Alright, I admit, I'm really shit at maths and physics. But those aren't important!
•I can text with my tongue. And my elbows, toes, nose, lips and, of course, fingers.
•I can touch my nose with my tongue, and I can lick my entire chin.
•I can stick my finger like halfway down my throat.
I shouldn't have put those one after the other.
•I can control which eye I'm looking out of without closing the other.
•I'm double jointed in my shoulders. I can do this one thing... quite a party trick.
•I can do the tree pose like a motherfucking beast.
A person as skilled as me doesn't need math. I should just drop out of school. I'll still go far.
You just watch.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
ABORT ABORT!
I'm not talking about aborting a mission or anything, I'm just trying to be inconspicuous. I doubt it worked, if you really know me.
Or if you think I'm a heathen.
But yeah, I kind of hate it when I see bumper stickers on people's cars that are like "Choose life! Your mom did!" Yeah? Well who really wants to be like their Mothers? Hmmm? Not me! Fuck that! If you're going to say that, that makes me go "I'm going to abort every child I get impregnated with, because I don't want to be like my Mother. Up yours."
It doesn't work. At a glance, it does, but if you think about it, it doesn't. Or the ones with the supposedly "cute" babies on them that have something to do with being pro-life? I hate babies, so that is going to have the opposite effect that it's supposed to have on me. My brain will be going into kill mode. Next baby I see? Dead.
Seriously, don't put bumper stickers on your car with your beliefs on them. Unless it's funny or neutral, or something about where your kid goes to school, then don't put it on your car. It's a good thing I can't drive, because I know I would have road rage. And it would be so much worse when I see your stupid pro-life stickers. You know what I'm going to do? Ram your fucking car. Put that shit on a sign in your garden. I'm not going to burn your house down, but I will ram your car. The "Coexist" ones are ok. The ones that are funny aren't just ok, they're bueno. But the political beliefs ones? It's a bad idea. You could get your car keyed, or rammed, or blown up. My sister's roommate is worried that her car is going to get keyed because she has a pro-choice bumper sticker on her car. I like her for this reason. Good choice in bumper stickers. Unfortunately, she's a feminist, and frankly, I believe in making the delicious bacon and turkey sandwiches for your husbands/boyfriends. I generally don't get along with feminists.
But she's cool.
It's seriously dangerous to do that, because not everyone is going to believe the same things you do. Like don't put political things on your car. And don't put religious things on your car. I'm infuriated by stupidity, so don't do that. It's stupid to advertise it so publicly.
Your car will get blown up.
The only antidote? A carstache.
Or if you think I'm a heathen.
But yeah, I kind of hate it when I see bumper stickers on people's cars that are like "Choose life! Your mom did!" Yeah? Well who really wants to be like their Mothers? Hmmm? Not me! Fuck that! If you're going to say that, that makes me go "I'm going to abort every child I get impregnated with, because I don't want to be like my Mother. Up yours."
It doesn't work. At a glance, it does, but if you think about it, it doesn't. Or the ones with the supposedly "cute" babies on them that have something to do with being pro-life? I hate babies, so that is going to have the opposite effect that it's supposed to have on me. My brain will be going into kill mode. Next baby I see? Dead.
Seriously, don't put bumper stickers on your car with your beliefs on them. Unless it's funny or neutral, or something about where your kid goes to school, then don't put it on your car. It's a good thing I can't drive, because I know I would have road rage. And it would be so much worse when I see your stupid pro-life stickers. You know what I'm going to do? Ram your fucking car. Put that shit on a sign in your garden. I'm not going to burn your house down, but I will ram your car. The "Coexist" ones are ok. The ones that are funny aren't just ok, they're bueno. But the political beliefs ones? It's a bad idea. You could get your car keyed, or rammed, or blown up. My sister's roommate is worried that her car is going to get keyed because she has a pro-choice bumper sticker on her car. I like her for this reason. Good choice in bumper stickers. Unfortunately, she's a feminist, and frankly, I believe in making the delicious bacon and turkey sandwiches for your husbands/boyfriends. I generally don't get along with feminists.
But she's cool.
It's seriously dangerous to do that, because not everyone is going to believe the same things you do. Like don't put political things on your car. And don't put religious things on your car. I'm infuriated by stupidity, so don't do that. It's stupid to advertise it so publicly.
Your car will get blown up.
The only antidote? A carstache.
 |
| Now your car is safe. |
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Names
I just thought of this because there was a little ad on the side thingy of facebook saying "Where are the jobs, Mr. Boehner?" or something like that. I just saw the name and thought is that pronounced the way I think it's pronounced? And then I actually googled it. Unfortunately, it is not, in fact pronounced 'boner', but 'bayner'.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FcaSe9O-y04
I think he's lying to himself.
I used to really hate my name. 'Callan'. It's so weird. I know three other Callans, and I'm related to two of them. The other one I just randomly met one time in Wyoming and I never saw him again. It was cool though. The two I'm related to are my cousins, Man Callan, and Boy Callan. I am Girl Callan.
I have a dude name.
I really wanted my name to be Beatrix, and I still really like that name, and if I ever have a child - and don't kill it, of course - that is what I would name her. I don't want a boy. Boys aren't fun to dress up. I really just want a doll.. I wanted to adopt for a long time, and before that, I wanted like six of my own children, called Rosemary, Thyme, Oregano, Basil, Ginger, and Paprika. Then I changed my mind because I realised that though those are pretty names, they're fucking weird. Paprika? Oregano? Thyme?
Then I decided on Beatrix, Elizabeth, Victoria and Temperance. Temperance is my favourite name. Then Beatrix.
But then I decided I hated children. So.
For a while, I wanted to be called by my middle name, Marion, and I actually insisted my friend call my Marion for a while. The French way, FYI. It was weird, so we stopped.
My sister calls me Waldo. That I like. Good name. Or small troll. I don't like that as much, but I laugh anyway.
I'm good humoured about insults. I have some friends that are really sensitive and hot headed that blow up at the slightest provocation, and steam about it for days. I'm just like "eh" and I move on.
Unless they're really bitchy. Like that dick... ummm... Bob. Yes. Bob. That will do. I fucking hate Bob. What a dick.
I got a comment on my youtube page though the other day that still pisses me off a little bit. Some guy noticed I put a comment on the new Michael Jackson single with Akon saying "629 PEOPLE CAN SUCK MY PENIS. THIS IS AMAZING". You know.. because 629 people disliked it. So he went on my page and said "No wonder u like MJ so fuckin much you look like him when he was young you big nose bitch". *ahem*
So I went on his page and noticed that all his favourite videos were of sexy girls dancing. I used this to my advantage. "i see all your favourites are of women you will never have sex with. even though i like my nose, i can get rhinoplasty. you can't fix creepy! :)". Or something. I just went on his page to check the accuracy. He deleted my comment.
Pussy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FcaSe9O-y04
I think he's lying to himself.
I used to really hate my name. 'Callan'. It's so weird. I know three other Callans, and I'm related to two of them. The other one I just randomly met one time in Wyoming and I never saw him again. It was cool though. The two I'm related to are my cousins, Man Callan, and Boy Callan. I am Girl Callan.
I have a dude name.
I really wanted my name to be Beatrix, and I still really like that name, and if I ever have a child - and don't kill it, of course - that is what I would name her. I don't want a boy. Boys aren't fun to dress up. I really just want a doll.. I wanted to adopt for a long time, and before that, I wanted like six of my own children, called Rosemary, Thyme, Oregano, Basil, Ginger, and Paprika. Then I changed my mind because I realised that though those are pretty names, they're fucking weird. Paprika? Oregano? Thyme?
Then I decided on Beatrix, Elizabeth, Victoria and Temperance. Temperance is my favourite name. Then Beatrix.
But then I decided I hated children. So.
For a while, I wanted to be called by my middle name, Marion, and I actually insisted my friend call my Marion for a while. The French way, FYI. It was weird, so we stopped.
My sister calls me Waldo. That I like. Good name. Or small troll. I don't like that as much, but I laugh anyway.
I'm good humoured about insults. I have some friends that are really sensitive and hot headed that blow up at the slightest provocation, and steam about it for days. I'm just like "eh" and I move on.
Unless they're really bitchy. Like that dick... ummm... Bob. Yes. Bob. That will do. I fucking hate Bob. What a dick.
I got a comment on my youtube page though the other day that still pisses me off a little bit. Some guy noticed I put a comment on the new Michael Jackson single with Akon saying "629 PEOPLE CAN SUCK MY PENIS. THIS IS AMAZING". You know.. because 629 people disliked it. So he went on my page and said "No wonder u like MJ so fuckin much you look like him when he was young you big nose bitch". *ahem*
So I went on his page and noticed that all his favourite videos were of sexy girls dancing. I used this to my advantage. "i see all your favourites are of women you will never have sex with. even though i like my nose, i can get rhinoplasty. you can't fix creepy! :)". Or something. I just went on his page to check the accuracy. He deleted my comment.
Pussy.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Dreams
First off, I would like to mention something that irritates me. Freshman year, I had to create a blog for my English class. We didn't use it, but I named it CrazyDavesDominatrix, because I was a weird Freshman. And now, every time I get on this site, it decides to log me on as that instead of CallanFailFrequentlally, and it's annoying.
Anyway, back to the subject of the blog: dreams.
My sleep in general is weird. Like when I have a sleep-over, I'm usually told the next morning that I did bizarre things in my sleep, like have sex with them.
I'm kidding of course. That only happened once.
But last week-end, I slept over at my friend Megan's house, and the next morning she told me that at about 3 in the morning, I just sat up and said "What is that? What. What. What. What." for about a minute, and then just lay down and was asleep.
And I have sleep-walked before. I got up, knocked on Mother's bedroom door, when back in my room, into my bathroom, locked the door, and did nothing. I had woken Mother up, and eventually I came out, and she put me back in bed.
But then, there are my dreams. They're really weird. Like the one where I had to take 20 strawberries from a black girl with a basket full of raspberries.
ON A SEPARATE NOTE: I was reminded of this when I typed raspberries, and there were little red dots under it because I forgot the 'p'. Am I the only one that has spelled it rasberries for ever, and then was completely weirded out by the presence of this ghostly 'p'?
Back to dreams. Last night, I got up at 6, because I had a dream that there were a bunch of people from different schools (therefore different schedules) living in my house, and they used my bathroom to get ready. I decided in my semi-consciousness that I might as well get up, because I wasn't going to be able to sleep through the sound of like 20 girls getting ready in my bathroom.
Even though I require a 113 decibel alarm clock to wake me up... My semi-consciousness is kind of an idiot.
I used to have night terrors, like the kind that would make me sit up and scream in the middle of the night. But those went away, and then they kind of came back for a while, and then they went away. I don't like scary dreams...
I also had really bizarre dreams as a child, like the kind that I could feel. The falling one is very common, but I also had this one where I was really really tiny in this room with a circle of gigantic monks around me, and the ropes holding their robes up were hanging on the ground, and I, being miniscule, tried to climb them, and then was traumatised by the echo-ing booms of their voices, so whenever I hear that kind of sound, even though that dream was like 12 years ago, I get scared.
This probably isn't very interesting to you, but I like my dreams... When they're amusing.
I will now tell you an amusing one.
So I'm in the mall with Mother, and we go in to what looks like Banana Republic, and I'm shopping for some jeans.
I go to the jeans table, and this assistant lady comes and asks if I need any help, and since she's very irritating and persistant, I just grab 3 and run to the changing rooms. I realise I accidentally grabbed 3 bell bottoms, though I wanted skinny jeans, but in an effort not to face the irritating sales assistant again, I just go in.
But the changing rooms are like a lounge of sorts, because there are plushy chairs in the rooms, and in the one I selected, there's a young guy talking to an old guy. .. It's awkward, so I leave.
Then I'm looking for my purse, and there's an old guy having a heart attack in the chair I left it in, but then he's ok, and he gets up, but the purse.. it's gone! I ask the assistant if she's seen it and she says "Yes thank you".
If you enjoy my dreams, I can tell you more, but if you find them boring, tell me, and I'll stop haha
 |
| My dominatrix days are over. |
Anyway, back to the subject of the blog: dreams.
My sleep in general is weird. Like when I have a sleep-over, I'm usually told the next morning that I did bizarre things in my sleep, like have sex with them.
I'm kidding of course. That only happened once.
But last week-end, I slept over at my friend Megan's house, and the next morning she told me that at about 3 in the morning, I just sat up and said "What is that? What. What. What. What." for about a minute, and then just lay down and was asleep.
And I have sleep-walked before. I got up, knocked on Mother's bedroom door, when back in my room, into my bathroom, locked the door, and did nothing. I had woken Mother up, and eventually I came out, and she put me back in bed.
But then, there are my dreams. They're really weird. Like the one where I had to take 20 strawberries from a black girl with a basket full of raspberries.
ON A SEPARATE NOTE: I was reminded of this when I typed raspberries, and there were little red dots under it because I forgot the 'p'. Am I the only one that has spelled it rasberries for ever, and then was completely weirded out by the presence of this ghostly 'p'?
Back to dreams. Last night, I got up at 6, because I had a dream that there were a bunch of people from different schools (therefore different schedules) living in my house, and they used my bathroom to get ready. I decided in my semi-consciousness that I might as well get up, because I wasn't going to be able to sleep through the sound of like 20 girls getting ready in my bathroom.
Even though I require a 113 decibel alarm clock to wake me up... My semi-consciousness is kind of an idiot.
I used to have night terrors, like the kind that would make me sit up and scream in the middle of the night. But those went away, and then they kind of came back for a while, and then they went away. I don't like scary dreams...
I also had really bizarre dreams as a child, like the kind that I could feel. The falling one is very common, but I also had this one where I was really really tiny in this room with a circle of gigantic monks around me, and the ropes holding their robes up were hanging on the ground, and I, being miniscule, tried to climb them, and then was traumatised by the echo-ing booms of their voices, so whenever I hear that kind of sound, even though that dream was like 12 years ago, I get scared.
This probably isn't very interesting to you, but I like my dreams... When they're amusing.
I will now tell you an amusing one.
So I'm in the mall with Mother, and we go in to what looks like Banana Republic, and I'm shopping for some jeans.
I go to the jeans table, and this assistant lady comes and asks if I need any help, and since she's very irritating and persistant, I just grab 3 and run to the changing rooms. I realise I accidentally grabbed 3 bell bottoms, though I wanted skinny jeans, but in an effort not to face the irritating sales assistant again, I just go in.
But the changing rooms are like a lounge of sorts, because there are plushy chairs in the rooms, and in the one I selected, there's a young guy talking to an old guy. .. It's awkward, so I leave.
Then I'm looking for my purse, and there's an old guy having a heart attack in the chair I left it in, but then he's ok, and he gets up, but the purse.. it's gone! I ask the assistant if she's seen it and she says "Yes thank you".
If you enjoy my dreams, I can tell you more, but if you find them boring, tell me, and I'll stop haha
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Not sure what to talk about, so I'll ramble
So, it's been a while, and I feel like I'm neglecting you five. But I don't really have anything in particular to blog about.
OH. Ok, so in music, at the end of the quarter I had a big test, but I was busy vomiting, so I missed it, and then he counted it as a zero on the test, because I couldn't make it up in time. Because I was vomiting. So I get my report card, and I freak out because there is a big fat D where there should be a B. Now I've made up the test, and I have a B again. But it really pissed me off! Dick move, Dr. W!
MMK ALSO Homecoming was last week-end, and I got asked by a-certain-person-that-I-don't-like-in-that-way and I grimaced and shook my head because I fucking hate dancing, and I would have been a terrible date, because I would have just glared at him the whole time for taking me to such a piece of shit, and also it would have been awkward. I was kind of flattered, because I get asked out rather infrequently, so yeah, but then even that got taken away from me because he asked someone else and she rejected him, so she recommended that he ask me because she thought I liked him. Wat. No. Fuck that. I'm not a second choice. I'm fucking awesome. And I felt all bad about rejecting him, and explained later that I really hate dances and stuff, but NO. I SHOULDN'T FEEL BAD. Dick.
Still, he's pretty nice.
I like someone else anyway :3
Sorry that came off as bitchy, but I'm kind of pissed off about it!
But then, we had a cross country meet the day of the dance, and I was all "Oh I'm not going. Fuck that shit." but then my dad has to do something and Mother has a cello lesson, so they can't pick me up, leaving me with no other option, but to go to homecoming with a team-mate. So I went and it was lame, so I went home after an hour and a half, and I hope I didn't make anyone feel bad, I just wanted to go home and be antisocial.
Anyway. Last week wasn't great.
I hope he doesn't read this. Shit.
Whatever. FEEL BAD ASSHOLE. (bitch Callan)
I'm just kidding. (good Callan)
NO I'M NOT WHAT THE FUCK. (bitch Callan)
YES YOU ARE NOW SHUSH. (good Callan)
I have two personalities if you were wondering. One interacts solely with adults and strangers(Good Callan) and the other with people I'm comfortable with (Bitch Callan).
Bitch Callan is someone to fear.
But generally, I'm a mix of the two. Unless I'm in class. But if I'm not that I have a mouth so foul you would be surprised, because I look like Good Callan. Bitch Callan looks like a total dick.
I'm sorry person-I-rejected, but that was Bitch Callan. Good Callan would just ignore it, but Bitch Callan is pissed off.
Good Callan is just going to implode someday, I swear. She pushes all the shit that happens that pisses her off deep down inside her, and when the day comes that she implodes, there will be ONLY BITCH CALLAN. Oh yes.
Now I'm not making any sense. It's 11:30, and I'm shit tired. I still have homework to do.
Fuck.
Eh, there's very little. I'll do it this week-end. I never have much homework on week-ends, so whatever. Plus I'm going to miss minimum the first 2 classes tomorrow and the day after since I'm redoing my AIMS test for the purpose of exceeding. Then on friday, I'm not going to school because I have Cross Country regionals which are really scary because they take place at this total bitch of a place called Freestone Park and it's just hills and grass. We ran it on Monday, and it was so bad I couldn't do it, so I sat it out, and then it brought bad my mother-fucking shin splints on top of the pain in my hip. *sigh* I swear that sport makes me an old lady. I like it though, I'm doing it again next year. Then I'm doing soccer and track.
Now I'm really tired, and I'm out of stuff to sa- OH WAIT.
I just want to say Adam Ant is extremely sexy.
Ok, bye.
OH. Ok, so in music, at the end of the quarter I had a big test, but I was busy vomiting, so I missed it, and then he counted it as a zero on the test, because I couldn't make it up in time. Because I was vomiting. So I get my report card, and I freak out because there is a big fat D where there should be a B. Now I've made up the test, and I have a B again. But it really pissed me off! Dick move, Dr. W!
 |
| It's a penis, but a potato too. |
MMK ALSO Homecoming was last week-end, and I got asked by a-certain-person-that-I-don't-like-in-that-way and I grimaced and shook my head because I fucking hate dancing, and I would have been a terrible date, because I would have just glared at him the whole time for taking me to such a piece of shit, and also it would have been awkward. I was kind of flattered, because I get asked out rather infrequently, so yeah, but then even that got taken away from me because he asked someone else and she rejected him, so she recommended that he ask me because she thought I liked him. Wat. No. Fuck that. I'm not a second choice. I'm fucking awesome. And I felt all bad about rejecting him, and explained later that I really hate dances and stuff, but NO. I SHOULDN'T FEEL BAD. Dick.
Still, he's pretty nice.
I like someone else anyway :3
Sorry that came off as bitchy, but I'm kind of pissed off about it!
But then, we had a cross country meet the day of the dance, and I was all "Oh I'm not going. Fuck that shit." but then my dad has to do something and Mother has a cello lesson, so they can't pick me up, leaving me with no other option, but to go to homecoming with a team-mate. So I went and it was lame, so I went home after an hour and a half, and I hope I didn't make anyone feel bad, I just wanted to go home and be antisocial.
Anyway. Last week wasn't great.
I hope he doesn't read this. Shit.
Whatever. FEEL BAD ASSHOLE. (bitch Callan)
I'm just kidding. (good Callan)
NO I'M NOT WHAT THE FUCK. (bitch Callan)
YES YOU ARE NOW SHUSH. (good Callan)
I have two personalities if you were wondering. One interacts solely with adults and strangers(Good Callan) and the other with people I'm comfortable with (Bitch Callan).
Bitch Callan is someone to fear.
But generally, I'm a mix of the two. Unless I'm in class. But if I'm not that I have a mouth so foul you would be surprised, because I look like Good Callan. Bitch Callan looks like a total dick.
I'm sorry person-I-rejected, but that was Bitch Callan. Good Callan would just ignore it, but Bitch Callan is pissed off.
Good Callan is just going to implode someday, I swear. She pushes all the shit that happens that pisses her off deep down inside her, and when the day comes that she implodes, there will be ONLY BITCH CALLAN. Oh yes.
Now I'm not making any sense. It's 11:30, and I'm shit tired. I still have homework to do.
Fuck.
Eh, there's very little. I'll do it this week-end. I never have much homework on week-ends, so whatever. Plus I'm going to miss minimum the first 2 classes tomorrow and the day after since I'm redoing my AIMS test for the purpose of exceeding. Then on friday, I'm not going to school because I have Cross Country regionals which are really scary because they take place at this total bitch of a place called Freestone Park and it's just hills and grass. We ran it on Monday, and it was so bad I couldn't do it, so I sat it out, and then it brought bad my mother-fucking shin splints on top of the pain in my hip. *sigh* I swear that sport makes me an old lady. I like it though, I'm doing it again next year. Then I'm doing soccer and track.
Now I'm really tired, and I'm out of stuff to sa- OH WAIT.
I just want to say Adam Ant is extremely sexy.
 |
| I want in his pants. |
Ok, bye.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
THIS IS ONLY FOR PEOPLE THAT FIND HUMOUR IN HORRIBLE THINGS.
Disclaimer: Don't read this if you're sensitive. Or pro life.
Shit like Family Circus doesn't make me laugh. That makes milk crawl up my nose. Like there's one, where the little ginger girl with the ponytail is standing in a field looking at a butterfly, and she says "I like butterflies. They don't sting or bite, they just flutter". What the fuck?
The caption should have been "Oooh shit, I thought that enema would never come out". (I stole that, just so you know.. from http://www.cracked.com/blog/pg13-family-circus/ it's hilarious.) Anyway, if you read that, you'll know I have a sick, sick sense of humour.
I love dead baby jokes. And abortion jokes. And racist jokes. It's pretty easy to make me laugh. Unless you write Family Circus.
This is a request from Alexia, asking "Do a blog about your abortion jokes!". I don't have any abortion jokes. I have a joke that is about both dead babies and abortions.
Here goes.
Q: What's red and crawling up your leg?
A: An abortion with homesickness.
Q: How do you fit 30 babies in a bucket?
A: A blender.
Q: How do you get them out?
A: Doritos.
Q: What's more fun than swinging a baby around at 250 mph on a clothes line?
A: Stopping it with a shovel.
Q: Why did the foetus cross the road?
A: Because they moved the dumpster.
Q: How do you make a dead baby float?
A: Take your foot off its head.
Q: Why did the baby fall out of the tree?
A: Because it was dead!
Q: How do you stop a baby from choking?
A: Take your dick out of its mouth!
Q: What is special about a dead baby over all other forms of life?
A: You can achieve deep throat from whichever way you enter.
Q: Why did the baby cross the road?
A: It was stapled to the chicken.
Q: What do you get when you cut a baby into pieces?
A: An erection.
Q: What's the worst thing about having sex with a dead baby?
A: Wiping the blood off your clown suit.
I fucking told you.
P.S. I stole ALL of this from http://www.dead-baby-joke.com/dbj_022.htm
Shit like Family Circus doesn't make me laugh. That makes milk crawl up my nose. Like there's one, where the little ginger girl with the ponytail is standing in a field looking at a butterfly, and she says "I like butterflies. They don't sting or bite, they just flutter". What the fuck?
The caption should have been "Oooh shit, I thought that enema would never come out". (I stole that, just so you know.. from http://www.cracked.com/blog/pg13-family-circus/ it's hilarious.) Anyway, if you read that, you'll know I have a sick, sick sense of humour.
I love dead baby jokes. And abortion jokes. And racist jokes. It's pretty easy to make me laugh. Unless you write Family Circus.
This is a request from Alexia, asking "Do a blog about your abortion jokes!". I don't have any abortion jokes. I have a joke that is about both dead babies and abortions.
Here goes.
Q: What's red and crawling up your leg?
A: An abortion with homesickness.
Q: How do you fit 30 babies in a bucket?
A: A blender.
Q: How do you get them out?
A: Doritos.
Q: What's more fun than swinging a baby around at 250 mph on a clothes line?
A: Stopping it with a shovel.
Q: Why did the foetus cross the road?
A: Because they moved the dumpster.
Q: How do you make a dead baby float?
A: Take your foot off its head.
Q: Why did the baby fall out of the tree?
A: Because it was dead!
Q: How do you stop a baby from choking?
A: Take your dick out of its mouth!
Q: What is special about a dead baby over all other forms of life?
A: You can achieve deep throat from whichever way you enter.
Q: Why did the baby cross the road?
A: It was stapled to the chicken.
Q: What do you get when you cut a baby into pieces?
A: An erection.
Q: What's the worst thing about having sex with a dead baby?
A: Wiping the blood off your clown suit.
I fucking told you.
P.S. I stole ALL of this from http://www.dead-baby-joke.com/dbj_022.htm
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Going to the Doctor
Ok, so if you didn't know, I have a terrible, terrible fear of needles. They are the scariest thing in the world. Except sometimes when I'm laying in my bed, and the stupid part of my subconscious (which takes up rather a lot of my brain) decides to whisper to the rest of my brain "Hey, I bet Saduko/Slender Man/the possessed girl from the Exorcist is standing right next to your bed". Fuck you, subconscious.
Anyway, back to the needles. I'm pretty sure this dates back to when I was getting a flu shot around the age of.... 7-ish, and Mother decided to get the shot first so I could see what happened, and that it didn't hurt. The only thing that registered in my mind was "There is a sharp thing penetrating my mother's arm, and it's about to do the same to me". Instinct? RUN! But no, I was smarter than that.
And then, another time, I went on a class trip to Greece with my Latin class (when I lived in London, right before I moved), and just so you know, apart from this one incident, it was absolutely amazing. Anyway, I tripped and fell on some gravel one day, because my balance isn't so hot when it's like 40 degrees out. Very hot. For a Londoner, mind you. Anyway, it actually took Mme Ratureau telling me there was blood running down my neck for me to find out I had cut my chin. Ordinarily, my pain threshold is extremely low, so this was strange. Shock? Hmm... So we went to the local hospital, and the doctor wanted to put a big fucking needle in my face. Well not my face, like under my chin, where no one can see. The scar is not visible unless you look pretty closely, luckily. But this man, who I didn't know, that didn't speak English or French, wanted to *convulses at the thought of what he wanted to do* put stitches in me, AKA sew me up with a needle. After injecting me with a needle. My mind was going FUCK THAAAT and later, my friend Maddie was telling me that she legitimately got scared looking into my eyes, because I was so fucking terrified.
So yeah, those were the reasons why I hate needles. And then, I found out last year that I have to get 3 HPV shots. This is pretty much my worst nightmare. Three. I got the first one in November (what a great birthday present) (my birthday is in November if you didn't get that.......), and pretty much punched the nurse. It's not even the pain, it didn't hurt at all. But screw the idea of putting sharp things in my body. This is why I'm so scared to get pierced ears. Though I want them, because otherwise Mother will have to give all her pretty earrings to my brother's wife when she dies. Because he'll have one someday. But don't think I'm morbid or wishing for my Mother's death, though she is a tad aggravating, but this is actually how she's trying to get me to pierce them. But I had to go to the hospital for a physical so I could do Cross Country about 3 weeks ago, and "while I was there" Mother thought it would be a good idea for me to get a flu and HPV shot. Luckily, they do flu shots in some nasal thing, so that was fine, but I flat out refused to get the HPV shot. Then my nurse pulled out this book and said "This girl came in a few years ago, and also only got one shot. Two years later she came in with genital warts." Frankly, that didn't scare me all that much, because I intend to be celibate for a while longer (not till marriage or anything, I don't plan to marry either), because you know... pregnancy and stuff. I hate babies, but I don't really want an abortion, though I joke about them all the time. All the time.
But Mother seemed to be under the impression that I was going to aspire to be a hooker/stripper/sket when I was older, so she kept threatening me with genital warts.
I was pretty much ready to get the goddam injection just to make her stop saying genitals warts. I've told you before, I don't discuss these things with my Mother, though she tries. Sometimes.
And it's profusely awkward.
Anyway, back to the needles. I'm pretty sure this dates back to when I was getting a flu shot around the age of.... 7-ish, and Mother decided to get the shot first so I could see what happened, and that it didn't hurt. The only thing that registered in my mind was "There is a sharp thing penetrating my mother's arm, and it's about to do the same to me". Instinct? RUN! But no, I was smarter than that.
And then, another time, I went on a class trip to Greece with my Latin class (when I lived in London, right before I moved), and just so you know, apart from this one incident, it was absolutely amazing. Anyway, I tripped and fell on some gravel one day, because my balance isn't so hot when it's like 40 degrees out. Very hot. For a Londoner, mind you. Anyway, it actually took Mme Ratureau telling me there was blood running down my neck for me to find out I had cut my chin. Ordinarily, my pain threshold is extremely low, so this was strange. Shock? Hmm... So we went to the local hospital, and the doctor wanted to put a big fucking needle in my face. Well not my face, like under my chin, where no one can see. The scar is not visible unless you look pretty closely, luckily. But this man, who I didn't know, that didn't speak English or French, wanted to *convulses at the thought of what he wanted to do* put stitches in me, AKA sew me up with a needle. After injecting me with a needle. My mind was going FUCK THAAAT and later, my friend Maddie was telling me that she legitimately got scared looking into my eyes, because I was so fucking terrified.
So yeah, those were the reasons why I hate needles. And then, I found out last year that I have to get 3 HPV shots. This is pretty much my worst nightmare. Three. I got the first one in November (what a great birthday present) (my birthday is in November if you didn't get that.......), and pretty much punched the nurse. It's not even the pain, it didn't hurt at all. But screw the idea of putting sharp things in my body. This is why I'm so scared to get pierced ears. Though I want them, because otherwise Mother will have to give all her pretty earrings to my brother's wife when she dies. Because he'll have one someday. But don't think I'm morbid or wishing for my Mother's death, though she is a tad aggravating, but this is actually how she's trying to get me to pierce them. But I had to go to the hospital for a physical so I could do Cross Country about 3 weeks ago, and "while I was there" Mother thought it would be a good idea for me to get a flu and HPV shot. Luckily, they do flu shots in some nasal thing, so that was fine, but I flat out refused to get the HPV shot. Then my nurse pulled out this book and said "This girl came in a few years ago, and also only got one shot. Two years later she came in with genital warts." Frankly, that didn't scare me all that much, because I intend to be celibate for a while longer (not till marriage or anything, I don't plan to marry either), because you know... pregnancy and stuff. I hate babies, but I don't really want an abortion, though I joke about them all the time. All the time.
But Mother seemed to be under the impression that I was going to aspire to be a hooker/stripper/sket when I was older, so she kept threatening me with genital warts.
I was pretty much ready to get the goddam injection just to make her stop saying genitals warts. I've told you before, I don't discuss these things with my Mother, though she tries. Sometimes.
And it's profusely awkward.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
NAKEDNESS
If I'm not in the bath, I detest being naked. It's not that I hate my body or anything, not that I'm the I'm an image of perfection or anything, but yes. If I'm not in my bathroom, I refuse to be naked. At the very least, a towel is required, if I must make a run to my conjoined bedroom to get pyjamas. I don't even have to go through a hallway, it's my bathroom, and it's connected to my room. But I have this constant paranoia that mother will do her knock-twice-and-not-wait-for-my-acquiesence-before-opening-the-door thing. She terrifies me in that way. I'm also always terrified that she will turn off the router. Because she does. Every night. Because she doesn't seem to realise that the internet is super awesome, and I like it. Though it does get me to bed earlier.
Anyway, so a while back, a bunch of my friends were liking things like "Being naked" or "chillin naked after showers because you're too lazy to get dressed". I thought "WELL, I hate being naked. Surely there's a group/fanpage for that!"... nope. Apparently, everyone enjoys being in their birthday suits but me.
I can't be the only one! I'm merely shy! It's just the way I was raised. My mother and father make me feel like I should wear a nun's garb all the time. More my father than my mother, because she's more of a fashionista. My dad's greatest fear is that I'll become a typical valley girl that chews gum all the time, says "like" every two words and worst of all: wear short shorts with tank tops and flip flops.
I can't say I would ever do that anyway, I'm not comfortable with shorts anyway. Too much leg. Plus, with the neverending sun of Arizona, I would get a tan.
I would look horrendous with a tan. Plus, I'm probably getting one from cross country anyway. I'd rather not add to it by not wearing anything. I mean, I just don't get the whole sunbathing thing. Tans are stupid. Tans = skin cancer. Skin cancer = no bueno.
If you're naturally dark, that's just fine, but if you're pale, I don't see the point of sitting in the sun all the time, or getting fake tans by going to salons/tanning booths.
But that's just my opinion. I guess some people would look terrible if they were pale.
Anyway, so a while back, a bunch of my friends were liking things like "Being naked" or "chillin naked after showers because you're too lazy to get dressed". I thought "WELL, I hate being naked. Surely there's a group/fanpage for that!"... nope. Apparently, everyone enjoys being in their birthday suits but me.
I can't be the only one! I'm merely shy! It's just the way I was raised. My mother and father make me feel like I should wear a nun's garb all the time. More my father than my mother, because she's more of a fashionista. My dad's greatest fear is that I'll become a typical valley girl that chews gum all the time, says "like" every two words and worst of all: wear short shorts with tank tops and flip flops.
I can't say I would ever do that anyway, I'm not comfortable with shorts anyway. Too much leg. Plus, with the neverending sun of Arizona, I would get a tan.
I would look horrendous with a tan. Plus, I'm probably getting one from cross country anyway. I'd rather not add to it by not wearing anything. I mean, I just don't get the whole sunbathing thing. Tans are stupid. Tans = skin cancer. Skin cancer = no bueno.
If you're naturally dark, that's just fine, but if you're pale, I don't see the point of sitting in the sun all the time, or getting fake tans by going to salons/tanning booths.
But that's just my opinion. I guess some people would look terrible if they were pale.
 |
| Me in my glorious paleness. |
My Parents
Okay, so I'm not all that close with my mother. I'll just put that out there before I say anything else. Keep it in mind. She's really nosy, and goes through my trash, and harasses me to do stuff all the time. The part that bothers me the most is the "going through my trash" part. Harassing is pretty normal. If she didn't my room would be ...... *looks about messy room* ...... messier. And my bed unmade. And I would probably go to bed at midnight every night. And regret it every morning when I wake up at 6:45.
So I suppose I appreciate that.
Still. Oh, and my door refuses to lock, and mother doesn't really knocking.. or she does, but she'll knock twice really quietly, not wait for my reply, and 1 second later, she's in my room. My room is my bubble. I don't like when people invade my bubble. Unless they're my friends. I don't mind not having privacy with my friends, frankly. I'm pretty open with them.
My dad is much better about this, probably because he would be super embarrassed for the rest of his life were he to walk in on me in just a towel. Because I'm never naked outside my bathroom. I'll get back to that. He's also just as cynical as I am. We're a cynical family, you see. Except my sister. She's the nicest person in the world, born to help others.
I'm not like that. I hate helping others. I found out today that I have to do community service to graduate from TPA, and my immediate reaction was WTF I HATE HELPING PEOPLE AND NOT GETTING MONEY FOR IT. But then, the person who broke the terrible news to me reminded me that I could get community service by going to the humane society and playing with puppies. I like puppies.
I like all baby creatures. Unless they're human. Stupid human babies.. smh I'm so not having children...
Anyway, the reason I thought of this as a post was because I'm too nervous to swear in front of them (except like damn or something, because that's not really a swear word), and yet they say pretty much every cuss word under the sun in front of me.
I did an online class (or 3) last year in order to go to TPA, and one of them was really irritating because my bitch teacher was like NO I'M GIVING YOU AN 89% EVEN THOUGH YOU WORK ON MY CLASS 6 HOURS A DAY. She gave me an A eventually because I went to her house and murdered her family, so it's ok, but anyway, when I was yelling about my teacher to my dad he said "Write an e-mail to her saying "Go fuck yourself, motherfucker". I tried really hard not to laugh. I feel weird laughing when my parents make a joke involving swearing. Because then they will know I swear. O___O They probably know, frankly, but you know..
Though I think my dad heard me yell "I FUCKING WANT" today when he came home because I saw a super duper awesome Doctor Who poster that said "this poster is bigger on the inside". Because when my parents aren't home, I swear a lot. It's like "FREEDOOOOMMMM" And I run around swearing no matter if I'm really angry, or in a fabulous mood.
Or just meh.
I'm going to go bathe now.
Au revoir!
So I suppose I appreciate that.
Still. Oh, and my door refuses to lock, and mother doesn't really knocking.. or she does, but she'll knock twice really quietly, not wait for my reply, and 1 second later, she's in my room. My room is my bubble. I don't like when people invade my bubble. Unless they're my friends. I don't mind not having privacy with my friends, frankly. I'm pretty open with them.
My dad is much better about this, probably because he would be super embarrassed for the rest of his life were he to walk in on me in just a towel. Because I'm never naked outside my bathroom. I'll get back to that. He's also just as cynical as I am. We're a cynical family, you see. Except my sister. She's the nicest person in the world, born to help others.
I'm not like that. I hate helping others. I found out today that I have to do community service to graduate from TPA, and my immediate reaction was WTF I HATE HELPING PEOPLE AND NOT GETTING MONEY FOR IT. But then, the person who broke the terrible news to me reminded me that I could get community service by going to the humane society and playing with puppies. I like puppies.
I like all baby creatures. Unless they're human. Stupid human babies.. smh I'm so not having children...
Anyway, the reason I thought of this as a post was because I'm too nervous to swear in front of them (except like damn or something, because that's not really a swear word), and yet they say pretty much every cuss word under the sun in front of me.
I did an online class (or 3) last year in order to go to TPA, and one of them was really irritating because my bitch teacher was like NO I'M GIVING YOU AN 89% EVEN THOUGH YOU WORK ON MY CLASS 6 HOURS A DAY. She gave me an A eventually because I went to her house and murdered her family, so it's ok, but anyway, when I was yelling about my teacher to my dad he said "Write an e-mail to her saying "Go fuck yourself, motherfucker". I tried really hard not to laugh. I feel weird laughing when my parents make a joke involving swearing. Because then they will know I swear. O___O They probably know, frankly, but you know..
Though I think my dad heard me yell "I FUCKING WANT" today when he came home because I saw a super duper awesome Doctor Who poster that said "this poster is bigger on the inside". Because when my parents aren't home, I swear a lot. It's like "FREEDOOOOMMMM" And I run around swearing no matter if I'm really angry, or in a fabulous mood.
Or just meh.
I'm going to go bathe now.
Au revoir!
People that post 5 statuses a day.....
Do you have a friend like that? That posts 400 statuses a day?
I do. Several.
Just to say she's going to the goddam gym, or whether she's going to the football game, or a stupid ass quote from some song.
IT'S CALLED TWITTER.
Twitter is where she won't bother me. Because I don't have twitter. Because I don't give a fuck when she goes to the gym.
I, personally, think hard about my statuses. I should probably be thinking about the Iliad, but if I have a good idea as to what a status would be that would amuse the people of facebook, I remember it, and post it later. I don't let people know about random crap I do during the day, because I know no one cares.
I really do take pleasure in people "liking" my statuses. It's really sad, but it's true. I'm sure everyone does. Why wouldn't you? It's a nice feeling, to think people agree with you, or find you humorous.
And yet, even though she obviously doesn't give the slightest thought to what she shares with the world, lots of people like them. Perhaps they are as brain dead as she is. And perhaps they don't mind her clogging up their home-pages. With her saying she's going to the goddam gym. Several times.
And she goes every day.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Insults
Ok, so you know my best friend Alexia? Well we were posting things on each other's walls (instead of having a facebook chat conversation, for some reason), and she called me a bitch (it happens), and I could legitimately not think of a comeback. This shocked me deeply.
So I googled "One word insults". And I came upon a site. It was just a person that was asking what the best insults were, and a bunch of people commented. I found the mother of all insults.
Douchemonger. I didn't know what it meant, but I loved it. So I went on Urban Dictionary, and apparently it has 2 meanings: 1. One who hordes douches. hordes douches. 2. A douche. Times 10.
This is officially my new favourite insult. In fact, I included the word in my latest facebook status. And I think carefully about what I post as my status. (unlike some people...)
So this led me to think that perhaps I should post a blog about my favourite insults:
1. Douchemonger. I've already explained that.
2. Bint. It's kind of like a tart. I never use it, because I don't enjoy calling people slutty, but it's pretty awesome.
3. Cocksucker. You can see why. It just feels right in my mouth. That didn't sound right.
4. Douche. This is just a really good insult all around. It's not necessarily a swear, so I can say it around my parents, but it's also insulting. It's just right.
5. Pussy. This doesn't get to be used as much as douche, since, for one thing, I cannot say this around my parents, and sometimes, someone isn't actually being a pussy. They're just being a douche.
6. Slut. It's just bint. But not as fun a word. But you can't really say binty, you have to say slutty. And plus, not everyone knows what a bint is. In fact, every time I type bint, little red dots appear under it. But apparently slut is a word. No red dots. Maybe because it's in the Iliad. Helen calls herself a slut. It made me laugh.
7. Testicle. My friend R***** is an all around douche. But he's so fucking hilarious, that I can't not be friends with him. So I was discussing what his new insult should be, because douche had been worn out on him. I decided on sodding testicle. It was perfect.
8. Cumdumpster. This is also one of those words that has little red dots under it. Anyway, it's better than slut, because one, it's way more fun to say, and two, it's far more insulting.
That is all. Keep these amazing insults in mind for future arguments. If you can think of more, comment.
So I googled "One word insults". And I came upon a site. It was just a person that was asking what the best insults were, and a bunch of people commented. I found the mother of all insults.
Douchemonger. I didn't know what it meant, but I loved it. So I went on Urban Dictionary, and apparently it has 2 meanings: 1. One who hordes douches. hordes douches. 2. A douche. Times 10.
This is officially my new favourite insult. In fact, I included the word in my latest facebook status. And I think carefully about what I post as my status. (unlike some people...)
So this led me to think that perhaps I should post a blog about my favourite insults:
1. Douchemonger. I've already explained that.
2. Bint. It's kind of like a tart. I never use it, because I don't enjoy calling people slutty, but it's pretty awesome.
3. Cocksucker. You can see why. It just feels right in my mouth. That didn't sound right.
4. Douche. This is just a really good insult all around. It's not necessarily a swear, so I can say it around my parents, but it's also insulting. It's just right.
5. Pussy. This doesn't get to be used as much as douche, since, for one thing, I cannot say this around my parents, and sometimes, someone isn't actually being a pussy. They're just being a douche.
6. Slut. It's just bint. But not as fun a word. But you can't really say binty, you have to say slutty. And plus, not everyone knows what a bint is. In fact, every time I type bint, little red dots appear under it. But apparently slut is a word. No red dots. Maybe because it's in the Iliad. Helen calls herself a slut. It made me laugh.
7. Testicle. My friend R***** is an all around douche. But he's so fucking hilarious, that I can't not be friends with him. So I was discussing what his new insult should be, because douche had been worn out on him. I decided on sodding testicle. It was perfect.
8. Cumdumpster. This is also one of those words that has little red dots under it. Anyway, it's better than slut, because one, it's way more fun to say, and two, it's far more insulting.
That is all. Keep these amazing insults in mind for future arguments. If you can think of more, comment.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Words I detest, but use anyway
Moist. Does this not make you think of sweaty old men?
Sweaty old men that want to molest you?
It's such a repulsive word, but I use it anyway. At my cousin's birthday party, he had a vanilla cake, and I said it was really moist and delicious. If you go by definitions, these words are good together, but delicious is a nice word. Moist is a sweaty-old-men-that-want-to-molest-you word, therefore, not good. I then explained that I actually hate the word, and then ruined "moist" for my cousin's girlfriend.
I'm not sure whether to feel pride or guilt.
I made someone realise something. That's special. But I also ruined something. That's sad.
But anyway. The cake was good. And moist.
Prenatal: I think it's the natal part. It's just not nice. Nay-tull.
I live near a Basha's, and I go there all the time to get groceries and shit, and, as in many stores, there is a loudspeaker thingy with announcements.
One of them is about prenatal vitamins. First of all, that just kind of made me uncomfortable, especially on the part of any men in the store at the time. Prenatal makes one think of women that are making babies, and thus, vagina.
The worst part? The person making the announcement is a dude. Poor guy.
Bowels: Why does this have multiple definitions? Words with one really horrible definition shouldn't have synonyms.
Bowels: where your shit is.
But for some fucking reason, there is also using it like this "Here I am, in the bowels of the city" eg. on the train. That just makes me think about shit. And how the sentence could possibly mean "Here I am, standing on a huge pile of shit".
Pubescent: It must be the pyu sound. It just doesn't roll off the tongue very nicely.
Say it: pyuuuuuuuu. It just makes you make a really idiotic face, like you're in the middle of insulting someone.
This is me being attractive, if you were wondering. And saying PYUUU at the same time.
Bra: I can't really even explain why I hate this word. Maybe because, once again, it's just not a word that rolls off the tongue. It's literally kind of hard to say.
And it makes me uncomfortable. Which doesn't really make sense, because I'm a pubescent girl , and I wear one every day.
Flesh: Say flesh. Right now.
You are making the face I am making in the "pyu" photo.
But at the same time, I kind of love saying flesh, because I'm really, really morbid.
DEATH! ROTTING! DISEASE! MURDER!
Excretion: This probably has a lot to do with the definition. And the thing is, if it meant something more like "land of rainbows, and happiness!!!!!!!:D!!!!", then I might like it. It's not a really disgusting word.
I'm done. Did you notice I've learned how to add underlines, and boldness, and italics, and PHOTOS OMG?? I'm super-duper excited about it.
Sweaty old men that want to molest you?
It's such a repulsive word, but I use it anyway. At my cousin's birthday party, he had a vanilla cake, and I said it was really moist and delicious. If you go by definitions, these words are good together, but delicious is a nice word. Moist is a sweaty-old-men-that-want-to-molest-you word, therefore, not good. I then explained that I actually hate the word, and then ruined "moist" for my cousin's girlfriend.
I'm not sure whether to feel pride or guilt.
I made someone realise something. That's special. But I also ruined something. That's sad.
But anyway. The cake was good. And moist.
Prenatal: I think it's the natal part. It's just not nice. Nay-tull.
I live near a Basha's, and I go there all the time to get groceries and shit, and, as in many stores, there is a loudspeaker thingy with announcements.
One of them is about prenatal vitamins. First of all, that just kind of made me uncomfortable, especially on the part of any men in the store at the time. Prenatal makes one think of women that are making babies, and thus, vagina.
The worst part? The person making the announcement is a dude. Poor guy.
Bowels: Why does this have multiple definitions? Words with one really horrible definition shouldn't have synonyms.
Bowels: where your shit is.
But for some fucking reason, there is also using it like this "Here I am, in the bowels of the city" eg. on the train. That just makes me think about shit. And how the sentence could possibly mean "Here I am, standing on a huge pile of shit".
Pubescent: It must be the pyu sound. It just doesn't roll off the tongue very nicely.
Say it: pyuuuuuuuu. It just makes you make a really idiotic face, like you're in the middle of insulting someone.
This is me being attractive, if you were wondering. And saying PYUUU at the same time.
Bra: I can't really even explain why I hate this word. Maybe because, once again, it's just not a word that rolls off the tongue. It's literally kind of hard to say.
And it makes me uncomfortable. Which doesn't really make sense, because I'm a pubescent girl , and I wear one every day.
Flesh: Say flesh. Right now.
You are making the face I am making in the "pyu" photo.
But at the same time, I kind of love saying flesh, because I'm really, really morbid.
DEATH! ROTTING! DISEASE! MURDER!
Excretion: This probably has a lot to do with the definition. And the thing is, if it meant something more like "land of rainbows, and happiness!!!!!!!:D!!!!", then I might like it. It's not a really disgusting word.
I'm done. Did you notice I've learned how to add underlines, and boldness, and italics, and PHOTOS OMG?? I'm super-duper excited about it.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Being Neat
I used to be really neat. I mean REALLY neat. Everything had it's place, and my room was always, always spotless. My older sister was very messy, and I tended to be angered by her sloppiness when she visited, but it was nice to see her, seeing as she lived in Wisconsin, and I still lived in London. As for my brother, I don't actually know. His room was the attic, and I didn't have much reason to go up there, so he could be just as neat as me, or as messy as my sister.
But then, I became a teenager. My room is a jungle now. I certainly know people who are much worse about it than me, so much so that their room smells bad, but I do have a lot of shit lying around.
I'm sitting here, on the ground (I hate sitting in chairs, don't ask me why), looking around at the pig sty that is my room. There is a duck shit green Eastpak bag sitting next to me on my left, with my pencil case next to it, and my purse that I just used to go to Olive Garden touching my left leg. Oh, and some CDs Dr. W gave the class to listen to that I haven't gotten around to doing anything about.
And a spoon? wut. ..............I'll clean it up later.
I also have skirts, books, and magazines lying about, and a pair of socks, that should really get washed, because they're my white socks, and I only have like 7 other pairs. I have to wear white socks for school you see. On my right, there's an empty water bottle, that I will refill on Monday because I don't want to buy a new one, and the water bottle I have that is SUPPOSED to be refilled, which is a bobble bottle, looks too much like a buttplug.
There's a broken tape measurer, a water filter jug thing, and an empty glass.
*fills glass*
My bed is unmade, and I'm not going to even think about my bathroom for the moment, but for the moment, I'm not going to do a single thing about it.
At least it smells like pears.
But then, I became a teenager. My room is a jungle now. I certainly know people who are much worse about it than me, so much so that their room smells bad, but I do have a lot of shit lying around.
I'm sitting here, on the ground (I hate sitting in chairs, don't ask me why), looking around at the pig sty that is my room. There is a duck shit green Eastpak bag sitting next to me on my left, with my pencil case next to it, and my purse that I just used to go to Olive Garden touching my left leg. Oh, and some CDs Dr. W gave the class to listen to that I haven't gotten around to doing anything about.
And a spoon? wut. ..............I'll clean it up later.
I also have skirts, books, and magazines lying about, and a pair of socks, that should really get washed, because they're my white socks, and I only have like 7 other pairs. I have to wear white socks for school you see. On my right, there's an empty water bottle, that I will refill on Monday because I don't want to buy a new one, and the water bottle I have that is SUPPOSED to be refilled, which is a bobble bottle, looks too much like a buttplug.
 |
| The yellow one. |
There's a broken tape measurer, a water filter jug thing, and an empty glass.
*fills glass*
My bed is unmade, and I'm not going to even think about my bathroom for the moment, but for the moment, I'm not going to do a single thing about it.
At least it smells like pears.
To Alexia.
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| BFFEEEEEEEEE YEAHH |
Alexia Willems is my best friend in the whole world. Unfortunately she lives in London, and I live in Tempe, and we only see each other once a year (though this year, maybe twice!). I met her when I was in 4rd grade (that took a second to figure out. The French system works backwards from 13 until 0 which is called Terminale. In French Terminer means to finish, so it makes sense. The reason I can figure American grades out is because 6eme = 6th grade. Or since you Americans have Preschool and Kintergarten or whatever, I can just go 13eme, 12eme, 11eme, 10eme, 9eme, 8eme (which is when I met Alexia), counting them off on my fingers and subtracting 2. It works). I was in M. Roch's class, who my brother had as a child as well. We met towards the end of the year, and apparently she only came over because I had a new puppy, Hobbes. (more on him and my other pets later) She had blonde hair, and was wearing loafers. I liked her loafers. We sat in the kitchen, petting Hobbes, who was the size of a teacup at the time, and then he got spooked by something and ran about the kitchen wee-weeing at the same time, leaving a trail of piss. It was hilarious, though it took some time to clean up. Alexia and I also bonded over Groovy Girl, the most amazing dolls on the Planet. They're better than Barbies because they're able to move, and there is so much more variety too. There are literally like 100 different dolls, each with names. Some of them I hated, like Celeste, so I just changed it. Anyway, Alexia and I started having sleep-overs like every week-end. I had my first sleep-over with her. I had a lot of fun at first, it being like a play date, but once we were going to bed, I got scared. But whatever I was like 8 so, yeah. I stayed though. At the beginning of my 4eme (8th grade), she left to go to the American School in London, where her brother went. She didn't move or anything, so it didn't change much, since we were in different years (she's 10 months younger than me) and I hung out with Jenna and Madeleine etc at school anyway. We remained very close, and continued having sleep-overs. At the end of 4eme, the most amazing year of my life, I moved to Arizona. I thought I wanted to, but I was wrong. I miss each and every one of my friends dearly. I saw Alexia a year later, and had 10 fun-filled days with her during which we played Thief and freaked out when we died, and went shopping, and then I got a macbook this January of 2010, so we could videochat, which is just the most incredible invention ever, and saw her in person that summer, and we went shopping some more, but didn't play Thief because it had gotten freakier, because the Thief was now in a dilapidated mental hospital with a little girl's voice. Yeah. She might be visiting this Spring Break, and I'm excited!
Alexia, I love you :] Happy birthday.
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| Note: She is molesting my face. |
I have a follower!!!
Hi Chelsea!
By following me, you have boosted my self-esteem. Thank you. ^____^ You will get a dead baby in a box as a reward. I hope you like dead babies!
Also, I thought I should explain why I lack spare time. It's saturday, so I do actually have a few hours. Today is the 21st of August (ooh that reminds me, I have another post to write specifically about my best friend. It's her birthday today!), and on the 9th of August, I started school at Tempe Preparatory Academy. I worked really really hard to get in. I had to take Algebra 2, Physics 1 and American History (because the French don't like America, I thought Lincoln was the first president. I still don't know any American History, though.). Algebra and Physics had to be taken at the same time at the end of my sophomore year at Corona, when I was preparing for final exams (which I will describe in detail later, because one of them really pissed me off), and each one took about an hour and a half each every day. I got As on both though! I'm still pretty bad at Physics and Algebra. If you're not getting the hint, I don't recommend online classes. Then, at the end of my summer, I had to do American History. It being summer, I was in lazy-mode, so I kept putting it off, but still got an A because my teacher loved me for reasons I can't explain. Maybe because the other people in the classes couldn't spell candidate. (candydut?) I was getting excited, thinking "I'm so ready for a new school! It's an opportunity to make so many new friends, (seeing as I had very few at Corona) and widen my horizons (is that the expression? whatever). My dad was so proud and bragged to everyone he knew about how hard I was working to get to TPA (anacronym for my school if you hadn't guessed), even though he helped me a LOT with all 3 online classes, because I'm terrible at all things remotely mathematical, and end of summer + school = no bueno.
So school started, I had my uniform
which isn't bad, but not great, I'm getting used to it, and the photo quality is bad. I'll come visit you in my uniform and you shall see that it's better than the photo makes it look. Just saying. So I had my school stuff:
That pile grew too. I had like 6 more books. I just didn't have them at the time, and I didn't take another picture. Well I did, I just didn't upload it...
Anyway, it seemed ok, my teachers were all pretty nice. I had math with Mr. D, who is the brother of a guy my mom had a crush on in high school (I have no idea why she told me that..), and he's really nice, but you know...........math.
Then I had Humane Letters (english + history?) with Mrs. H, who has a bad reputation, but I love her, and she's my cross country coach, which I haven't started yet, because I need a physical.... I hate physicals. Mother insists on being in the room with me. ITS REALLY AWKWARD. I'm not close enough to my Mother to want to be in the same room as her when I'm mostly naked. Back to my school story. Humane Letters lasts 2 hours, which actually don't seem all that long. It's a bueno class, in my opinion.
Followed by Physics with Mr. A, and physics is........................................horrible. No other way to put it. The first day was fine, because we didn't talk about physics at all. We went around the room and said things about ourselves. And Mr. A is nice.
And it being the first day, there was not lunch, therefore no awkward looking for somewhere to sit, which I appreciated. Then I had Spanish with Mr. C. I freaked out inside when I walked in and he started speaking Spanish. You see, I didn't take Spanish my sophomore year, because I couldn't drop any of my other classes (including Orchestra, because I love it), so I was rusty, to say the least.
Finally I had my last class, Music, or whatever I'm supposed to call it. Choir, Theory, whatever.. My teacher is SO. AWESOME. OMGAD. He's DR. W. DOCTOR!!1!!1111 He has his doctorate in piano, and he is just the most amazing music teacher I've ever had in my life. EVAR. I'm a terrible singer, so the fact that we have to sing worries me a tad, but I'm still cool with this class, because he plays piano sometimes. Yeah. We (and by we I mean the rest of the class, because it was some song they learned last year or whatever) were singing and he was improv-ing on the piano. I COULD SWEAR there was music in front of him. It was so amazing. Mr. Du (because there's already a Mr. D, and he teaches me Math now) (CDS teacher), kiss Dr. W's ass. You suck.
This being the first day, it was pretty ok. Looking back on my first day at Corona, I had fairly high hopes.
Nahhh...
Day 2: Math. Was. Scary. Mr D started teaching. Ohh math, I hate you.
But I didn't lose it until Humane Letters when we started studying the Iliad. (in my head "oh dear god") I started crying, which sounds terrible, but I'm an emotional person. That is how it is. Not like, super obvious blubbering, but I went really red, and sniffed a little. I wanted nothing more than to go back to Corona.
That though went on until Spanish. Because I hate Physics too. I did actually find someone to sit with at lunch, which was an unexpected moment of YESSSSS. It was a tad awkward, but I felt better. Then Spanish came, and I realised "Hey, I'm not that rusty!", then Music. Dr. W is just awesome, so yeah.
That first week got better as it went on, though I did break down again on the night of Day 2 at like midnight. I woke up my dad and howled and sobbed about how much I hated TPA and I wanted to go back to Corona. He said "Give it some time". I hate that goddam answer. That should be illegal. Because it's never precise.
He wants me to stay a year. He's bribing me, and I'm accepting. I can't say with what, because I feel bad for accepting it, since it's so awesome, but I'm staying.
Week 2 just ended, and it's been alright. I've found a person to sit with regularly, and once or twice people will come join us, like 2 really nice girls from my class came once, which I appreciated, and another time it was the girl I ate with the first day, and we talked about sports. During this discussion I decided to do Cross Country, followed by Soccer, followed by Track. I'm excited.
I have to go have lunch.
Toodle-oo!
By following me, you have boosted my self-esteem. Thank you. ^____^ You will get a dead baby in a box as a reward. I hope you like dead babies!
Also, I thought I should explain why I lack spare time. It's saturday, so I do actually have a few hours. Today is the 21st of August (ooh that reminds me, I have another post to write specifically about my best friend. It's her birthday today!), and on the 9th of August, I started school at Tempe Preparatory Academy. I worked really really hard to get in. I had to take Algebra 2, Physics 1 and American History (because the French don't like America, I thought Lincoln was the first president. I still don't know any American History, though.). Algebra and Physics had to be taken at the same time at the end of my sophomore year at Corona, when I was preparing for final exams (which I will describe in detail later, because one of them really pissed me off), and each one took about an hour and a half each every day. I got As on both though! I'm still pretty bad at Physics and Algebra. If you're not getting the hint, I don't recommend online classes. Then, at the end of my summer, I had to do American History. It being summer, I was in lazy-mode, so I kept putting it off, but still got an A because my teacher loved me for reasons I can't explain. Maybe because the other people in the classes couldn't spell candidate. (candydut?) I was getting excited, thinking "I'm so ready for a new school! It's an opportunity to make so many new friends, (seeing as I had very few at Corona) and widen my horizons (is that the expression? whatever). My dad was so proud and bragged to everyone he knew about how hard I was working to get to TPA (anacronym for my school if you hadn't guessed), even though he helped me a LOT with all 3 online classes, because I'm terrible at all things remotely mathematical, and end of summer + school = no bueno.
So school started, I had my uniform
which isn't bad, but not great, I'm getting used to it, and the photo quality is bad. I'll come visit you in my uniform and you shall see that it's better than the photo makes it look. Just saying. So I had my school stuff:
That pile grew too. I had like 6 more books. I just didn't have them at the time, and I didn't take another picture. Well I did, I just didn't upload it...
Anyway, it seemed ok, my teachers were all pretty nice. I had math with Mr. D, who is the brother of a guy my mom had a crush on in high school (I have no idea why she told me that..), and he's really nice, but you know...........math.
Then I had Humane Letters (english + history?) with Mrs. H, who has a bad reputation, but I love her, and she's my cross country coach, which I haven't started yet, because I need a physical.... I hate physicals. Mother insists on being in the room with me. ITS REALLY AWKWARD. I'm not close enough to my Mother to want to be in the same room as her when I'm mostly naked. Back to my school story. Humane Letters lasts 2 hours, which actually don't seem all that long. It's a bueno class, in my opinion.
Followed by Physics with Mr. A, and physics is........................................horrible. No other way to put it. The first day was fine, because we didn't talk about physics at all. We went around the room and said things about ourselves. And Mr. A is nice.
And it being the first day, there was not lunch, therefore no awkward looking for somewhere to sit, which I appreciated. Then I had Spanish with Mr. C. I freaked out inside when I walked in and he started speaking Spanish. You see, I didn't take Spanish my sophomore year, because I couldn't drop any of my other classes (including Orchestra, because I love it), so I was rusty, to say the least.
Finally I had my last class, Music, or whatever I'm supposed to call it. Choir, Theory, whatever.. My teacher is SO. AWESOME. OMGAD. He's DR. W. DOCTOR!!1!!1111 He has his doctorate in piano, and he is just the most amazing music teacher I've ever had in my life. EVAR. I'm a terrible singer, so the fact that we have to sing worries me a tad, but I'm still cool with this class, because he plays piano sometimes. Yeah. We (and by we I mean the rest of the class, because it was some song they learned last year or whatever) were singing and he was improv-ing on the piano. I COULD SWEAR there was music in front of him. It was so amazing. Mr. Du (because there's already a Mr. D, and he teaches me Math now) (CDS teacher), kiss Dr. W's ass. You suck.
This being the first day, it was pretty ok. Looking back on my first day at Corona, I had fairly high hopes.
Nahhh...
Day 2: Math. Was. Scary. Mr D started teaching. Ohh math, I hate you.
But I didn't lose it until Humane Letters when we started studying the Iliad. (in my head "oh dear god") I started crying, which sounds terrible, but I'm an emotional person. That is how it is. Not like, super obvious blubbering, but I went really red, and sniffed a little. I wanted nothing more than to go back to Corona.
That though went on until Spanish. Because I hate Physics too. I did actually find someone to sit with at lunch, which was an unexpected moment of YESSSSS. It was a tad awkward, but I felt better. Then Spanish came, and I realised "Hey, I'm not that rusty!", then Music. Dr. W is just awesome, so yeah.
That first week got better as it went on, though I did break down again on the night of Day 2 at like midnight. I woke up my dad and howled and sobbed about how much I hated TPA and I wanted to go back to Corona. He said "Give it some time". I hate that goddam answer. That should be illegal. Because it's never precise.
He wants me to stay a year. He's bribing me, and I'm accepting. I can't say with what, because I feel bad for accepting it, since it's so awesome, but I'm staying.
Week 2 just ended, and it's been alright. I've found a person to sit with regularly, and once or twice people will come join us, like 2 really nice girls from my class came once, which I appreciated, and another time it was the girl I ate with the first day, and we talked about sports. During this discussion I decided to do Cross Country, followed by Soccer, followed by Track. I'm excited.
I have to go have lunch.
Toodle-oo!
Well I'm off to a bad start.
Well hello there, I'm Callan. I created a blog today so that I could follow a friend of mine.. who also created a blog today. I'm a sheep okay?
So..
I was creating my profile and um, I did not realise this until I was done, but I failed more than I intended to.
My name on here is CallanFailsFrequentlally, and I'm not sure how it happened but.. I.. *sigh* forgot the S in fails.
Frequently in-fucking-deed.
I don't know how to change it. Whatever, it matches Frequentlally.
Though it bothers me a tad. I like the frequentlally. I do not like the lack of S on fails.
So I'm going to blame it all on the fact that it is past midnight and I can't type when my computer is on my stomach.
Anyway, the reason I'm blogging is not because I have an interesting life, or that I have a lot of spare time (I'll get back to that), but because as I said before, I'm a sheep, and Kaitie's doing it as of today. I like her blog. It's bueno. So yeah, I made one, and I have no idea if I'll ever write another.
Back to the lack of spare time, I used to have a lot. A LOT. Partially because I just got off summer holidays, and also because the school I was at last year was really easy. I'm no genius, trust me, but it was kind of an idiot school.. not to say there weren't really intelligent people there, but there were a lot of people that.... would be forced to fight in World War 3 War of the Idiots. Because that is going to be necessary. There are too many people in the world, and it's no bueno that there are people out there that just won't be able to work anywhere much nicer than McDonald's.
Perhaps you're catching on by now that I'm really cynical. And 15 years old. I got it from my mother and father, my grandparents on mother's side, and mother's grandparents (because I don't know who was the spawn of Mapes). Mapes, if you were wondering, was my great grandmother. I've never met her, but I've heard things that make me like her.
Here is an example to prove that I got my cynicism from her: she went to China when she was alive (lol jk no we stuffed her body and took her there) and was helping out all these depraved kids. She wrote in her journal at the bottom of one page "I feel so terrible for all these children, I just wish I could" then you had to turn the page, you know.. expecting her to say something along the lines of "adopt them all, and give them wonderful, happy lives". But no. (and this is why I love her). She said: ".. put them all on a boat, sail them out to the ocean, and sink it to put them out of their misery".
DO YOU NOT LOVE HER??
I'm sure it's a terrible thing to think/laugh at these kinds of things, but maybe I'm a bad person. My aim in life is to make money, regardless of how. I would kill babies for $5. Yeah.
Pray for my soul all you like, it's useless.
In case you hadn't guessed, I'm a strict atheist. And a conservative. And extremely pro-choice. Voting will be difficult.. But I'm 15 so I have time. In fact, the day I turn 18 will during an election year. However, I turn 18 seventeen days too late. Oh well, I don't give a damn who's president as long as they're not fucking everything up.
But back to a little more of my life. (I get side-tracked easily)
I was born in New York on November 22nd 1994, making me 15 years old. When I was 2, I moved to London, because my dad was a banker and we moved a lot. In fact, my siblings and I were all born on different continents. My sister, who is 25, was born in London, my brother, who is 23, was born in Tokyo, and I was born in Manhattan. But since they're older than me, I've never actually lived in Japan, which makes me sad. But London was awesome, so it's ok. I'll go to Japan someday. (sidenote: I'm not one of those white people that wishes they were asian. I hate people like that. I'm looking at you, E****.) I attended a school called the Lycee Francais Charles de Gaulle de Londres, and if you can't infer from that, I speak French. All the classes were in French, except English (people ask all the time, so I thought I would clear that up). Primary/Elementary school was called Primaire, which I'm going to use instead, so keep that in mind. Once you got to 6th grade, you went into college. Not University-College, but college. University and College are different. Primaire kinda sucked. I mostly had bad teachers, and I was super shy, so I didn't have many (that means any) friends. Except that one creepy kid G********, who will remain creepy for the rest of his life. Once I got into 6th grade, I made a new friend: L***. What a bitch. I mean, we were best friends for like 2 years, but about a quarter of the way through the second year (in 7th grade), she became a stupid butt. She wanted to be older, and she made friends with people (to clarify, we both became friends with them), but then she would like talk shit about me to them so that they wouldn't be friends with me, and then I would have no friends. And thank god I re-met Jenna. We'd sort of known each other for a long time, but never been close. She invited me to sit at her lunch table, at which I met more people! Unfortunately, our lunch hours never coincided, so I had to wait until 8th grade to be in their class. But it was worth the wait. They were the best friends I had ever had, except Alexia, but that's another story. They were funny, and cool, and I just.. blended in. 8th grade was truly the happiest year of my life. But then, as an American, I thought "Maybe I belong even MORE in America!". We moved to Arizona that summer (my parents kinda wanted to as well). I started as a freshman at Corona del Shithole, and thus started one of the worst years in recent memory (I don't remember primaire all that well, or the whole thing with L***-Big-Ass <-also another story). My first day was so awful. Not one single person talked to me, except the teachers, and I cried at lunch, having eaten alone outside the class I had next. But Orchestra, which I had last period, saved my life. I would still be depressed if it weren't for Orchestra.
Mother actually had to make me take it. I absolutely hated the idea, I assumed it was really geeky and would be a one-way ticket to loserville. No. Orchestra is so awesome. I made most of my friends in that class, and freshman year finally ended. Then I spent the summer seeing my friends from London who I missed so much. I spent 10 days with Alexia, 5 with Jenna, and 5 with Madeleine. Then I came back to Arizona and "helped" at the Juice Factory, which was a smoothie store my friend's older brother owned. Summer '09 was amazing, in other words.
Then sophomore year started. It was slightly better than freshman year, but I was still kind of devoid of friends outside of Orchestra (I hate that I had different people in different classes.. too many names to learn). I went to Aztectown, during which one of my close non-Orchestra friends revealed herself to be a stupid dramatic lying bitch. I can't say more about the lying part, because that would violate the whole point of Aztectown. To prove her stupidity: we were in History/Geography, and she had difficulty find Russia. And China. To prove her dramatic...-ness: she would spaz about the slightest thing, and got really obsessed with things, like the whole emo trend (she's definitely not emo. no way), and music she doesn't actually like. And she was a bitch because I went shopping with her one time and I was going to try on jeans and I picked my size (3), and she said "no, you're not a 3! you're like a 5! or a 7!". I said "I'm a 3. The jeans I'm wearing are size 3". She, who is most definitely overweight, took the jeans I was holding and said, "Well they're stretchy, so I guess it's fine". Did I mention I'm incapable of being a bitch to someone's face? I just push it all down deep inside. Until now, I suppose.
Gosh I sound really horrible. I've bitched rather a lot in this. I'll tone it down. By the time you get here, you shouldn't have as much bitchiness. Actually, scratch that, I've only bitched twice, and they deserved it. *glares*
So. I stopped being friends with her. She made it clear she wanted to be friends, still, but I was like "Bitch, no." (in my head.) Sophomore year automatically became better.
Then: summer. I went to see Alexia, and I only visited her, because she goes to Tennis Camp every year, so I can't really stay at her house if she's not there. That would be no fun, and awkward, but also because my friends from the Lycee hadn't gotten out of school yet (French schools don't let you out for summer until early July, but you go back in September). That was a shame, but I came back, saw my brother and sister, and saw my friends.
I'm too tired now, but I'll post more tomorrow. It's saturday, so I have nothing else to do.
Toodles!
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