldn't be so slow about this, but well. This weekend/today, I have been. One of the papers is 14 pages long. Not so long in the long run (ha, pun) but piled on top of everything else, I'm just being lazy about it.

I've finished the other two critiques, but I'm really dragging on this last one. It's 14 pages. Of some fiction story that sounds like it's part of a larger work. I say that because there are references to shit I know nothing about. Clearly I'll have enough to manage a one page critique, but man am I being lazy.

Which brings me to the main idea... this laziness is going to kill me, haha. Why? Because I have nothing but stories and projects to do from here on out. So I really need to get the ball rolling. I'll be contacting people for the rest of the week for interviews and things, which brings me to another point.

I'm terrified of phones. Haha, I'm going to be a horrible reporter if I can't shake this stupid 'fear'. I just have an aversion to calling up random people and asking for things. Which, as anyone can guess, it's going to be a problem for my intended career path. I suppose I'll just have to practice? Call up random people and ask for shit more often? I don't know. Maybe I'll start with Chinese food places.

Quote of the Day:

"Literature is an occupation in which you have to keep proving your talent to people who have none."

- Jules Renard

You're my new obsession... (36 of 90)

2010-03-22T01:57:00.003-04:00

I should be sleeping, but I thought I'd manage tonight's post before I did so :)

It's been an interesting day:

I've had a multitude of interesting conversations today. Some of which were informative, others nerve wracking, others still quite amusing. I've been quite lax today, I didn't accomplish nearly as much as I intended to, but that's the way the cookie crumbles, eh?

But it's interesting, the art of conversation that is. With different people, we talk in different ways, things don't ever come out the same. The type of conversation changes our words as well, be it formal, or casual. I have this lovely habit of becoming the most infuriating, irritating, annoying person on the planet when some subjects come up. Why? Partially for reasons displayed in earlier posts, partially 'cause I'm a sadistic little bastard.

But in any case, back to the main point. Words, the choice of particular words, it's fascinating. It's part of the reason I'm not a creative writing minor (even though I've taken most of the fiction writing courses already). I want to know why we say and write the things we do. That's why I went with general English, I could take a few linguistics courses. I think they've helped me pay more attention to the way we actually put together our sentences.

Not just the syntax mind you, but the way we typically form sentences, the way that people speak. It's amazing the different ways we address different people in different situations. The way my own tone of voice (yes, even over the internets) can switch depending on mood or conversation.

It's funny. How my obsession with words grows. I don't think I ever could have imagined being this invested in the form and functions of a language before. Maybe that's why I never could get into learning other languages, I'm in love with this one.

Quote of the Day:

"Language is the means of getting an idea from my brain into yours without surgery."

- Mark Amidon

Sounds Like A Personal Problem To Me (35 of 90)

2010-03-21T12:39:00.003-04:00

Here's Saturday's post. Apologies for the lateness, that social life thing snuck up on me.

Continued thoughts:

So yesterday I talked about friends, and it was a little angrier sounding than I intended. But I do suppose I'm a bit more bitter about all of this than I intend to be. It's just that shit like this has happened to me far to often for my liking. And by 'shit like this' I mean that transition where people you know become people you knew.

It's terrible. Sure it happens to everyone at some point in time, but across the span of my admittedly short life, it's happened far to often for my liking. So you'll have to understand that every time it happens, I have a tendency to be a little resigned and bitter about it. It's turned into an expected outcome for many of my friendships now, that they end that is. I've come to accept that people come and go, which is probably a good lesson.

But a friend of mine told me once that that's kind of a shitty outlook. I believe him. It's a terrible outlook on people, and I'm working at trying to fix that. So I apologize if I appear blunt, unapproachable, or unwilling to fully open up, or anything like that at first (and 'at first' can stretch on for a long time in my world). It's probably not that I don't like you, it's more like if you don't survive my trial period I'm entirely reluctant to let you in too far.

You can only get stabbed in the nipple so many times before you wise up and start wearing that chest plate, you know?

Haha, angrier sounding than I expected (34 of 90)

2010-03-21T12:10:00.004-04:00

Social lives are fun. Honestly, I've never really had one. I'm too lazy. And too bad with people. But, for now at least, I have some how managed to obtain one. It's an interesting prospect. Having people to do something with. Weird. Haha.

In any case, back to the friends thing. (Yeah, I know I really need some new material) Friends are quite nice. I figure I've lost a few this year, which is nothing new honestly, but I've made up for the losses exponentially for once. It's kind of cool. Sure, every few days I wonder what's going on with the ones I don't talk to much anymore, but overall, I'm quite satisfied with my life as is.

Yes, it'd be nice to talk to them some more, and hypothetically I could take the initiative to do so. But, I'm not sure if I can do that. I mean, by all means, I could but it all comes back to my normal problem. I hardly ever want to be the one to make the first move. Because if you don't want me around, I won't be. End of story. It takes two, you know? And if you weren't willing to put forth the effort in the first place, why should I make up that slack now? Yeah, it's probably a little extreme, but unfortunately for everyone I know now I've spent far too much of my time in the past desperately trying to hold on to people who just didn't give a shit. Maybe one day I'll be able to deal better, but for now, effort has to come from both sides and you're probably going to have to initiate. Sorry loves, but I'm not up for that bull shit again.

I Wanna Be The Very Best (33 of 90)

2010-03-19T01:59:00.002-04:00

And here's tonight's thoughts.

Like no one ever was:

My copy of Pokemon HeartGold came in the mail Wednesday. Joy all around. I'm loving it. I've named my little boy Tony (because I'm obsessed with Iron Man at the moment. And because the girl sprite was hideous) I'm pretty sure his signature pokemon is going to be a Sentret. Why? Because they're awesome, hush fool.

I think it's awesome how many people I know that play pokemon. I really do. It's always more fun to have someone to play with, and it's highly amusing seeing us all running around with PokeWalkers. Like, legit.

Today's post is going to be happy and short. I don't have much to say. Other than friends are awesome things. It's a lovely thing to have people around that you actually like and enjoy spending time with. I say this because I'm inclined to not take this stuff for granted any more. Life is good. Even if I have no idea how to make it through Magazine yet.

Life. Is. Good.

Quote of the Day:

"Livin lovin, Lovin livin, it's all good. Lovin livin it's all good."

-Will Smith

Madness

2010-03-19T01:35:00.002-04:00

I wrote this yesterday, just didn't have the energy to post... it was a long night.

Does That Make Me Crazy:

I am quite positive that all writers must be partially insane. Not only because of the crazy voices in their heads, but for ever choosing this profession. Why the hell do we willingly do this to ourselves? Willingly submit to the madness and give our bodies over to forces that are not our own. I don't control me, the stories compel me. It's why I'm sitting here in the dark at 5am typing this rather than sleeping. It's why I agonized over every word I wrote for class tonight. It's why I get so excited everything writing happens. Every time something falls together in a decent way. I hate it. I hate it. I hate writing. I that what it's done to me. I love writing. I live writing. I love what it's made of me.

Am I going to be stuck in this love hate relationship for the rest of my life? I feel I will. I don't think I have any other choice. The words, they've captured me. I'm a hostage in my own mind. How weird is that? Captured and compelled by the very essence of myself. What I'd give to be normal again. To not stay awake in the night dreaming of writing and writing of dreaming. It'd be grand if I knew how to do anything else. I think I know what Brad meant now. Get out if you can, if you can do anything else, do it. Once it grabs you, there's no letting go.

Maybe I'll tell my dad I'm going to grad school. Not law school, grad school. If I don't write, I'll probably go mad. More so I mean. If that's even possible.

Quote of the Day:

"How could you be so Dr. Evil?"

- Kanye West (Heartless)

Writers Block..Again (31 of 90)

2010-03-17T01:14:00.002-04:00

Sorry I've been missing. Don't know what I've been doing exactly...

Ravings:

I'm supposed to be writing a story, but I have no idea what to write. I can't think of anything at all. I think that's always the hardest part of writing... figuring out what the hell to write. I haven't even blogged the past two days. I think part of it is that I've been kinda busy, but the other part is that I haven't had anything to say. It's really bad. I wanted to keep writing for the 90 in 90. So now it's more like 90 in 92. Suck. Oh well, I'll still keep going with it though, I want to keep it up. Besides, I did write those days, just not blog stuff. I wrote class stuff, so that has to count for something, right? I think it should. I hope it does. I hope it does...

I've heard free writing is supposed to help you get the creative juices flowing, but right now it's not working. Well, at least not yet. It is only about 2 or 3 minutes of random thoughts. I haven't even thought of anything that could be a story yet. Maybe I'll write what I thought about on the plane.

There was the story about the battles held in the clouds. I dunno, I just saw these vast armies in opposing cloud banks. I've also been on the other side of the clouds, and from that end it looks more like geography; mountains and ridges and things of that nature. Either way, the sky is gorgeous, I love it. It's so blue. So vast. It almost seems endless. That blue, blue sky. But that's not really a story is it? How pretty the sky is. There's no conflict. No one to talk about.

Quote of the Day:

"Writing is an exploration. You start from nothing and learn as you go."

- E.L. Doctorow

Where Are We Runnin? (30 of 90)

2010-03-13T22:17:00.003-05:00

And finally today's post!

Cohesive Thought?:

It's all related. I swear. At least, it is in my head.

I always thought airports were interesting places. A mingling of cultures, the hustle and bustle of people trying desperately to make their flight. Pay phone booths are abandoned as thousands of people march diligently by, cell phones glued to their ears. There's so many people filing by, off to god knows where. Travelers, vacationers, business minded folks, soldiers, pilots. So many different people. Sometimes, I try to guess where they're going. Many times you can tell by their manner of dress. Business or casual. Age group helps too, Spring Breakers, family trips. So many people.

Airports are even more fascinating not that I'm a 'writer'. Or rather, now that I pay more attention. So many people, so many stories. There's an old man and his wife in front of me. Part of me wonders what their story is. Where they're going, where they've been. Is this a transfer or a direct flight? Most of me doesn't care. I've already made a story in my head.

They're off to visit family. The old man is protective of his wife. They've just celebrated their 51st anniversary. They've loved each other 57 years. They have a son and a daughter living in Indy. Three grand kids: 2 boys and a baby girl. They're off to see her, she'll be three next week.

I realize I've done this for everyone I see. I give them a story, a personality. With just a glance. I imagine I know something about them. From the hair cuts and walk I can tell the military men apart. The chin angle and posture tells career women from house mom. So many little details to take in. I wonder if anyone else is doing the same. What do I look like? Does my slouch and notebook mark me as a student? Do I look old enough to be one? I'm not sure. I have no way of knowing. But I'm curious. What story have they given me?

Quote of the Day:

"I was going to have cosmetic surgery until I noticed that the doctor's office was full of portraits by Picasso."

- Rita Rudner

Awakening (29 of 90)

2010-03-13T22:00:00.002-05:00

Moar posting.

Thursdays Thoughts:

Tonight I watched Spring Awakening. I liked it. Not loved it or anything like that, but I did enjoy it. Especially the punk-ish song moments. That probably has something to do with the school boy uniforms and punk rock concert-ey bits. Either way, I really enjoyed those bits. Oh guy who played Morris, you're awesome. Back to the point: I enjoyed it. My family, not nearly as much. Haha.

Didn't I feel young giggling and grinning at some of the more ridiculous sexual moments. Masturbating on stage? Highly amusing. Why? Probably because I'm immature. Who knows. But I could tell my family was not nearly as amused. Why? Because they're all 40+ probably. Turns out half of them didn't even understand what was going on. Disappointing really, play had a good moral (of which they had no idea).

Side note: I enjoyed the lovely "SEX MAKES BABIES?!?!?" moment. Yeah yeah, I know. It's a serious moment, and key to understanding the play, but really, I can't be the only one seeing "SEX MAKES BABIES?!?!?!?" all over that girls face. Hilarity and disappointment in the system all at once. You know it's a good play when it manages that.

But outside of the play, there was the fog. Outside I mean. It hovered in the sky, coating the tops of Atlanta's skyscrapers. It was beautiful. I don't know why, but I almost enjoyed looking at the foggy skyline more than the play. Hell, I might have truly enjoyed it more. Something about it just connected with me. I can't remember if I've ever seen anything like that. If I have, it must have been before I could appreciate stuff like that. But appreciate I did, and I'm still enjoying the thought of it.

Quote of the Day:

"Writing is the only profession where no one considers you ridiculous if you earn no money."

- Jules Renard

Who Knows (28 of 90)

2010-03-13T21:49:00.002-05:00

It's been three days... sorry loves. I was out of internets. I did write every day though, so I'll post my blog-ish things now. Apologies on the lateness.

Wednesdays Thoughts:

I went to bible study today and it got me thinking. We read from Romans 14, and as we were going through it my initial reaction was "God says calm the fuck down and let people do what they want."

Of course, the class went through this bringing people to Christ bit, but I hold firm in my beliefs. I don't think that's what it said at all. I don't believe it's my job to tell people if their religion is right or wrong. I don't believe it's my place to say that mine is superior, nor is it my job to actively tell people to abandon their faith for mine. I believe there is truth in all religions. That if you have faith, and believe in something (something being somewhat widely defined in my book) and you're a good person then you'll be cool. I think that's all it really comes down to. Are you a good person? Are you trying to be? That's all that should matter.

Who knows if it is though.

Quote of the Day:

"I told my psychiatrist that everyone hates me. He said I was being ridiculous- everyone hasn't met me yet."

- Rodney Dangerfield

Randomness (27 of 90)

2010-03-10T00:58:00.002-05:00

Here's today's post before I forget again

Random Thoughts:

That's really what today's post is. Random thoughts I've had throughout the day. Here goes nothing.

I always feel so young riding in the backseat of cars. I have this tendency to lean over and peer out the window with my chin resting on the ledge before the window, hands on either side of my face. Sometimes I twitch around like a bored kid, or more often than not I get sleepy and prone to nap taking. I know I don't look my age, and my behavior, demeanor, and hobbies probably don't help much either. But riding in the backseat of cars, I really do feel like a kid. Especially now. I'm staring at the back of my grandparents heads and looking out the window like a lost puppy. I wonder how I look to other cars on the road.

I wish I had a greater appreciation for the old things. We went to Madison, GA to look at some old timey civil war era houses and such today. Yeah, I appreciated it. It was kinda cool to look at, but at the same time... I don't know. I just can't invest that much interest in it. I've tried. But my heads in the clouds and my minds set on the future.

Quote of the Day:

"Use your brain. How far does it look?"

"I don't know, my brain does GPS not maps."

- Grandpa and Me

Never A Straight Answer (26 of 90)

2010-03-09T10:50:00.003-05:00

Yeah, totally missed last nights post. I'm not entirely sure why, considering I had the full opportunity to post. Sorry guys, mostly sorry to myself though. I want to write everyday, but forgetting is all to easy.

Interesting Concept:

Last night I was doing silly little facebook surveys instead of 'legit' writing. One of the questions was are you 100% single. Now, I found this question interesting, because most times people assume that it's gotta be one of the other. You're either single or taken. There's no 'real' in between. Of course, some people realize that at times there's no clear definition, you can be single in increments.

For example, sure little Suzy is technically single, but she's talking to this guy, Chuckie, and there's potential there. So when Phil comes around, she's not fully available, you know? Now of course, that's not the only way someone can be 'partially' single, but you understand the concept.

Now, when I answered my question, I answered with a simple 80% (and a teasing that I wouldn't explain the reasoning) Why 80%? It's an entirely arbitrary number. It has no real meaning other than giving off the impression that I don't consider myself to be 'fully' single. There are probably varying degrees of truth to that impression, but I don't feel the need to clarify that statement any more than it already has been.

Now, the real point of the matter. Generally speaking, when I post my facebook surveys someone finds some answer interesting and proceeds to inquire further about it. I think I've picked the question of interest this time around, and I'm wondering who'll rise to the challenge and call me out on in. It'll be an interesting conversation to say the least.

Quote of the Day:

"Part of being a hero is knowing when you don't need to be one any more."

- Alan Moore (Watchmen)