Men. We don't know what we did.

This post is brought to you by yet another family guy clip. This one had me laughing for a solid three minutes. The laughter was followed by sporadic chuckling and random smiling throughout the day, which no doubt confused many people sitting nearby who had not had the same comedic experience. Don't you just love those moments, when you are sitting next to someone you barely know and suddenly remember something hilarious, and that little creeper smile just slides on to your face and makes you feel like an idiot, but you can't stop? I make so many friends that way... but not really. Enjoy:

After watching this for the twenty-third time I still find it hilarious, partly because it is just so true. Well, I mean not completely true in the literal sense that girls actually jump out of windows for stupid reasons, but in the general, yeah they get super upset for odd reasons sense. If that is a sense. IM GOING TO MAKE IT ONE.

Ahem. Despite the fact that I'm not a guy, I feel like I can sympathize with them. I mean, I care about girl things, like looking presentable and crossing my legs when wearing a skirt, but I'm not girly. I don't revolve my entire life around a guy I like (just a large chunk of it) and I don't spend hours over-analyzing a small encounter (just about twenty minutes).

I guess sometimes guys don't really realize what they are saying can be taken in about a thousand and two different ways, but it's not really their fault... most of the time. Truthfully I think guys are just as lost as us girls in the world of romance, they are just expected to magically know everything. Sure, I wish they did magically know everything they needed to, but that's just not how it is, and I get that. I mean, I wouldn't want a bunch of fish coming up to me telling me to hold my breath for two hours because I should know how since I'm technically supposed to be a goldfish. I'd probably have to practice holding my breath for longer and longer each day until finally my lungs just failed and died.

Yes I'm extremely lazy. Don't judge me.

Now I realize that metaphor is stretching things a bit and probably doesn't even make sense, but guys are like me as a fish. They need guidance and practice, yet they'll still probably fail in the end. It's just up to the other fish in the sea to accept this as reality and be happy with a guy only holding his breath for an hour, which is still an incredible feat, even if it isn't magical.

I'm sorry ladies, not all guys can be magical. Not all guys can be the Old Spice Man. Because he is perfect.

Rock You Like A Hurricane

I write to you in the breif hours before Irene lays her wrath upon my house. I live pretty much near the direct path of this fat-ass Hurricane, so I'm not really sure what to expect. I mean... I'm expecting rain. And wind. And possibly flooding, but you know what I mean.

Truthfully I feel a bit like a jerk getting worked up over this Hurricane. Compared to some of the other disasters of the world, this is just a bunch of hype and blabber that is only getting so much coverage because it's the east coast, and that's where our major cities are. I mean, yeah there's going to be a hell of a lot of damage, and yeah now I sound like a jerk because 8 people have already died... but... I don't know. Never mind. Clearly I'm just a big douchebag no matter what I say.

Still, I can't help but feel nervous. It's not like I'm sitting crouched in my doorpost waiting to sheild myself from flying kitchen debris three hours before anything actually happens... I'm just mildly concerned. We are likely to lose power, and our street will most likely flood, and that's probably the extent of our hurricane damage. For some reason I'm excited as well. It's an odd thing to be excited about possible property damage, but nothing ever happens in my town. Now we have more to talk about than grass and grilled cheese sandwiches.

I feel like anybody out there with the name Irene must be feeling pretty bad about themselves. About ten times now I've cursed the name. They are probably suffering from some extremely lame jokes at the moment as well, and tired to death of it.

"Hey Irene!"
"Hey Steve."
"You tired?"
"Um... no, not really."
"Are you sure? Cause I hear you've been rocking everyone like a hurricane!"

"God, Irene. I know The Jersey Shore sucks, but there's no reason for you to go and flood the place!"

"Irene, you should lay off the drinks. If you keep it up the room may start spinning!"

Ahem. Those were pretty bad, I'm sorry. I tried. Sorry there's no picture. I may add one later, maybe not. If there aren't any posts for a little bit it's because I lost power.

Good luck to anyone dealing with Irene. I wish you the best.

Why Do I Keep Checking My Horoscope?

A couple of months ago I got a Horoscope app for my ipod. I'm not sure why but I always feel like since Horoscopes base their information off of the stars they must have some kind of truth to them. Of course I'm not some voodoo witch doctor lady who believes in sprinkling pixie dust on things or rubbing bananas on bug-bites... but I do believe that there has to be some meaning to life out there. Maybe. A bit.

Anyway this Horoscope app seemed a bit sketchy from the start. It included information about my zodiac symbol mixed with my sign. Of course, I'm confused as hell as to what my sign is ever since they claimed it's been wrong the whole time and there are actually thirteen signs... but still. I entered my day and year of birth and it told me how I would feel that day.

Now it just so happens that on the particular day I downloaded the app, I had spent about five hours playing video games, two reading, and one just lying in my bed feeling tired and bored. And you know what my horoscope told me? It said:

"Today will not be prosperous. You may be feeling a bit unmotivated, so give yourself the day off and just relax."

As you can imagine, I became hooked. It was as obvious as a human pretending to be an elf in Santa's workshop. The stars had sent me a clear message that Horoscopes were indeed completely truthfully, and I should convert to being a Horoscopist... a Horoscopian... a... a Horoscopitron.

Anyway. That began the madness of checking my Horoscope everyday, and for the first couple of days, it was spot on. Unfortunately. If I felt angry at someone, it would tell me that I should just cool off for a bit and things would work on. If I ate some bad chicken, it would tell me that I may be heading towards a few sick days. Every single prediction that could possibly be interpreted to relate to my day appeared, and I thought it was magic. Legitimate, real deal magic.

It became an obsession, but eventually the magic began to fade. Predictions came up that just didn't make any sense, and no matter hard hard I tried to create imaginary links... there just weren't any. Take today, for example. I visited a college today, but other than that there was nothing particularly eventful. My Horoscope reads:

"If you're single, the gods of love are smiling down on you today. The day is handing you all the cards you ned to move forward and start a new relationship. Today's assets are charm, spontaneity, intelligence, and dynamism. It's time to get a little closer to the person who's been making eyes at you. Make sure your new romance will not take your time off work. Good balance is the key to success."

Now, I really just don't see where this one is going. The closest I got to a man today was sitting at an information center trying not to fall asleep. I doubt anybody has been "making eyes" at me recently, and I think I worry more about the internet taking time away from my work other than a new romance.

I feel like my Horoscope is trying, but it's just been throwing out random crap and hoping that it happens to be right. Yet I continue to check it. I'm not entirely sure why, but time after time I find myself clicking on the app and seeing if the magic has returned. It's kind of fun seeing what the stars "have in store" for me, and also a bit exhilarating when they get it right. More often then not, though, I just get depressed when my days don't live up to my Horoscope's expectations.

My Brother Disapproves

This here, is my brother.

He's three years younger than me, which makes him... A FRESHMAN! Oh, I miss those days. But not really.

Ever since I saw that episode of family guy where everybody shouts "FRESH MEAT" and beats up Chris, it's all I can ever think about when talking to, or about, freshmen. Here is the clip, for your viewing pleasure:

Ahem. So yeah. Nobody at my school actually does that, or beats up freshmen just for the hell of it... but it is just generally agreed upon that all freshman are lame and annoying. It doesn't matter who the kid is. If they are in ninth grade, then they are automatically not cool in the eyes of an upperclassman. 

I feel like as a senior, I just have automatic rights to being more awesome than a freshman. I've survived three more years of high school and lived. Freshman have no right thinking that they're better than me until they've been through the treacherous jungles of hallway, and the classrooms of hell, and the same fire-breathing teachers as I have. No right, you hear me!

Anyway, I don't have anything against specific freshmen. In fact, I'm friends with quite a few incoming ninth graders, and I think they're all awesome. I'm just saying that as a class, freshmen fail. It's not their fault, of course. It's the fault of the louder, more obnoxious freshmen that speak for their class. It's the short, whiny freshmen who stomp around in "high fashion" and act cooler than they are that ruin the image of the entire bunch.

When you're a senior and obnoxious, it's allowed. This is our last year here, so if I see some guys running down the hallway with painted faces shouting random things and failing at indoor parkour, it's completely understandable. When an annoying freshmen decides he wants to stand out and look like a total douche, he's compared to the cooler, older and more respected douche, and thus is marked down as lame. Therefore he marks the freshmen population as lame as well.

Coming off of this tangent... I wrote this post because my brother recently discovered that I was writing a blog, and apparently, he disapproves. He thinks it's creepy letting people I don't know read about my life and thoughts. To this, I kind of have to laugh. Or chuckle. To be honest, I don't really care whether I know my readers or not. In my life, I want to reach out to as many people as I can. That's what life is about, isn't it? Making an impact? So what if the only impact I'm making right now is by writing about random things in my life. An impact is an impact, and I'm enjoying myself. 

Blogging despite his disapproval is kind of fun on its own. I feel like I'm Juliet, and this blogging community is my Romeo- all about defying the rules of my family. I've openly told him that I don't give a crap that he thinks it's weird... so I guess it is a bit different... but that's okay. If my relationship with this blog paralleled exactly to the story of Romeo and Juliet, I think I'd have some bigger problems to worry about. 

Loremipsumophobia

My dear followers, I have a confession to make. I have Loremipsumophobia. Yes, I know it sounds made up. It is made up. But what isn't a carefully constructed google latin translated word are the symptoms of Loremipsumophobia, which are VERY real.

Loremipsumophobia is the fear of video chatting, or "skyping."

I created this new phobia using a combination of the latin words for "computer" and "talk" plus "phobia," because believe it or not there are no words for "videochat" or "internet" in latin. Who knew.

Anyway, I figured I had to create some sort of illness to explain my weird fear of talking and seeing someone else's face through a computer screen. Is it weird that I want to curl into a ball at the mention of a "skype party?" Should I be concerned?

Truthfully I'm a little worried. It seems like everyone around me is skyping and chatting and living their lives through video and such, but... I don't know. I just keep shying away from video chat offers and invitations, instead choosing to chat through typing and making lame excuses. But I just can't understand what I don't like about video chatting.

I think it's the fact that you have to think of something to say. It's like, you call someone up on skype, and everyone is just like, oh hey, and then you go through the usual small talk... and then what? You sit. You comment on the room they're in. And then you leave, unsure of why you even called them in the first place. Sure, that's exactly what chatting someone on facebook is, but at least you don't have to completely focus on a person. I happen to do twenty things simultaneously as I chat people. Like now. I'm chatting a friend, blogging, looking up interesting phobias (did you know that Dinophobia is the fear of dizziness of whirlpools), eating cookies, aplplying my fifth layer of itch-X, itching, watching It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia online, listening to music, reading JRose's blarg, blowing my nose, dreaming of becoming a magician, petting my cat, brushing cat hair off of my belongings, clicking a pen, talking on the phone, yelling at my brother, counting my freckles, reading Song of Solomon, trying to draw a unicorn on paint, typing in different words on google translate, and ordering more virtual gang robes for my most recent followers. IF THAT ISN'T MULTI-TASKING THEN I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS.


Anyway. When I video-chat I can't really multi-task, so maybe I'm afraid that I'll loose that precious time that I could have been spending doing all of those twenty things.


Now, I'm not "anti-social" or anything, in case you decided to judge me based off of my Loremipsumophobia. Hell, I love talking to people. People are interesting. But if I'm going to have an actual conversation with someone face to face, I want to be in the same room as them. That way when I'm talking I know that I'm not completely distracted, they're not distracted (hopefully), and they don't secretly want to be doing something else on the vast expanse of the internet. Okay, so yeah somebody could secretly want to not talk to me while standing right in front of me, but... yeah. I don't really have an argument for that one. 


Loremipsumophobia is something that should be taken very seriously. I'm currently attempting to get over this condition, but it's difficult. I think I'll just take baby steps for right now.


Well, um... for your enjoyment I've included a bit of my multi-tasking creation. I think I may go back and add pictures to a lot of my posts if I have time. Pictures make things more fun, and my favorite blogs all have pictures in them to make me actually want to read them... we'll see how drawing with paint/gimp works out.

Three Bug-Bites to the FACE

I'M BACK. And bitten. And so very itchy.

So the river wilderness adventure was fun. It was awesome hanging out with my cousins, but to be honest I'm not really a... bug person. I mean, I don't think anyone is really a bug person, except for the few who have chosen to abandon their mediocre lives as pale cubicle-dwellers and gone off into the wild to join their bug brethren. Kind of like how Spongebob joined the jellyfish in that one episode where he took off his square pants... but yeah. What was I saying? Oh, that's right. I don't like bugs. Especially mosquitos that have the nerve to bite my face.

You see, mosquitoes are horrible creatures. They serve no purpose to anybody anywhere, and cause bites that easily morph into weird shapes on my overreact-able skin to convince me that I have several incurable diseases that will cause me much pain in the near future. I mean, these lumps can't be normal.

And then they go and bite my face. As if it isn't enough insult that I don't realize a mosquito has bitten my leg twelve times until I suddenly get the urge to itch my skin off, they go and ninja on to my face and make a complete fool out of me. It's all about pride, with mosquitos. They suck it away with every bite, stealing blood and dignity.

With arm and leg bites, I can live my life. Sure, I'll sit at my computer screen typing up a blog while fighting the urge to itch every five seconds, but it'll be bearable. I can slather on the itch-X magic cream and ignore the reality of the red lumps. But on my face... everything is ten times worse. Not only do I feel like I'm going to rip open my cheek and forehead whenever I catch myself scratching, but now it looks like I have obnoxious acne. Walking on the street, I can almost feel people staring at my not acne bug bites. It infuriates me. It makes me want to grab the supermarket lady by the shoulders and shout, "IT'S A BUG BITE, DAMN IT. IT WON'T GO AWAY." I spent all summer scrubbing my face with that so-called miracle face wash so I'd be all clear and such for my senior year, and now THIS. Nothing I do will make the bug-bites go away from my face. It makes me sad.

On another note, I think a shrine needs to be made for this itch-X cream. It needs some kind of reward, or medal, or even just a hug. It's pretty much the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and I've seen the X-Men movies, so that's saying a lot. Truthfully I think I'd be pretty lost without this magical cream. Or just really itchy.

Last time I had a lot of bug bits I rubbed banana peels on them because some websites told me it would help. It sort of worked but I think it's because I just willed it to do something with my mind and rubbed the bites for a while... but it left weird banana goo on my legs... so I think I'll stick with itch-X. This stuff is the shiz.

I just put some on my face. It's making me paranoid that my face is going to be all messed up. Are you supposed to put this stuff on your face? I can feel the goo just sticking there... (That's what she said). Anyway the bug bite stopped itching. Mostly. Sometimes I get the feeling that half of itch-X's power comes from my extreme desire to not want to touch it. I feel like the goo is toxic or something... so I don't itch it. Hmm.

I think I'll stay inside from now until... later. When all of the mosquitos in the world have spontaneously combusted. Yeah.

...No Internet? Oh dear.

So... apparently I'm off on some wilderness adventure until next Thursday. I'm pretty sure this means no phone service or internet. It's going to be interesting, and by interesting, I mean I'll probably die. No big deal. And if I don't die, the mass of college e-mails, facebook notifications, and my increased Solitaire rank will surely crush my bones into a million pieces.

Okay, so I'm being a bit melodramatic. It actually sounds like a fun trip, because we are going with my cousins, and they are pretty cool. I've got my books and Gameboy SP and some summer homework (which isn't actually going to get done). Seems relaxing to just be outdoors and whatnot. I probably should have done more of that this summer anyway.

So yeah I wrote this to explain my future absence from blogging until Thursday. I know you will all miss these posts dearly. That's what I'm telling myself.

I'm kind of afraid to go fishing. Apparently we are going to go on one of the days, and it's my first time. Fish kind of creep me out in general, so I'm not too sure I want one flopping around an inch from my face. It's just.. fish are so... mehhhh. When I think about a fish touching my skin my shoulders instantly crawl up to my neck and my whole body experiences a spasm of twitchiness. They're just so... MEHHH. Gah, I need some better adjectives. Somebody get me a dictionary!

Ahem. Fish are adipose, lardy creations with macabre eyes that stare into the depths of your individuality.

Now, I don't necessarily hate fish. Many of my favorite things are shaped like the creatures, like GOLDFISHHHHHH and Sweedish fish (oh my gosh, yes). But real fish are nothing like these incredible shaped foods. Real fish don't taste like happiness and cheese. They taste like fish.

Not to be random or anything, but I think that Finding Nemo falsely portrays fish to children. Fish are not that adorable or friendly or talkative. I've never seen a fish talk. Have you ever seen a fish talk? No? I didn't think so. And if you're sitting there thinking, I'mma be an ass and say I have seen a fish talk just to be difficult, then I'd like you to take that talking fish, and shove it down your !@#0&!

What? I was just going to say your toilet...

#71,879 Fool

I wish I had a cooler addiction. Something like, an addiction to adrenaline rushes or exotic foods. A cool addiction would lead me to awesome places in the world, and to new experiences and adventures.

But no. Apparently the cards shuffled their way into dealing me an addiction to ipod Solitaire. That's right. I have no control over this intense, burning desire to constantly sort cards from least to greatest. It overpowers my sense of logic and duty. Truthfully it's becoming a bit of a problem. Instead of watching a movie with my brother, I play Solitaire. Instead of doing my summer homework, I play Solitaire. Instead of sleeping, I play Solitaire. It's come to the point where without even consciously making the decision to play, my fingers have already found their way to the Solitaire app on my ipod.

But, just like any other addiction, I've found ways to excuse my destructive behavior. Instead of feeling alone and antisocial while playing Solitaire, I've switched to the multiplayer mode, which uses the internet to put me up against someone else in a race. Therefore, I can claim that my opponent is committing just as heinous a crime as I am by avoiding life through virtual cards. I also use the multiplayer mode to allow myself to continue playing even when I've clearly had enough. There is a ranking attached to the multiplayer mode of Solitaire, one that you can only improve through constantly playing and constantly winning. Every night I play that extra game, those two extra games, those twenty extra games because I know it will better my ranking.

Currently, I am ranked #71,879. Now, before you start thinking, wow, this chick sucks, I would like to point out that #71,879 is in the top 5% of all ipod touch/iphone Solitaire players. IN THE WORLD. That's right. The top 5%. And every day I decrease that number by about two or three thousand, meaning that in roughly 28.8 days I WILL BE NUMBER ONE. BAHAHAHAHAHA.

So yes. It's an addiction, but it's also an extreme desire to win. Somehow I've channeled all of my competitive energy into this little game of cards, and you know what? It's done wonders to how I act around other people. Because of Solitaire I am a better person. Yeah. So it's okay to play it. All the time.

Right now my shortest winning time is 59 seconds. I'd like you to take a moment and soak that up. Less than a minute to sort 52 cards into their respective suits. Solitaire is one of the few things I will admit I am superior in, and I must claim this superiority by being #1. And when I do.... well, when I do there will be CAKE. AND ICE-CREAM AND CONFETTI AND RAVE MUSIC. And I will be able to die happy.

My name is goldfish, and I am addicted to Solitaire.

Mechanical Pencils- A Love/Hate Relationship

So the other day I was using my mechanical pencil, and it ran out of lead. Naturally, I decided to blog about it.

The thing about mechanical pencils... is that I love them. A lot. Mechanical pencils are always perfectly pointed, so you never get that progression of handwriting that just goes from bad to apocalyptic in a matter of minutes. It's perfectly consistent and reliable. I tend to get a confidence boost about my handwriting whenever I use a mechanical pencil. I'm pretty sure it's the same crappy scribble, but deep in my heart I feel improvement. I can't even begin to tell you what believing you have better handwriting can do to your day. It's like, you're just going along, doing normal tasks and feeling dull, when suddenly you get a mechanical pencil. And all of your writing magically seems beautiful as it sprouts on to the page. And  you can do anything. You can climb a tree again. You can swim a channel. I don't care which channel, just a channel. You can brainstorm ideas about what you can now do all day just because your handwriting will make the ideas possible.

It's really an incredible experience, to use a mechanical pencil. However, just like all good things in life... there are complications. The main one being, that mechanical pencils hate me. I don't know what it is, but they don't like to see me happy. That's a fact.

I'd say I get about a day to enjoy a mechanical pencil before something happens to tear my pencil and I apart and remind me that I actually secretly hate mechanical pencils. I shall list the three most common ways mechanical pencils display their hatred.

1. My pencil runs out of lead. Usually when I come across mechanical pencils they are already used, so it only makes sense that sooner or later they will run out of lead. I understand this, and I also understand that I am fully capable of finding replacement lead. That said, I am a lazy person. I don't carry lead around in my pockets, so finding one of those little, pin-sized glass cases full of lead, which is probably buried deep in the confines of my artsy stuff cabinet, would be a pain, and much more work then just finding another pencil. But it isn't my laziness that makes my eye twitch as I look upon the useless pencil in my hand. No, it is the fact that it torments me. The pencil is not satisfied with simply running out of juice right when I need it. It has to make the last bit of lead impossible to use. That little millimeter of lead that just keeps sliding back into the pencil when I press it onto the paper mocks me. It rubs salt into the already blistering wounds of my heart.

2. The erasure runs out. There is nothing more depressing then trying to erase something and failing. Because then you have to look at that un-erasable thing for the rest of your life. Or until you disintegrate it with a flame-thrower. Unfortunately, flame-throwers are harder to come by these days than you'd think.

3. Mechanical pencils are secretly the reincarnations of Houdini. I don't know why, but my mechanical pencils are always running away. Oh wait, I do know why. They hate me. It's not even like the pencils wait until my back is turned to make a mad dash for the exit. They pouf out of existence the second they leave my hand, even if I had been staring at it moments before and made a conscious decision to put the pencil in an easily rememberable location. You can't escape like that without a thoroughly developed plan sketched out along the walls of a jail cell.

So yeah. Despite the fact that I love mechanical pencils, they never seem to return the feeling. So I hate them back. It's difficult to understand, really. All I know is that mechanical pencils are an important part of my life, so I guess I'll have to learn to live with my conflicting emotions.

Musings of the Exhausted

Hey. Oh hey. So right now I'm super tired. And bored. And I don't really feel like sleeping for some odd reason.

So I'm going to type this post and regret it later. But hey, life is full of regrets, is it not? I regret getting pizza today instead of chinese food. I regret watching Rebecca Black's new music video. I regret not finding a unicorn.

So yeah. You ever feel drunk when you're tired? Like your mind just keeps rambling on and on and on until suddenly your own brain stops you and is just like, what the hell are you talking about? That's pretty much what's happening now, except I'm writing it down...

You ever notice how it's always insanely difficult to get comfortable while staying awake when you're tired. I'm not sure why, but I think it's because if I'm comfortable I'll fall asleep, so it's like my body is purposefully sabotaging my mind's desire to sleep. It's like a double agent, working for my conscious mind's goal of staying awake while pretending to also want sleep by flopping lazily on the bed in odd ways... which actually doesn't lead to comfort but gives the false impression of it. Oh, how sneaky you are, body. But I'm on to you.

I just put the laptop on my legs for a minute, but then I chickened out. I heard that makes it so you can't have kids. Despite the fact that I'm constantly suspicious of this piece of information/ annoyed at the inconveniences it causes, putting the laptop on my legs now scares the shit out of me. Every second it spends touching my skin gives me a rush of adrenaline, like I'm balancing a sword on my forehead and any minute it could come slashing down on somebody's face. My heart picks up speed and everything. I think I need to get out more. Do some actual knife throwing to teach my adrenaline glands a lesson or two.

My friend had an energy drink a couple of hours ago. I watched her drink it, and to be honest I think my mind is more jittery than hers at the moment. She's not here, but I'm feeling a telepathic communication. I just know. Kind of like E.T. knows how that little kid with the bike feels. You know how when they both start dying it's because they're connected in some super supernatural way. Well... that's how it is. When my bamboo plant starts to die I'll know it's because my friend needs me.

Anyway I think it's about time I went to sleep. I guess I figured that since I had the time at the moment I'd give you two posts in one day... or was the last one yesterday... I can't remember considering it's late and I'm delusional. So yeah. Hopefully this makes up for the lack of posts in the last couple of days. Even if this one is a piece of crap. I can't tell. But that's okay. I hope it was entertaining anyway. Good night.

I just want to suck your blood... no biggie.

Well. How do I go about this, exactly? I guess I'll just have to jump right into it.

Vampires. My God how they confuse my sensitive, easily corruptible feelings. At one point in my life, vampires fascinated me. Like all other mythical creatures, I was drawn to their mystery, to their dark yet secretly lonely nature. But now... the very word vampire disgusts me. I can't even think it without the corners of my lips dropping, right eyebrow twitching with annoyance and nose scrunching, like I'm snarling at an inanimate object and getting continuously annoyed by the fact that it isn't becoming frightened.

But how. How could my perceptions go from such adoration to complete abhoration in such a short period of my adolescent years? To tell you the truth I think it was a combination of overexposure and Robert Pattinson's face. Now, now, to all of you obsessive Edward fangirls, there's no need to bring out your shotguns just yet. It's not like I'm going to stalk Robert P on the street and stab him for contributing to my hatred of vampires. I'm just going to verbally abuse him. And this is the internet. So you can't find me. Unless you are super hackers who know how to do that sort of thing and have way to much time on your hands. Then you can go ahead and shoot me, but I'll die happy, knowing that I have boss computer geniuses following my blog. SO HA! YOU CAN'T WIN.

Ahem. Moving on. Robert P just did not work as a proper portrayal of a sexy vampire. In fact, he took all of the carefully constructed, beautifully gorgeous vampires of my imagination and ran them over with a truck, with no Edward Cullen there to stop it. Because he was under the front tire. Dead. I don't understand why some girls find him good looking. Okay, maybe as Cedric Diggory he was "cute," but with painted abs, deteriorated white wall paper skin, and a failed chemistry with Kristen Stewart, it was just a whole lot of ugly. So yeah. Thanks, Robert, for the countless times your face has slithered its way into my thoughts as I've tried to picture a completely unrelated, sexy fictional bloodsucker.

Now, of course Robert isn't the only culprit in the case of my vampire enthusiasm deflation. The media and other Young Adult fiction writers have seriously overexposed vampires as a fantasy race, taking away from their dignity and secrecy. There's a bit of fun in leaving a bit of feed for the imagination. I'm sick of going into bookstores, strolling down to my favorite fiction section, and finding row upon row suffocated with vampire novels. There are vampires in school books, vampires on vacation books, and even vampires gone on a  shopping trip books. I don't need to read about the vampire romance that occurred during a family fishing trip, nor do I care about the angst of a vampire's first swirly. My God. Are authors these days so dry of new material that all they can think of is vampires? I'D HONESTLY RATHER READ 100 PAGES ABOUT A GRILLED CHEESE SANDWICH.

And another thing, I'm no hipster, but it's extremely annoying when something that used to be cool gets blown up in the media and taken over by screaming thirteen year olds. The old fashioned, onion fearing, night dwelling vampires we all used to know were at one point cool. But now that little girls and soccer moms are going crazy over vampires, it's no longer safe for us cool, 17 year old kids to be seen reading a vampire book or watching a vampire movie. Where's the justice in that?

Unfortunately, I doubt this whole vampire fiasco will wither away before I'm fifty. All I can hope for is that by the time I have kids, they will not know the face of Robert Pattinson as the face of all vampires, and that they will be able to enjoy the hotness of vampires as they are. Or were.

A Vlogger's Testimony To Tickling

I am once again ultra excited. This tends to happen a lot, usually at the mention of cool socks, X-men, Mario, or the Hunger Games. But this time, I have been shot into a whirlwind of excitement by my good friend, April!

You see, April is a vlogger, and in one of her more recent vlogs she comments on my tickle fight post. Now, let me just say a few things about April before I begin ranting. She is an incredibly awesome person. Her vlogs are as refreshing as the first sip of watery looking liquid from a cactus after a being abandoned without supplies for a week on the moon. Her opinions are honest and profound, and she's just an awesome spunky person in every way. Except for weight lifting. Because I'm pretty sure she would be squashed just as easily as I would in an arm wrestle against Arnold Schwarzenegger. And yes, I looked up how to spell that. BUT IN EVERYTHING ELSE SHE IS SPECTACULAR.

Anyway, my good friend April has posted a testimonial to my tickling is not flirtatious post. She had been victimized countless times by ticklers, and I have witnessed the very crimes committed against her myself. April, I would like to apologize for not intervening. But, you must know, I have little bodily power over the antagonistic ticklers in our lives. My power lies in frowning angrily at people and shaking my head like a disappointed grandmother. Granny disapproves of these boys and their disregard for the delicacy of women.

Now, now. April and I are far from the stereotypes of flower-like women with too many feelings and not enough intelligence. In no way do I admit that men are superior to women with the comments on this blog. I simply acknowledge the clear physical difference between the two genders, and the need to be aware when dealing with sensitive people.

As for the tickling dilemma which has brought April and I into collaboration, instead of reiterating the problem, I would like to quote April. "You do not want to be remembered as 'that nice guy who actually tried to grope me.'" Seriously. If you so desire to get that close to a girl, ask her out. Give her a hug. Or just keep your hands to yo damn self. Keep on vlogging, April!

Link to April's page is here.

Matthew Azrieli- My Canadian Musician Friend

SO. It's official. I've made a friend who I'm positive is going to be famous one day. I mean, truthfully I have no doubts that all my friends are going to be super rich and famous in the future... but this kid will probably reach that status before age 73. Which is when I plan on peaking. So naturally my friends will reach their ultimate status at that age too... because it makes sense.

Anyway, I've created this post to pretty much shamelessly advertise his music. Now all six of you loyal, beautiful followers will be forced to click on this link... or to just look at it and wonder for endless hours who this mysterious, soon to be famous Matthew Azrieli is. I bet you are trying to make up a song in your head right now that could possibly belong to this musician. It could possibly have to do with love, a dragon, or maybe even the apocalypse. It could be anything.

A breif overview of my opinions about Matthew's music goes as follows: I think it's incredible.

You want a bit more info? Aight, fine. He's extremely talented when it comes to playing the guitar and has a deep but soothing singing voice. I listen to a wide variety of music depending on what mood I'm in, and his style is definitely something I'd turn to if I'm just sitting on a park bench feeling light and airy on the inside. It gives me sort of a swaying back and forth feeling, like I should be swishing my feet over the side of a wall.

So yeah. I feel special. I just know that when people like Matthew and all of my fantastically talented friends do something incredible with their lives, they will look back at the blog posts I wrote about them when they were just starting out, and they'll be like, wow. I need to get this goldfish chick a motorcycle.

Once again, here is Matthew Azrieli.