I Have Needs

There's a fine line between needing something and wanting something. You need water. You need nutrients. You need sleep. For living purposes. An ipod? A cookie? A snow cone machine? Those are wants.

Now that we've established that basic principle, let me tell you about something I need.

A pegasus.

It's crucial to my survival.

...

What? You don't believe me? You think it's just something I want? Well, no. It's not. I need a pegasus.

Now let me tell you why:

1. Self-defense. I am a tiny person. My greatest method of protecting myself from oncoming dangers is flailing my arms and ducking behind other people. If I had a pegasus, nobody would even consider messing with my shit. I mean think about it. How intimidating would that be? A flying horse with a gorgeous mane whipping in the wind coming at you with a massive front kick of pure fury. Without such a method of self-defense, I will most definitely die. From stabs.

2. Quests: A lot of times I am given tasks that would be very difficult to accomplish without a pegasus. I mean, what if Poseidon asks me to retrieve something from a floating castle in the sky because he isn't allowed to leave his ocean realm to get it himself? I could imagine that Poseidon would be very angry if I failed him because of something stupid like not being able to get there. I would be killed for such silliness.

3. Sickness Prevention: Sometimes it rains and I don't have an umbrella. With a pegasus, I could turn to him and be all, yo help me out, bro. And BAM. Instant rain protection. Cause, you know... I could catch a cold... and die.

4. More Health Reasons: If I'm late to something important, running to make it in time can lead to many awful things happening. I could get overheated and die. I could run into someone and break my neck. I could trip from exhaustion and get run over by a landscaper on a lawnmower who was distracted from his current path of lawn mowing by a chubby squirrel falling out of a tree. Needless to say, if I had a pegasus take me to my destination, I would not only make it in time, but I wouldn't die.

5. Short People Problems: Let's get something straight here. I'm not short. I am, however, extremely average sized. This means I can't get things in tall places. What if I'm reaching for the extra towels I store on the top shelf and my five hundred pound trophy for being the most gangster blogger in the universe falls on me? I could die. With a pegasus... well I'd be able to reach the towel without pulling everything on the shelf down with it.

6. Friendship: This is a need. Come at me. Without friendship I would be super lonely and sad. Being sad can't be good for your health, and I'm 78% certain that it lowers your lifespan. So yeah. Having a pegasus friend would make me infinitely happy, and therefore I would never die.

7. FOR SCIENCE: This need isn't for me. It's for society. So little is known about pegasi in the scientific community, and I believe that a lot can be learned from them. It could help improve designs for air travel and save lives. If I had a pegasus, I wouldn't mind letting scientists study him for a few minutes every couple of weeks. I mean, my pegasus and I are going to be busy. I can't promise away all our time. We got things to do.

I am a woman and I have needs.

*I did not draw this pegasus. 

Unrelated side note: If you're wondering why the quality of my drawings has changed recently, it's because I don't really have a computer mouse anymore. Drawing is a bit more challenging with the mouse-pad. 

Sunglasses

Sometimes sunglasses make me feel like I'm super hot stuff. Like I've got better things to do than make eye contact with people.

Most of the time, however, sunglasses make me feel invisible.

When I walk past people I know when wearing sunglasses, they don't seem to notice me. Sure, maybe if it only happened once or twice I'd just figure that the people I passed were zoned out or didn't see me... but it's become a consistent trend. Every time I wear sunglasses, the majority of friends that I pass completely look past my existence and keep on walking unless I use unnecessary arm flails to flag down their attention.

It's making me paranoid. What about wearing sunglasses makes me look so different? Is it the change in my appearance that creates the barrier of invisibility? Or maybe people actually can't see me. What if... and this may be a bit of a stretch... but what if putting on sunglasses really does turn me invisible?

It's possible, right?

I refuse to believe that people simply do not wave hello to me just because they see I'm wearing sunglasses, and it's just plain weird that putting on sunglasses could make me that unrecognizable. Therefore, the only other logical explanation would be that my sunglasses have the ability to eliminate me from my peers' field of vision.

Yeah, ok. Unrealistic explanation. But still, it's a weird phenomenon and I don't like it. For now I guess I'll just stick to excessive squinting in bright sunlight so as to not confuse people.

True Story

Um... that turned out... uhhhh. Rage. Okay. That was a lot funnier in my head. I swear. 

Anyway... that was my summer, give or take a few minor details. Getting out of that situation was a bit trickier than getting into it... but you know how it is. Give the Zombie Reaper Overlord a few hundred Lucky Charm marshmallows and he'll help you out of any pickle. 

Sometimes stuff happens in life that you can never see coming. Everything you thought your day, your week, your summer was going to be ends up completely different. It may be disastrous.. or it could be absolutely amazing. I guess in my case you could say it was a bit of both.

Also, just so you know, I fully expect to be addressed as GFISH, KNIGHT OF POSEIDON'S FISHY KINGDOM from now on.  

2:00AM Bug-bite Roll-call

You may not know this about me... but I am allergic to bug bites. Either that, or I'm constantly being bitten by venomous hate-bugs that leave baseball-sized itch lumps on my skin. Maybe I'm just a hate-bug magnet.

Whenever I complain about bug-bites, which is A LOT, most people horrendously fail at making me feel better. Sure, I am well aware that nothing they say or do can help relieve the merciless itching that comes from 17 bug-bites on my legs (YES, I COUNTED EXACTLY 17), but still. I enjoy making people aware of my pain and then commenting sarcastically in my head when their responses fall flat of usefulness.

  

***

***

***And my all time favorite***

I'm not going to wear bug spray every time I step outside. No. That stuff is gross, sticky, smelly, and doesn't even work half the time. 

Anyway... I am fully aware that complaining about bug bites is just a way to beg for half-hearted pity from my friends and family... but hey. I don't have much else going on right now. When people ask me what's on my mind during the summer, when I hardly do anything other than sleep until twelve and pig out on whatever is laying around the house... dealing with itchy bug bites is honestly the most interesting thing to talk about. At least, for me it is. It's what I think about nearly all day as I try not to scratch and lather on the itch-X. In any case, I appreciate the efforts people put in to trying to make me feel better, despite my inner cynicism. I'm really just upset about the itchiness. I'm honestly glad my friends don't just blatantly say, "SHUT UP, GFISH. NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR FREAKISHLY WEIRD BUG BITES." 

Also, for some reason all of my bug-bites seem to ignite in itchiness at exactly 2:00AM. I'm not sure why, but at 2:00AM on the dot for the past two nights since I've gotten these bites, I've woken up and couldn't stop scratching. Maybe I've discovered the Hour of the Bites, when all bug-bites awaken to cause the ultimate chaos. It appears I've stumbled across some age-old ritual of blood sucking tradition. A coincidence time-bomb of discomfort. I must look into this revelation tonight, when 2:00AM rolls around and I once again get the urge to chop my legs off with a nail file.

Mario: The Poem

 Because I have no life.                                    

                                             I’m going on an adventu             re. There will

                                             be dangers and challeng             eges along the

                                     way. I am prepared to do anything to accom plish my

                                     goals, for the one I love is threatened. I must protect

                                     my darling, sa ve her fro m th e b           easts of this w

                                     orld who are  determin  ed to kee           p us apart. De

                           ar G  od,  help me through this quest.  How many times mor  

                           e mu st I  kill  the relentless ene  mies, never allowed a brea  

                           k? Li  fe i   s unfair t  o so many other s. Who am I to c ompl

                           ain i n a w orld so f  ull of heartache ? D o I really have a righ

                           t to whin e when I have been blessed with outsta ndin

                           g friends hips, a successful love life, and a steady  sour

                                             ce of income? No. I have no right.. .and yet.

                                             I seem to have drawn the short en d of the

                  stick somewhere al ong  the line. The fates h ave brou            ught i

                  t upon themselves to c ast me into a life of hardship a           nd pai

n.  It seems some may envy my accomplish ments. There  are a                 lways tho

se ignora nt enough to desire these c  halle nges. Take th em, I                 say. Go a

head. Not onc e have I seen anyon e actually step for ward . A bunch of phonie

s they are. No . These challenges I overcome on my o wn. I’ ve come to terms w

         ith t                   hat predicament ag es a  go. Right here, right now , I’d just l

         ike                     to pre pare myself for this next mission. To far off lands I w

                  ill ventur e. To unknown territory I shall explore. The going may be di

                  fficult. B ut I swear to the heavens that as long as I can brea the and a

         s long as I can fight I will continue. There  

         is too much at stake. I will never give up

         this fight

         for love…  

SASQUASH FARM

A little while ago I decided to start an "Idea Journal," or the Banana Journal as I call it because there's a banana on the front. Basically whenever I get the chance, I fill up a page of the Banana Journal with the most random ideas I can think of. This way, whenever I can't think of anything to write, I can just open up my Banana Journal and get inspired. Or confused. A few minutes ago I opened up my Banana Journal and read the first few pages. I can honestly say... WHAT WAS I THINKING?

For some reason my past self assumed that my future self would understand where my mind was going with all of these random ideas... but I don't. I have absolutely no idea.

You want an example?

Exhibit A: Page 3

-living life with bears
-barefoot
-leaking (yes, this is underlined in the journal)
-vegetables
-monopoly in real life...
-SASQUASH FARM
-cocoon

Dafuq, Banana Journal?

But seriously... What? Clearly Gfish from the past thought that she could write something worth her while about leaking, veggies, and a sasquash farm. These aren't even the most ridiculous ideas in the Banana Journal. Some bullet points are just random tangents of thought that are completely irrelevant to the Banana Journal's purpose. 

Exhibit B:

-what do you see?

-good luck

-why is this paper so weird?

-y u no smell of bananas??

-everyone's been getting these weird seizures

This Banana Journal is doing more harm than good. Well, I don't really know what harm it's doing exactly... but it sure is making me doubt my current sanity. I mean I knew it was bad... but this is just getting weird. 

So, to give past Gfish a bit more credit to her name... here is part I of the Sasquash Chronicles:

Introduction

   

  Once upon a time, there was a young, beautiful, dashing young lady named Gfish. She planned on becoming a famous writer one day, but the fates were against her. Although Gfish dreamed big, her reality was far from what she wished it would be. The poor, alluring star was sent away by her parents to work for her Uncle Grapesoda. Her parents were snow wolves, and they wanted to spend the summer penguin-hunting in Antarctica. Since Gfish was human, she wouldn't have been able to survive down there without some serious snow gear that the family simply could not afford. 

     Upset that Gfish could not spend her summer writing and playing board games, she spent the entire boat-ride to her Uncle Grapesoda's farm sulking. However, once Gfish got to her Uncle Grapesoda's farm, she made an incredible discovery. Uncle Grapesoda didn't farm vegetables or fruits or livestock... he farmed Sasquash!! Naturally, Gfish was instantly drawn in to this odd phenomenon. Her Uncle's Sasquash farm could provide her with so much material for her next writing project!

     So Gfish began to document her time spent on the Sasquash farm. The following Chronicles are bits and pieces taken from this remarkable girl's journey of self discovery, adventure, and love.

Chronicle 1: Meeting the Sasquash

Dear Diary,

I saw my first Sasquash today. Uncle Grapesoda says his name is Herfunkle, but I think I'll call him Jewfro since it looks like he has a Jew fro and I can't identify him from the other Sasquash in any other way. They all look pretty similar. There are ten Sasquash in all, but I think one's pregnant. Her name is Urpopsequashe, although she honestly looks like a male Sasquash. Not sure how this whole Sasquash reproduction thing works. 

Dear Diary,

Today I touched one of them. His name was Kookoofoacocoapaffs. Uncle Grapesoda has been explaining a lot more about how he farms Sasquash, and I think I get it now.  What happens is he plants a macaroni necklace into a pile of bacon and then waters it with the hair of the Sasquash he wants to get pregnant. Two weeks later, BAM. Pregnant.  

Dear Diary,

I've developed a very strong friendship with Kookoofoacocoapaffs. At first he was a bit hostile, but after I fertilized him with some Sasquash Humus Manure, he really seemed to take a liking to me. Now we do everything together, from holding Urpopsequashe's body hair back when she/he is experiencing morning sickness to finding more macaroni in the Field of Noodles and Rigatoni. I've really enjoyed his/her company, since it can get pretty lonely here on the farm. Uncle Grapesoda isn't really fun to hang with. 

Dear Diary,

I think Uncle Grapesoda is hiding something. He refuses to tell me how he found his first Sasquash, since you need at least one to get another. Every time I ask, he just gets all secretive. Maybe it has something to do with that locked chest he always keeps by his bedside, with the key around his neck. I'll have to look into this further. 

End of Chronicle 1

Please join me next time for Chronicle 2: Uncle Grapesoda's Secret

Free Writes- Part 2

Hello! I'm ignoring the fact that I broke my challenge to myself on the very second day. I just... meh. Yeah. I'll make it up to myself with fattening foods in due time. No worries.

Before I begin this post, if you haven't read Free Writes- Part 1, you might be a little lost. To briefly sum it up, I used to hate writing free writes (a blank topic) in my Composition class back in tenth grade, so I wrote all my free writes about hating free writes. Here is a continuation of my free write detestation from my old Composition journal.

Journal # 41- Free Write: A Letter


Dear Free Write,
      I truly and sincerely despise you. It's been roughly twenty minutes and I can think of nothing except for my intense hatred of you. Even now I can think of nothing else to satisfy this empty page, except for my horrible, half-assed cursive. You deserve only the worst, dear free write. The fact that you are titled on the board, "Free Write Friday" disrupts my mentality about Fridays because I associate Fridays with fun and relaxation and free writes are antagonistic roadblocks in any attempts to enjoy the perks that come with a Friday. So I lace my tone with sarcasm as I thank you, free write, for contributing to the diversity of tasks I face daily. Thank you, oh so much. While I have your attention, allow me to point out that you have no substance, no backbone, and no power without the creativity and effort that others give you. You would be nothing on your own and would simply rot in your own pathetic blandness. If you have a problem with my hatred of you or my handwriting, well you can just go write yourself.


Yours Truly, 
(Gfish)


I'm not going to lie, these entries scare me a little. Somehow my mild distaste for free writes blossomed into a deep rooted disgust. This next one really hits it home, revealing a darker side of me that I never even knew existed.

Journal #46- Free Write


Freewrite:
      The bottom of my shoe. Gigantic and flat, it rushes down in a rage of frustration upon your face. In slow motion, the shadow expands until you are shrouded in panic and fear. The shoe is upon you. Flattened. 
      Smashing your face into the pavement was satisfying... but the giant wants more. You are lifted into the air, rubble from the ground clinging to your side. Thrown into the wall!. Crushed between fist and concrete- this is not your day. Clearly you are not wanted here. Yet you still return, and the giant is angry, the giant is furious, the giant is exasperated. 
      You must die. 
      Pried from the concrete, you think it is over. It is not over. Now flat on a desk, you see an object in the giant's fist. A pencil. For the briefest of moments you feel the slightest glimmer of hope- is this pencil meant to write me into something beautiful? Has the giant been pacified? The giant has not been pacified. For as long as you, the free write, exist, the giant will never be appeased. 
     The pencil point stabs into your thin pages, running long lines of anger across your surface. Scribbles of injustice and frustration create fissures and rips. These tears are not enough, and you are torn up, ripped to shreds. The thousands of pieces of your soul are scattered into the bottom of a trashcan, and the giant can relax once more. 


There are three free writes left, but I'll save those for another day. I can't have everyone thinking of me as a violent, grumpy old banana who likes whining about activities that I now chose to do in my free time.

Logic is for apricots.

Color Me Rad!

Summer is here!! 


Ahhhhh, this is crazy. The first week of summer was absolutely insane, but things have finally started winding down. That means I can actually write some blog posts! It's been way too long since I've written something, and I really miss it. THEREFORE, I am issuing myself a challenge:

A blog post every other day from now until August 28th (the day before I head off to college).

It's going to be intense, I know. BUT IT WILL ALSO BE MAGICAL.

Yes, it will be this magical. 

Ok, moving on! Yesterday I participated in pretty much the coolest run ever. It's called the Color Me Rad Run, and basically they shoot massive amounts of color powder at you as you run a 5k. It was absolutely crazy, but awesome. Our white shirts are no longer white. Here is the tale of my magical Sunday morning. 

"You're at the wrong run..."

THE END