tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80448400499716448682024-03-19T03:46:54.112-07:00XTREMEchibiFace!!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.comBlogger260125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-63140784819079777152015-04-10T16:25:00.000-07:002015-04-10T16:25:07.771-07:00UghIt's been way too long.<br />
<br />
I haven't written anything at all in quite a while and I feel like it's stifling any wisps of creativity I had clung to last year.<br />
<br />
I'd like to start writing for <a href="http://cracked.com/">Cracked.com</a>, but I don't feel like I'm cut out for it yet. Gotta flex my weak, nerve-damaged fingers and get back into blogging. Ugh.<br />
<br />
I suppose that this will be good for me. Twitter is good for angst, but it has to be short angst. Tumblr would be good, but I know a lot of people on there and that "like" button is so easy to press that it makes me anxious. My journal is difficult because writing with a pen scrunches up my small fingers and cramps up my hands a lot faster than typing does.<br />
<br />
First off, I suppose I should make a general update on my life.<br />
<br />
I have a new(ish) friend. I might just refer to her as "BF"on here because 1.) she's my best friend and 2.) she has a spectacular resting bitchface. When she's actually pissed off she can shoot daggers out of her eye sockets. She's rad and she helps me out with my anxiety and how to interpret social queues.<br />
The other day her boyfriend got in a car accident and broke his sternum. He's out of the hospital and doesn't need surgery, but I'm still worried about them. Jeez, that seems like such a weird thing to tack on. "Hey I have this great friend and also this horrible thing just happened so yeah." Moving on.<br />
<br />
I quit Aikido. I went lame for a while and martial arts aggravated it a lot. That and the horrible stress of promoting made me decide to quit. I still miss it. The other day I tried to stretch my shoulders by grabbing my arm and pressing it against my chest like a half-hug and, much to my surprise, it hurt a little. This stretch has never hurt me before and I'd often wonder if it actually worked at all. Lemme tell you, it is an important stretch. I've been doing it daily since then and it's starting to go back to its usual non-hurting status. Fuck, I need to exercise.<br />
<br />
I've taken up more work in the library system so now I'm working at two locations. The second library is much smaller and I'm the only paige so it's interesting. If I was allowed to go for more than twice a week things would be perfect in that place. Still, I'm doing my best to stay on top of it and my boss is really good at staying on top of the mess.<br />
<br />
I'm out as transgender which means I'm supposed to correct people on my pronouns. Is there a polite way to do this?? I don't want to be a bother and it was bad enough telling people that I prefer "he."<br />
On the upside, I feel much better about myself now that I've been binding. I've demoted my jackets from "constant companions" to "wintertime precautions" and it's been taking some getting used to. My arms are beginning to tan and by "tan" I mean "dim." Yeah that's right. I've been wearing shirtsleeves outside! Who knew all I needed was a flattish chest to make me soak up some vitamin D? It took us all by surprise.<br />
<br />
Depression keeps trying to sneak its way back into my life under the guise of boredom but I am having none of that bullshit. My grandmother moved recently and she gave me her giant heart-leaf philodendron and I strung that up all around my ceiling. In addition to my other philodendron and my spider plants, I'm growing moss and two bromeliads- one given to me by BF, the other by Alena. To really push me into crazy plantguy/rainforest bushwacker territory, I bought a small humidifier to keep everything from drying out. God damn I love humidifiers. They make me feel like a lizard in the best way possible.<br />
<br />
I saw my Dad a few weeks ago for my little sister's birthday, which I was late to because I had work and I had to find out through my friend's mother. We had a pretty nice time and I hung out with my little brother who demonstrated his idea of what a motorcycle sounds like -- a low clicking noise. That was hilarious.<br />
<br />
Well, that's all I have for now. Please forgive the lackluster sentence structure in this post, I need caffeine and a better brain.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-66612352730076047472014-10-13T17:23:00.000-07:002017-03-18T00:27:54.729-07:00URL Change?Good god, I need to change the name of this blog. "XTREME chibi Face!!" hearkens back to my awkward anime-crazed years. (he says, as if his current life isn't at all awkward.) Not that anime is a bad thing or that I'm not still into it- far from it! It's just that I don't want someone's first impression of this place (and, by extension, me) to be "hyperactive 14-year old weeaboo."<br>
<div>
So yeah. Name change needed.</div>
<div>
But what should I call this place instead? Mr. Munroe has a guideline.</div>
<div>
<img ahref="http://xkcd.com/1025/" src="http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/tumblr.png" title="racoonsexdungeon.tumblr.com">
<br>
<br>
This advice has served me well with my tumblr, <a href="http://screaminggnomegenocide.tumblr.com/">ScreamingGnomeGenocide.tumblr.com</a> (which, by the way, you should check out if only to witness my html/css skills, something not shown on this blog). However, I think that I should stick to album names with blogspot. Oxymorons also tend to be easy to remember.<br>
<br>
<b>Tales from Yo Mamma's Basement</b><br>
<b>Robot-Dragon Love Affair</b><br>
<b>League of Anti-Affiliates</b><br>
<b>Eulogy for a Cyborg Queen</b><br>
<b>Alan Leads the Machines</b><br>
<b>Gears Squish My Brain</b><br>
<b>Presume the Worse</b><br>
<b>Nothing Good Can Come of This</b><br>
<b>Gentle Dreadnought</b><br>
<b>The Cynical Optimist</b><br>
<b><br></b>
...At a certain point they become too cheesy. I'll keep trying, though.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-4256236116898026962014-10-13T15:41:00.001-07:002014-10-13T15:41:44.316-07:00Blogging my way around writer's blockI stopped posting on here a while ago because I was afraid of offending people with my odd worldview.<br />
Granted, sometimes I was actually being ignorant or assholish and it was wonderful that people pointed this out to me and prompted me to learn more about the world. That's great, but I became extremely hesitant to post about anything at all.<br />
I've recently re-grown the courage to express my viewpoints and stick to my own moral values- only this time I think I have a better grasp of how to listen to people and actually judge if something will come across as offensive before I post it.<br />
I think it's time I started writing again. That Star-Trek novel/fanfic isn't going so well and I feel like I need a place to exercise my fingers- so you can soon look forward to many rambly posts about the future of pie. You're welcome.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-17522983639230466162014-08-14T15:25:00.000-07:002014-08-14T15:25:00.219-07:00I'm Still Learning to Ask for HelpSo I was going through this blog just now and I realized something mind blowing.<br />
When I gave my therapist an estimate of how long my last bout of depression lasted, I guessed about 6 months.<br />
Out of the blue today I got curious as to how long it actually was so I went archive diving.<br />
This post was made right before depression really hit: <a href="http://xtremechibiface.blogspot.com/2012/10/horse-sht-and-i-fight-blues.html">Horse Sh*t and I Fight the Blues</a><br />
And here's when it went away: <a href="http://xtremechibiface.blogspot.com/2013/10/rain-rain-stay-all-day.html">Rain, Rain, Stay All Day!</a><br />
They're posted a year and 13 days apart.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure how I should feel about this. Proud that I lived through it? Ashamed that I didn't seek help? Fearful because even my closest friend didn't know just how bad I was and for how long, indicating that I really am terrible at verbally/facially/physically expressing emotion?<br />
<br />
What I do know is that those were really tough times and I should have talked to someone and gotten help, but I was way too scared to open up.<br />
I'm not sure how many people will actually read this, but it can't hurt to add some helpful links.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><b>Toll free suicide hotline- <a href="http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/">National suicide prevention lifeline</a></b></li>
<li><b>Free online chat-based support for anyone suicidal or going through a crisis (for people like me who don't like talking)- <a href="https://www.imalive.org/">IMAlive online crisis network</a></b></li>
</ul>
<div>
Please please please get help if you're going through something. The calls and chats are anonymous. Just delete 'em from your history if you don't want anyone to know. Don't let pride, fear, or concern for other people's peace of mind get in the way of your own mental/emotional well-being.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-43465834471745479702014-05-14T21:15:00.001-07:002014-05-14T21:19:20.622-07:00Creak<div dir="ltr">
Hey, all. I guess. Does anyone still read these? Probably not.<br />
I just wanted to write some stuff down. Then throw it into the net. Because it makes me feel better imagining someone reading it and maybe even enjoying it a bit. I dunno.<br />
Anyway, I'm sick. Forth or fifth time this year. Usually it's just a small cold that clears up in a few days, but not this one. I've been sleeping too much. I had to take a day off work. I can't really speak or hear because my sinus issues are affecting my ears. And my eyes are constantly gumming up, so I can't see very well either.<br />
I have my Anthropology final on Friday, so I'm worried about that.<br />
Alena was getting stir-crazy, so she and mom left the house maybe four hours ago. Or something. As I'm sure you know, my brain is spectacularly good at being paranoid and I keep seeing and hearing things that aren't there with my debilitated senses.<br />
I feel lonely but I don't want to go online because I don't know if I can keep myself from saying rash things to whoever's on. Like exposing my deepest secrets and insecurities to someone online who I don't know very well. I'm in a weird mood! It could happen.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Usually when I'm in this situation, I sing. It makes the house less quiet and it gives me something to do, reminds me that I'm alive and that I have a place in the world.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
I can't make noise above a croak and even that hurts.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
So yeah. I'm kinda bored and scared and sad. Not really sure what to do about it, though.<br />
Maybe I'll post more crappy poems later. That'll class this place right up. I should make one about tapeworms.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-23283247576363813232014-05-08T03:25:00.000-07:002014-05-08T03:26:11.534-07:00Crappy Poems from 3:25AMI don't pull out maggots<br />
I don't pull out gore<br />
I'm not even sure<br />
What I was looking for.<br />
<br />
I lost it in here<br />
I'm not sure what it was<br />
Spare me your tears<br />
And spare me your gauze.<br />
<br />
It must be here<br />
Although I've looked<br />
I've a feeling that they've all cooked<br />
A marvelous plan beneath my own skin<br />
<br />
I'll pull it all off<br />
To be whole again.<br />
<br />
I tear through the skin<br />
And with spoon I dip.<br />
Aha! Here we go- A tracking chip!<br />
<br />
Do not be frightened!<br />
Please don't be alarmed!<br />
Don't you see- now they're unarmed!<br />
<br />
They won't find me ever.<br />
Don't matter where they look.<br />
They'll never find me!<br />
I'm not in their book.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-70302796642410925892014-03-28T13:51:00.002-07:002014-03-28T13:51:39.828-07:00UpdateOkay. So.<div>
I know that you people haven't seen much of me on here lately and I apologize. Also, by "you people" I mean the Russian scraper robots who seem to be really interested in what I have to say. And by "what I have to say" I mean the sparkly gifs that I embed among my angsty keyboard flailing.</div>
<div>
...But I've digressed.</div>
<div>
I thought I'd give the robots a little update on my life. Because what the hell.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
____________________</div>
<div>
I'm going to college, taking Cultural Anthropology from Patricia Taber, one of the cooler people I've met thus far.</div>
<div>
I have formed a classroom alliance (I refuse to use the term "study buddy") with a girl in my class, and she's super cool and nice.</div>
<div>
I have not picked a major, but I'm thinking about taking some child development courses with the aim of becoming a special ed kindergartner teacher. Because I like children.</div>
<div>
I'm also thinking about becoming a dentist. Because I want to stick sharp things in people's mouths.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yu Gi Oh kid moved to Portland.</div>
<div>
Shanti moved away to a location I probably won't disclose.</div>
<div>
Talon and I haven't talked.</div>
<div>
Cooper is also taking college, so I don't see him that often. We text a lot, though. I recently got a Droid Ultra Android. It's pretty schwanky.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We finally found a home for our obese beagle. He lives with Deina and Naomi now.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm getting closer to my coworkers and I'm almost to the point where I can probably see them outside of work with minimal stress.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Mom has a cool nerdy boyfriend who also served in the military as a paratrooper (I believe). He's a paramedic now, but he doesn't like it very much because he gets lots of false alarm calls and no sleep.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm working on my blackbelt in Aikido, which is cool but really scary.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I hurt my right knee, so now I walk like an old man when it rains or I push myself too hard.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I still get depressed every so often, but I don't really have the time to deal with strong emotions, so I ignore it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I've gone down from 3 panic attacks per week to about 1.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I've been seeing a therapist, which is funny because I'm bad at verbally talking about my problems. I'm slowly getting the hang of it, though.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't have writer's block any more, but I still haven't found the time to write. I do know where I'm going with my huge, all OC cast, novel-length Star Trek fanfic and I've pretty much nailed down the plot.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Cancer has caught up to my grandfather. It took about a decade and I think he's technically a survivor now.</div>
<div>
He's told me that he's proud of me and that I'm a smart kid.</div>
<div>
He gave me his car.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I fixed the horrible huge banner on the site.</div>
<div>
I think I'm also going to change the background again.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
___________________</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, I just wanted to say that I'm NOT dead. I'm sorry if I scared you, little robots.</div>
<div>
I will try to post again, maybe sometime in the next month or so.</div>
<div>
Live long and prosper.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-51156897100610535772014-01-18T13:38:00.000-08:002014-01-18T17:56:50.029-08:00Vengeance for Kelly ThomasSomething really fucked up happened recently.<br />
<br />
Kelly Thomas was a schizophrenic man living on the streets of Fullerton. As far as I can tell, he wasn't violent and he didn't cause trouble.<br />
Despite this, the police found reason to search him. When he refused and turned away from them, they hit him with a nightstick.<br />
He pleaded for help, but they kept beating him. One of the two officers pulled on some rubber gloves and sa<span style="font-family: inherit;">id "<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20.020000457763672px;">Now you see my fists? They’re getting ready to fuck you up.</span>"</span><br />
They beat him to near-death while Kelly cried for his father. They broke every bone in his face. He died in the hospital several days later.<br />
(I'm not going to share a picture of his face because it's pretty bloody. If you have a strong stomach however, you should look it up.)<br />
All of this was caught on camera.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/e6yaeD-E_MY/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/e6yaeD-E_MY&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/e6yaeD-E_MY&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
The two officers were brought to trial with charges of second degree murder, manslaughter, and excessive use of force. The jury found them not guilty on all charges.<br />
The jury saw this video, saw the remains of the man's face, and they found these bastards not guilty. They claimed that they were "just doing their job."<br />
It is not an officer's place to beat anyone to death, whether they be a child molester or just a homeless man.<br />
I can't believe that any person could watch this and believe that these men were in the right.<br />
<br />
I am horrified that this jury let the beating of a helpless man slide. I am horrified that no one reported this.<br />
I am even more horrified by the fact that these officers want their jobs back. That's right. These assholes might get back on the streets.<br />
I'm not really sure what we can do about this besides spread the word. These men will not be convicted of murder, but with our help, maybe they'll never hold a government job again.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-14287471909571801742013-12-09T14:25:00.001-08:002013-12-09T14:25:03.251-08:00No Malware Here!Hi! A few days ago, XTREMEchibiFace was reported as possibly harboring malware. I am sorry if this freaked you out and I just want to let ya know that it <b>wasn't a problem </b>and your computer was <b>not </b>in immediate danger of being infected.<br />
<br />
Here's what happened:<br />
A blog in the in the list of blogs I follow is listed as 'suspicious' because, recently, it's been infected by malware. Connecting their blog to mine exposed this site to infection. If this infection took hold, this place would become a malware-spreading, spirk-spewing middleman from fangirl hell.<br />
<b>HOWEVER, this did NOT happen because I fixed it.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>TL;DR: </b>*</span><br />
<u><span style="font-size: large;">This site was not infected. It will not <i>be</i> infected. Your computer is (probably) not infected.</span></u><br />
<br />
Chrome is amazing at protecting us from malicious software and I applaud it for working to make the Tubes a better place.<br />
<br />
Again, sorry for the scare.<br />
-Rahel<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*"Too long, didn't read."Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-46297156083183179842013-11-15T17:26:00.000-08:002013-11-15T17:37:03.629-08:00Instagram Is in the Eye of the BeholderFor many years, people have strived to perfect the art of photography, studying lighting, framing techniques, filters, and building darkrooms.<br />
Then, one dark and stormy night, a monster was borne from the minds of two well-intentioned software engineers-<br />
<b>INSTAGRAM.</b><br />
Well, not <i>just</i> Instagram. There are many good photography programs out there (Hipsamatic springs to mind), but Instagram is a big one.<br />
<i>Anyway,</i> everyone is now an amateur photographer, carrying the means to create beautiful pictures around in their pocket.<br />
This has troubled a lot of people. I'm not a photographer, but I like art and at first I was saddened by this. Photographers that have spent their lives learning how to work a camera are being threatened by this new technology. Now, I know that this technology is a thousand times greater in the hands of these photographers, but it's still a little sad.<br />
Finally, I realized something- these photo-editing programs are actually <i>helping</i> photography. Here's how.<br />
<br />
Look at Ansel Adams, a very popular photographer. You've probably seen his work on huge office inspirational posters- probably with the caption "Freedom" in crappy typography.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHQ_AkbOAAXXPwbn4TON4WBrisV325i9bJugITBVElpnaivgQ7jONKsBtXCHprcYASIOs0yKBylCYEM7qCzSvpfABcXSl6XG6P5ghsvVaxG1vaWROJcDWCt_uDJNLSflgDBAb3uf2T_ms/s1600/anselAdams_theTetonsAndTheSnakeRiver.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="515" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHQ_AkbOAAXXPwbn4TON4WBrisV325i9bJugITBVElpnaivgQ7jONKsBtXCHprcYASIOs0yKBylCYEM7qCzSvpfABcXSl6XG6P5ghsvVaxG1vaWROJcDWCt_uDJNLSflgDBAb3uf2T_ms/s640/anselAdams_theTetonsAndTheSnakeRiver.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">T H E A S P H A L T L O O K S L O N E L Y</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Anyway, this guy's work is good. Why, though? Here are some reasons that instantly come to my mind:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>The resolution is amazing</li>
<li>The shots are beautifully framed</li>
<li>The shots show Adams' awe of the power of nature</li>
</ol>
<div>
But what makes this guy so special even now in this age of rapidly progressing technology? </div>
<div>
Resolution? I think not. The resolution on a lot of smartphone cameras is more impressive.</div>
<div>
The positioning and the way it's framed? Crop tools can help with that.</div>
<div>
That leaves one element- Adam's point of view.</div>
<div>
People still love this guy's work because they show his view of the world. You can just imagine him waiting on a hill before dawn, planning his shot and waiting for the sun to rise so that he can capture that breathless moment when day breaks, sending rays of light creeping over the valley. You can feel him behind the camera of every photo, and his excitement is palpable.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>This</i> is why new technology will help photography. It isn't enough to quickly snap a picture of your mocaccino, then crop it and tint it sepia. Hell, it isn't even enough <i>without</i> the cropping and coloring. If people don't get a sense of <i>you</i> in the picture, they will see your work as just another boring Instagram pic. You have to let them feel the tension of a dozen coffee addicts in a small steamy room, smell the coffee in the air, and taste your impatience for your drink to cool. You have to take the viewer's hand and invite them into your little pocket of time, let them stay a while in this little universe that was previously only visable to you.</div>
<div>
THIS is photography. THIS is art. And just because you can now doctor the hell out of a somewhat-decent photo doesn't make photography itself obsolete. In fact, it might just save it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
PS: To all you people who take pictures of coffee: I am not judging you. One of my best friends does this and, as much as I tease him for it, it does not make him less fun to hang out with. In fact, I would love nothing more then to sit around with you people and critique your photographs of coffee. Heck, if any of you <i>want</i> to do that I'd be game. Just email 'em to me and I'll post 'em! The series of posts could be called "BEST HIPSTER PICS OF THE MONTH AWARDS" and I'd give the winner five bucks. I'm totally serious.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-60120644722723450502013-11-10T22:46:00.001-08:002013-11-10T22:46:20.078-08:00Beagle Puke!My obese beagle has lost some weight and has suddenly gained a lot of energy. When I came home today, he pelted around the house until I let him into the front yard. Then he ran in circles around me as fast as he could until he got worn out. Then he recovered and chased his tail until he puked.<br />
No, seriously. He puked.<br />
I think that I like dogs.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-63094080046186319632013-11-01T17:59:00.000-07:002013-11-01T18:00:30.334-07:00Update<div>
<b>For some reason, I felt like giving people an update on the happenings in my life. No idea if anyone gives a shit about these posts, but I'm gonna do it anyway because I'm a sadistic bastard.</b></div>
<div>
<b>So, here goes.</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
I got a dog. He is an obese beagle named Taser. He's about nine and a little bit of a handfull, but he's mostly chill.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
One of my friends is in New Mexico, but I think she's visiting soon. <waves/> I miss her.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
One of my other friends (the one that I was angsting about) sent me an email yesterday to wish me a happy halloween, so I'm glad that she thinks of me. I think of her a lot.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I marathoned Welcome to Night Vale and listened to 31 episodes in two weeks, so now I'm caught up with the series. OH GOD WHY.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I've been watching a shit ton of Nostalgia Critic, so I keep coming into conversations about movies with "Ooo! I just saw a critique of that!" I've got to stop doing that.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Cooper is in college, studying furiously and getting good grades.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My maternal grandfather has terminal cancer. They just put him on morphine, so I'm not sure how next year is gonna be.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My step-mom is pregnant with another kid. This one is a girl. I hear sleepless nights in my future.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm still not depressed, but I'm not feeling upbeat either. Still, better to be moody and deadpan then terrified and sad!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My sister is going to get her blackbelt in Aikido. It's gonna be rad.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I've been drawing a bit and I've become much better. I should post some of my work some time soon.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The only thing that makes me happy right now without a huge negative crash afterward is podcasts*, math, and work. Sure, it's a neutral and sedated kind of happy, but it's <i>way</i> better then rainbows and laughing children swiftly followed by sobbing and darkness. I have yet to learn why my moods keep doing this. In the meantime, I will take happiness in small diluted portions.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Desmond, my little brother, turned 1 last week. He is adorable and gaining a better grasp of language. ...Which means that I need to stop cussing. Shit.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My cat disappeared. She was badass, but I think that the opossum got her. I swear, I will murder that little fucker when I get my hands on him.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
...That's all I've got for now. Until next time.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
*Radiolab, Welcome to Night Vale, The Thrilling Adventure Hour, and How to Do Everything</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-62027208316441679522013-10-18T14:54:00.002-07:002013-10-18T14:56:41.537-07:00Roses are Crocodiles of the Mind<div>
"Stop to smell the roses!" People tell me when I worry. "You're young!" They say. "Live a little!"</div>
<div>
To that I always want to reply "I take it that's what you've done? That explains why you live on unemployment and have a kid in Oregon that you never see."</div>
<div>
I don't though. I just duck my head and say "True, true." Which is what I tend to say when I'm stumped for what so say next or I don't agree with your statement.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Since I was a little kid, I've been really weird about time. Now, I'm not talking about managing time (although that's always been a huge issue). I'm talking about the passage of time and how it relates to me.<br />
<div>
I remember my Dad explaining the plot line of <i>Blade Runner</i> to me. "You see, you might be a replicant and not even know it," He said in the conspiratorial tone he always uses when he tries to trip me out. "All of your memories might be fake all the way up to this point."</div>
<div>
This did not sit well with me. I'd be playing with dinosaurs on the floor and think <i>"Well, did that conversation actually happen? What about what I'm thinking right now? What is now? How long does it last? Is it years? Months? Weeks? ...Seconds?"</i></div>
<div>
When faced with existential questions like this, I tend to come to the realization that it really doesn't matter. In this case, that never happened. Time is one of those things that you just <i>don't</i> mess with.</div>
<div>
I tried to just forget about it. Push it into the back of my mind. Still, it lurked and brooded in the shadows and swamps of my brain like a Nile crocodile waiting patiently for its next meal. It started to drive me crazy. I'd be playing peacefully one moment, then it would hit. That otherworldly feeling- like deja vu except more physical. More dangerous. I would start counting out seconds obsessively, wondering which one was real. Would it really make a difference anyway, though? I wasn't sure, but <i>by god</i> I would find out.</div>
<div>
After months of freaking out about this periodically, I had the pleasure of watching <i>Spaceballs.</i> There's this great scene where Darth Helmet and his henchman find the <i>Spaceballs</i> movie and, in one of the most meta scenes ever, fast forward through it, hoping to find the whereabouts of their enemies.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/VeZ9HhHU86o?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div>
However, they go too far and find themselves watching themselves watching themselves watching themselves... Watching themselves. Darth gets all impatient and demands to know when "then will be now." The henchman replies "<u><i>Soon.</i></u>"</div>
<div>
This kinda stuck with me. "<i>Maybe,"</i> I thought <i>"If I don't focus on the past 'nows' and focus on the 'soons' instead, I won't freak out so much."</i></div>
<div>
And it's worked. I now think way into the future, always chasing that 'soon' and running, breathless, from that 'now.'</div>
<div>
Still, every so often (usually when looking at sunbeams, oddly enough), I feel that 'now' sneaking up on me and I feel lost, counting out the seconds and breathing my first breath of the day every single moment, until I get a grip on myself and barrel onward, not caring where I end up just so long as it's <i>not here</i>.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Stupid roses.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-10824864716493353612013-10-09T13:23:00.000-07:002013-10-09T13:23:21.282-07:00Rain, Rain, Stay All Day!<i>And the rain rain rain came down down down</i><br />
<i>And the rain rain rain came down.</i><br />
<br />
Hey, people. It's raining out!! Isn't that amazing? And I don't mean a sprinkle here and there. It really <i>rained.</i> For at least 15 mins! It even <i>slanted</i> at one point.<br />
When it started, I ran outside and down the street as fast as I could. Then I stopped and just stood, my hair streaming and my shoulders and pants cuffs soaked. Alena joined me and I ran around in circles, a stupid grin on my face.<br />
I haven't been this happy in a very long time.<br />
I waved my arms around and screamed, startling passing drivers.<br />
"GOODBYE, DEPRESSION!" I yelled as loud as I wanted. "YOU TRIED TO TEAR ME DOWN WITH SUNLIGHT AND BIRDS, BUT <i>BEHOLD!</i>" I believe that I spun around at this point. "THE RAIN COMES, BRINGING COLD AND HAPPINESS! <b>AHAHAHAHHAAAH!!!!</b>"<br />
On a related note, I think the neighbors think that I'm mad.<br />
BUT WHO CARES??<br />
<br />
I have no need of drinkin'.<br />
Don't need a bottle or two.<br />
I can sit all day not thinkin'<br />
Of how much I miss you...<br />
Because the rain is here to stay<br />
And I wouldn't have it any other way...<br />
<br />
Yes, the rain is here so I'm not drinkin' for you.<br />
Yeah, the rain is here so I'm not drinkin' for you.<br />
<br />
Some guys they like their whiskey<br />
In bottles deep and clear<br />
But that poison can be risky<br />
And the rain is here.<br />
<br />
Oh I don't need to drink again<br />
I'll let the rain wash me away!<br />
No I don't need to think again<br />
I'll save it for another day.<br />
<br />
And when the rain is gone and done<br />
I'll go out, find another one.<br />
Someone clean and someone true<br />
No, I don't have to think about you<br />
<br />
'Cause I don't need to drink again<br />
I'll let the rain wash me away!<br />
No I don't need to think again<br />
I'll save it for another day.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-24463035588537080252013-09-17T16:07:00.002-07:002013-09-17T16:07:26.976-07:00Fuzzy and ConfusedThe weeks have been getting longer and my head's been feeling fuzzy.<br />
I'm usually able to switch into a really creative mode fairly quickly, writing and downing coffee like a maniac. This past month? Not so much.<br />
My head feels fuzzy and I've had a couple migraines, and I haven't been speaking correctly. Not like I-just-had-a-seizure speak, more like forgetting words and not putting sentences together well. It's like I've forgotten how grammar works.<br />
I can almost pull off writing because I can go back and re-read stuff, but it still ends up being really dry.<br />
On top of all this, I've been way more socially withdrawn now that school's back in. Now that I have to see people for a few hours twice a week, I'm not so keen on going outside.<br />
I don't know. Maybe I'm sick. My head hurts, I can't formulate ideas properly, I'm physically and emotionally tired, and I keep saying stupid shit without thinking.<br />
Whatever it is, it needs to go away soon so that I can get on with things.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-61272516252760300222013-09-07T23:33:00.000-07:002013-09-07T23:33:04.087-07:00Personal Character DevelopmentSo I've been reading about Asperger's syndrome lately. I'm pretty sure that I have it and it's taking a <i>lot</i> of willpower to not go research-crazy (because self-diagnosis can lead to sketchy Real Life details later on. <a href="http://xtremechibiface.blogspot.com/search/label/mental%20health">Hypochondriac</a>, <a href="http://xtremechibiface.blogspot.com/search/label/phobias">remember</a>?). Still, I've learned quite a bit and I wanted to bring something up.<br />
<br />
I am very good at bullshitting. I am <i>not </i>good at lying. Yes, there is a difference.<br />
For example, if you ask if I did or didn't do something I was/wasn't supposed to, I will <i>always </i>tell the truth, even if it isn't in my best interests. This isn't only because I'm against lying. It's because I really <i>can't</i> lie in the first place. I'd fix my eyes on something boring, try to hide my face, and wonder if my skin was changing color, trying all the while to remember if the person I'm talking to is good at detecting lies. I get so hung up on them buying it, I end up giving myself away.<br />
<i>Bullshitting,</i> on the other hand, is like telling a story. Sure, that's what lying is too, but when I bullshit it's to entertain. I love telling kids about the magical properties of coconuts, how to befriend fire imps, and just what the troll-to-ogre ratio is in the monster-hunting business.*<br />
If people don't believe me, that's totally fine. It was done in jest and I lost nothing. I can bullshit all I want.<br />
The trouble is, I've become really good at pretending to be other people.<br />
<br />
I love characters. There's nothing quite as fun as slipping into an act, to take on alien characteristics.<br />
I loved Heath Ledger's performance in Batman: Dark Knight so much, I adopted his speech patterns for weeks. I was so enthralled by Abed Nadir from Community that I still say 'Cool. Cool cool cool.' compulsively. And don't even get me <i>started</i> on the 10th Doctor.<br />
It's all fine when it's a recognizable character. It only gets weird when your moods suddenly have character detached from you.<br />
For example, yesterday at work I was putting books on a cart, talking to the new librarian. I usually have a meandering sort of tone, as if I'm somewhere else entirely. I also tend to mumble a lot and giggle at my own jokes. So I was talking normally, when suddenly our landlord walked up to me.<br />
I straightened a bit and smiled. "Hey!" I said, raising my eyebrows and twisting my neck a little in a surprised manner. "How're you doing?"<br />
"Not bad." He said, returning the smile. "How are you?"<br />
"I'm good." I said, although I wasn't really feeling fantastic.<br />
"That's great." He said. "I'm gonna look at some books. You take care now."<br />
"All right, you too." I said in my most pleasant voice. I continued to sort books, holding a happy smile until he was well out of sight. Then I dropped the face, relaxed my shoulders, and went back to sorting.<br />
What I did was insincere in the moment, but it wasn't meant to <i>trick </i>him. He would be more comfortable if I reacted really positively in that moment, so I did. It was a pleasant encounter and I think we both befitted from it in a small way.<br />
And it isn't like every time I do this, I'm faking. My 'happy and polite' mode is a little amped up at work, but I'm sure that anyone who knows me has seen it. Usually I actually <i>am</i> really happy to see you. It just takes a tad bit more effort to really express it (or, sometimes, regulate it. Some people are put off by my 'mad loon' grin.).<br />
Still, it might creep other people out to see me shift modes, as I'm sure the new librarian did. Sometimes when I'm in a setting where I have to be in 'happy, polite' mode all day, it really becomes taxing. Being on guard all the time, remembering which face you should be making, or what topic would be <i>too</i> inappropriate to bring up... It's really tiring.<br />
<br />
SO if you see my face suddenly change after talking to someone, you'll know why.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*No, seriously. I told my neighbor kids about this. It was awesome.<br />
**Actually, he isn't our landlord. I've forgotten the correct term. It doesn't really matter right now, though.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-8988248238025245852013-07-24T17:40:00.000-07:002013-07-24T17:40:18.342-07:00Publishers and the Adherance to Phantasmic PosulationsSo there's this story that I've been working on lately. I've written tons of snippets, side stories, and notes for it. I've spent time obsessing, researching, and perfecting. You'd think that, with all the work I've put into it, I might get some money from it some day. Wrong.<br />My work does not completely belong to me. Why? Because the universe in which it's set belongs to Gene Roddenberry and CBS. That's right, it's a Star Trek fanfiction!<br />
However, unlike most fanfiction, this one is going to be huge. About the size of an actual book. And the crazy part? <b>All of the characters are original.</b><br />
At this point, you're probably shouting at your screen in frustration at my stupid choices. Why would I relinquish almost all of my creative rights and write about a universe that already exists when I could just as easily create my own?<br />
Because it's a challenge.<br />
I'm being forced to write within the bounds of a pre-written universe. This means that I have to adhere to the laws of nature and heavily research everything. It means that, even though all the characters are original and I'm creating an entirely new species and planet, I have to do things like look up the appropriate uniform for their era, observe proper Starfleet conduct, and make sure that I know the starship's floor plan.<br />
A lot of work is going into this and a lot of work will continue to go into this, and I'm probably never going to get paid (unless they want to buy the story off me). I know this, and I'm fine with it. Sure, it would be nice to see some cash flow from a published book, but that's not really the point of writing. Honestly, I'd be happy if just one person read it. As long as a single person finds themselves enjoying the story, if it opens them to new ideas or viewpoints, even just a little, then my work has paid off.<br />
Plus, if it ends up being a hit, pieces of it may just worm its way into Canon! Did you know that Uhura's first name was created by William Rotsler, an avid Star Trek fan who wrote <span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.1875px;"><i>Star Trek II Biographies, </i>a </span><span style="line-height: 19.176136016845703px;">licensed</span><span style="line-height: 19.1875px;"> Star Trek novel (basically a glorified fanfic)? Gene Rodenberry and<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.1875px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nichelle Nichols </span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.1875px;">liked the name, so it was adopted as canon. However, Nyota Uhura's name was never mentioned in the Star Trek movies or show until the 2009 film, taking place in the </span></span><span style="line-height: 19.176136016845703px;">Alternate</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.1875px;"> Reality.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.1875px;"><takes breaths/></span></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 19.176136016845703px;">Whew! Did <i>not</i> mean to geek out so much there. What was I saying?</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 19.176136016845703px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 19.176136016845703px;">Oh yeah!</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 19.176136016845703px;">So I'm making this super cool, super long Star Trek fanfic that will probably never make me any money, but I'm totally fine with that and I hope that you guys will read it someday.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 19.176136016845703px;">Phew.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="line-height: 19.176136016845703px;">Logging out. Live long and prosper.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-12367065343750186582013-07-09T14:41:00.000-07:002013-07-09T14:41:27.847-07:00ZeFrank: Pwner of Angels<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr-5rmDGByI-LyV6TeeRtCVYYuuesey-ICUzAAsgd-IBfM0g2pojvJE-jX6ZtNAgHbp6FWut9Wz7f-vT8uJPcjt_0U3M1_EaabnU9nhTd1hWY9KFLeykadlcTuKUq209PJEhGHPh4vptY/s1600/Untitled+drawing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="ZeFrank>Angels" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr-5rmDGByI-LyV6TeeRtCVYYuuesey-ICUzAAsgd-IBfM0g2pojvJE-jX6ZtNAgHbp6FWut9Wz7f-vT8uJPcjt_0U3M1_EaabnU9nhTd1hWY9KFLeykadlcTuKUq209PJEhGHPh4vptY/s1600/Untitled+drawing.jpg" title="He will NEVER blink." /></a></div>
<br />
So... Much... ZeFrank.... @_@<br />
This man is so amazing, every time he smiles a tree sloth poops rainbow butterflies onto unsuspecting tourists.<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/zefrank1">Check him out on youtube</a> or on his website, <a href="http://www.zefrank.com/">zefrank.com</a><br />
Don't be intimidated by his strange eyes and orange filters. His videos are thought provoking, but easy to understand and his voice is like the lovechild of Leonard Cohen and a very cuddly, sarcastic tiger.<br />
Now GO.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-4712589335620008962013-07-08T02:31:00.000-07:002013-07-08T02:37:33.847-07:00Friendship Advice?<br />
My best friend and I hit a rough patch about a year ago. It was mostly my fault. When I realized that things weren't going smoothly, I, like an idiot, thought that if I stepped back and gave everything time, it would all end up okay. I thought that I was screwing it up by being too close to the situation.<br />
I realized far, far too late that this was entirely stupid and quite possibly the worst idea I've ever had. My friend contacted me a few months ago and we talked things over. I thought that things, although not entirely patched up with her, were going to get better. That we might have to start over again, but everything would be fine.<br />
This hasn't happened and I'm kinda freaking out.<br />
I've considered just forgetting about the whole thing entirely, but that doesn't seem to be an option- I think of her every day and it hurts horribly every single time. I'm not exaggerating about this. Every damn day, I turn around and there's something that reminds me of her staring me in the face.<br />
I know that I should never forget the impact that she's had upon my life, but sometimes I wish that I could.<br />
<br />
I'm assuming that most of the people reading this have had friends before and kinda know what to do. I'm at a total loss and I'm afraid of waiting around any longer.<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
__________________________________<br />
<br />
PS: Sorry about the melodrama. I've been trying to not talk about any of my crazy-ass emotional issues anymore because I tend to overwhelm people, but sometimes I need answers.<br />
<br />
PPS: It's 2:12 AM and I'm really freaking tired, so please excuse me if I come across as anything other then sad/confused. I can't function properly at this hour without caffeine in my system, so I have no filters or recognition for what is or isn't appropriate. (I still can't tell if it needs more or fewer cuss-words. Wait, <i>less?</i> No, that doesn't make sense... What's the antonym of fewer, again??) I probably shouldn't even be publishing this right now, but I'm worried that I won't have enough guts in the morning.<br />
<br />
PPPS: To make up for the drama in this post, here are some funny picture of cats.<br />
<br />
<img alt="Schrodinger's Cat is alive..." class="lolcat" src="http://www.lolcats.com/images/u/11/43/lolcatsdotcomrlz2isi4xipy19ob.jpg" /><br />
<br />
<img alt="If not for sits... why is it made of warm?" class="lolcat" src="http://www.lolcats.com/images/u/11/45/lolcatsdotcom3gp6wm7dw3jihq9t.jpg" /><br />
<br />
<img alt="Wait for it..." class="lolcat" src="http://www.lolcats.com/images/u/08/38/lolcatsdotcomk8rjynpxgj815piw.jpg" /><br />
<br />
<img alt="The litter tray is empty again... " class="lolcat" src="http://www.lolcats.com/images/u/11/43/lolcatsdotcomsyucc7vghgeu3ygu.jpg" /><br />
<br />
<img alt="It's dangerous to go alone! Take this." class="lolcat" src="http://www.lolcats.com/images/u/08/21/lolcatsdotcom1evls0ysqclgvzwn.jpg" /><br />
PPPPS: I used to have a <i>very</i> impressive lolcatz collection, but I lost it when my motherboard overheated. =(<br />
<br />
PPPPPS: How many postscripts can you make?<br />
<br />
PPPPPPS: According to wikipedia, you can make an infinite number of postscripts.<br />
<i>"</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic; line-height: 19.1875px;">Sometimes, when additional points are made after the first postscript, abbreviations such as PPS (post-post-scriptum, or postquam-post-scriptum) and PPPS (post-post-post-scriptum, and so on, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic; line-height: 19.1875px;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ad_infinitum" style="background-image: none; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Ad infinitum">ad infinitum</a></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic; line-height: 19.1875px;">) are used, though only PPS has somewhat common usage.</span><i>" </i>[source: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Postscript">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Postscript</a> ]<br />
As tempted as I am to push it to the limit, I think I'll stick with the 6.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-7075298862676471442013-07-03T08:47:00.003-07:002013-07-03T08:49:15.483-07:00Telephones and Tardiness<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">8:04</span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That's what my alarm clock says at the moment. It had better actually be 8:04, because I just went back and set it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yesterday I got a call from my boss. She said that we were short on hours for the pages and I no longer have my Wednesdays. I work 3 days a week and Wednesdays are where I have most my hours. I enjoy Wednesdays- Not only because I earn 16 bucks more on that day. I enjoy them because they present a challenge. Storytime starts at 10:30 for the little kids, so the place is full of children for most the time I'm there. Learning how to time everything perfectly without running over children all the while has been something good for me. In addition to this, my favorite coworker is always there on Wednesdays (not always there on the other days), and we usually get some time to talk about Doctor Who or something before there are more things to shelve.</div>
<div>
I was kinda sad about losing Wednesdays and a bit anxious about my job's stability, but I decided to let it go. There was nothing I could do... And tomorrow was no longer a work day.</div>
<div>
So I turned off my alarm.</div>
<div>
When I woke up, my clock read 9:42. Normally I'd be all jazzed about the 42, but something hit me:</div>
<div>
<b>DID SHE MEAN <i>THIS</i> WEDNESDAY?</b></div>
<div>
They open when my shift starts, so I couldn't call. I'd have to walk over there to find out.</div>
<div>
The problem was, I had to brush my teeth, find socks, and wash the roadgrit out of my hair before walking into my place of work. And I had less then 10 minuets.</div>
<div>
I'd already been late twice in a row the in the last weeks (once because I forgot to set the alarm, once because of miscommunication between my Mom and me) and I was sure that they wouldn't be so forgiving this time.</div>
<div>
I explained the situation to mom, stuck my head in the tub, and ran around like a lunatic to find clothes, a toothbrush sticking out of my face all the while.</div>
<div>
I ran out the door at 9:55. As I ran, I opened my phone to see if I had any missed calls.</div>
<div>
There, in the corner in tiny letters, was the time. 7:55.</div>
<div>
I stopped and looked around. It <i>did</i> seem too late for the sun to be that low... I ran back inside and checked the time on the microwave. Yup, 7:55. Somehow I managed to change my clock's time when I turned off the alarm. I've done it before.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So now I'm going to eat and get ready at a slower pace before walking to work to see if I work today anyway.<br />
As of right now, it's 8:34. (Yeah, I write slowly! What do you want from me??) I'll walk to work in an hour and 45 minutes. Wish me luck.</div>
<div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
________________________________<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
PS: While looking for an appropriate word for the title, I came upon the word "<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=define%3AMetachronism&oq=define%3AMetachronism&aqs=chrome.0.57j58.2515j0&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8">metachronism</a>." Neat, huh?</div>
<div>
PSS: I finished writing and editing at 8:34. I worked on the title until 8:47. PRIORITIES.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-90465849815813496302013-06-30T21:25:00.001-07:002013-06-30T21:25:51.496-07:00Dammit, Petrelicest...Gah! With no more Doctor Who or Sherlock, I've turned to Heroes for entertainment... I am so addicted. I'm also really torn because<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI631aYFUonQDF2SHiVT5wZo8qbvjpDPG-Mh3APJQSh4SvhyCdib0uZVMrLIWdTorCzeNeTxu2atICYG_fzfXFsYbU_r3_Ljom5a_-xOWfifjs7oM82n3YL0CXIXbNdGefnz2zb0L5oiM/s675/petrelicest1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI631aYFUonQDF2SHiVT5wZo8qbvjpDPG-Mh3APJQSh4SvhyCdib0uZVMrLIWdTorCzeNeTxu2atICYG_fzfXFsYbU_r3_Ljom5a_-xOWfifjs7oM82n3YL0CXIXbNdGefnz2zb0L5oiM/s320/petrelicest1.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">WISH</span></b></div>
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</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPNNUrtHUtOkatLPUIG_H4Jk8WO2MaiG874EHwhgPlnoAHswrrgutYZFrlgURN2EYUDfNn7-aLjFvcaBlSCXLl5OoVxNkQHslEYQHjfKU3VYevVqNeK5vani6BW8jDZlEd0FBHHtnqiAM/s250/petrelicest8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPNNUrtHUtOkatLPUIG_H4Jk8WO2MaiG874EHwhgPlnoAHswrrgutYZFrlgURN2EYUDfNn7-aLjFvcaBlSCXLl5OoVxNkQHslEYQHjfKU3VYevVqNeK5vani6BW8jDZlEd0FBHHtnqiAM/s250/petrelicest8.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">THAT</span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg044M4EetDlDb_KJRVWs_bXGFTMJKo84APuGFaYInQyaMM0NevNApfIMfVo6JhrBNGfDfeOztjL_zzs7q1kVrY2OfVGWDviRgVAwyy_AvHOp08OvUkDxRFOwJ_yEivwq19-Z0jgaks-_o/s500/petrelicest3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg044M4EetDlDb_KJRVWs_bXGFTMJKo84APuGFaYInQyaMM0NevNApfIMfVo6JhrBNGfDfeOztjL_zzs7q1kVrY2OfVGWDviRgVAwyy_AvHOp08OvUkDxRFOwJ_yEivwq19-Z0jgaks-_o/s320/petrelicest3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>THESE</b></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNqyAitcKWNq1DH4LyYjH2FM5cHDnGf_FaFPAI-iaD8KY59xgD0szosS_gHhSRl_c4r4N8SL2wv94Jcq1_FGpQofbSSxxrB5rYBIQOwQQGZr_LEV2hOoEfOxVocNovNbh-I08Ott-TA4/s400/petrelicest4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNqyAitcKWNq1DH4LyYjH2FM5cHDnGf_FaFPAI-iaD8KY59xgD0szosS_gHhSRl_c4r4N8SL2wv94Jcq1_FGpQofbSSxxrB5rYBIQOwQQGZr_LEV2hOoEfOxVocNovNbh-I08Ott-TA4/s320/petrelicest4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">TWO</span></b></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggCX2cCOCPe8Im51vjoJJmDpBxIz6rLCEtLHrGJg9coOnBpiHegqLjScOOtJKFIlyts77ufq565S_XdlPNZhZXOTCZFfbKKQhIa5yTlz1ugojGaYZYfrgPO6sDJrvrY_kyTAoyRFmn1Cw/s250/petrelicest5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggCX2cCOCPe8Im51vjoJJmDpBxIz6rLCEtLHrGJg9coOnBpiHegqLjScOOtJKFIlyts77ufq565S_XdlPNZhZXOTCZFfbKKQhIa5yTlz1ugojGaYZYfrgPO6sDJrvrY_kyTAoyRFmn1Cw/s250/petrelicest5.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>AREN'T</b></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitj4714BnIY5R7v4gzt9VxZgxg4rGMzg1M3J4eWed08OWSo-xel2OVhWCC-RQL764sR-Y82IvMeOCyybWon_swM29SXLIHi12Liq9nkF7HejKe6wPyu9_cx-70_t865CKCBYvynMpxJcE/s500/petrelicest6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitj4714BnIY5R7v4gzt9VxZgxg4rGMzg1M3J4eWed08OWSo-xel2OVhWCC-RQL764sR-Y82IvMeOCyybWon_swM29SXLIHi12Liq9nkF7HejKe6wPyu9_cx-70_t865CKCBYvynMpxJcE/s320/petrelicest6.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>BROTHERS.</b></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_s2w0BFj4l0gQ2ut9SjdSsXXs2_gpnvSZrvfBi5JgIvmWNqKPQUGJYksoNMYCzBoK5KozoGLWpyNLopIpPpIq2dwu7M5-j45Gv646vqnQ-vuyXq2SOIsZ_-Q5L0aCMuIgp3lVlQYSESo/s250/petrelicest7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_s2w0BFj4l0gQ2ut9SjdSsXXs2_gpnvSZrvfBi5JgIvmWNqKPQUGJYksoNMYCzBoK5KozoGLWpyNLopIpPpIq2dwu7M5-j45Gv646vqnQ-vuyXq2SOIsZ_-Q5L0aCMuIgp3lVlQYSESo/s250/petrelicest7.jpg" /></a></div>
<b><i>JEEZ.</i></b><br />
<br />
...But it's somehow better that they are.<br />
Good god, what have I become?<br />
<br />
ALSO, Hiro.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN5adiGRRiqVhUaIhxHNHpLZ6iGbYbyONI6azFQz0j6YR1mfLS0jQ86ElvvZCQNPRn3lpyBLq3AxTGW9rW2lkuxseD-TT6j3akgOPMikl8kHhVXHeilZWlKg6SbF1yXw_Kb_gwH7677TI/s500/hiro.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN5adiGRRiqVhUaIhxHNHpLZ6iGbYbyONI6azFQz0j6YR1mfLS0jQ86ElvvZCQNPRn3lpyBLq3AxTGW9rW2lkuxseD-TT6j3akgOPMikl8kHhVXHeilZWlKg6SbF1yXw_Kb_gwH7677TI/s320/hiro.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-64916298234117137882013-06-27T14:49:00.003-07:002013-06-27T14:52:25.022-07:00THE GAY STEAMROLLER TRIUMPHS.<b><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">"I would not </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">tar</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"> the </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">political branches</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"> with the </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">brush of bigotry</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">."</span></i></b><br />
<b><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">-</span></b><span style="color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><b><span style="line-height: 15.989583969116211px;">John Roberts on the court's new-found refusal to take all the DOMA shit.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 15.989583969116211px;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 15.989583969116211px;">F#CK, YEAH!! We will <i>flatten </i>that crappy tar with our uber fabulous GAY STEAMROLLER.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 15.989583969116211px;">...Even if it takes 5 freakin' years to do it. =P</span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5bhMQvu2bYLZd36SAIH9q7Hu-KvjPt4jNR3AVRImgboJ73ua_uislk03Ij0OKnL9Xa7mYDIpUEFtgIfduhnRqAVoiECJepMuIL9ohyBpkpO09FKOBN95edM0LG9YkyUUxcKEEz3V26uo/s1024/gaySteamroller.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Gay Steamroller" border="0" height="525" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5bhMQvu2bYLZd36SAIH9q7Hu-KvjPt4jNR3AVRImgboJ73ua_uislk03Ij0OKnL9Xa7mYDIpUEFtgIfduhnRqAVoiECJepMuIL9ohyBpkpO09FKOBN95edM0LG9YkyUUxcKEEz3V26uo/s640/gaySteamroller.jpeg" title="Yahoooo! Take that, bigots!" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(<a href="http://theoatmeal.com/comics/literally">This image</a> belongs to The Oatmeal. He is freaking amazing, <a href="http://theoatmeal.com/">go check him out</a>.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 15.989583969116211px;"><b><i><span style="color: red;">ROLL </span><span style="color: orange;">ON,</span><span style="color: #444444;"> </span><span style="color: yellow;">AWE</span><span style="color: lime;">SOME</span><span style="color: #444444;"> </span><span style="color: blue;">PEO</span><span style="color: purple;">PLE.</span></i></b></span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-12001004023883115712013-06-18T15:28:00.000-07:002013-06-18T15:31:22.383-07:00Digital CopiesI just had an interesting conversation with Cooper today. Along the way, complained a bit about the absurd prices of comics and manga. I tend to slam through manga, comfortably reading about 4 volumes at a time. One of my favorite mangas is xxxHolic, a CLAMP story about the manifestations of habits, desires, and modes of thought. It's laid out beautifully, the art is amazing, and the characters and stories are divine. I would buy the entire series, happily giving my money to the artists, if each volume wasn't $10.95 new. I realize that the artists spend a <i>very</i> long time planning and drawing these beautiful things and I'm sure that a whole volume <i>is </i>worth $10.95, but, in reality, I'm not going to buy a whole bunch of these new. I just don't have the money! This brings up an interesting point.<br />
<br />
The worth of a book isn't in the binding. It's the relationship between the reader and the story. You can bind the Twilight series in beautiful gold-framed, embossed mermaid skin, but it doesn't mean I'm going to buy it. Just because you spent a fortune to make the <i>physical book</i> doesn't mean that it's actual value goes up all that much.<br />
The same's true for any work of art! You don't look at Van Gogh's <i>Starry Night</i> and say "My god! He really spent a fortune on paint! I hope he got his money's worth in the end.*" No, you think "Wow! Look at these colors! And the swirls! And the yellow!! ...And is that a tree or an alien structure??" and then you fight the urge to draw on a little exploding TARDIS in the corner.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie4V-DlqW9Bvi_-cYZLlPVwUCgUZfBPkgkB9XmIiUhwo_50wpgu8eNYs32nR6x_5uY9GX2fKdWW4UWUyO49jKjYLdg9hS9IL1d6ESKGHZ762MDWggjvxsoGDFUrkIQRUZ3MwkawoepEp4/s1600/StarryNight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie4V-DlqW9Bvi_-cYZLlPVwUCgUZfBPkgkB9XmIiUhwo_50wpgu8eNYs32nR6x_5uY9GX2fKdWW4UWUyO49jKjYLdg9hS9IL1d6ESKGHZ762MDWggjvxsoGDFUrkIQRUZ3MwkawoepEp4/s400/StarryNight.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Of course, it would be lovely if Van Gogh turned a profit on this! I would pay for tickets to see it myself... If I wasn't able to find a digital copy.<br />
This brings me to things like eBooks. How much should we pay for one? Obviously, we should pay the person who types up the thing themselves or the person who creates the technology to properly scan the thing, as well as the author, editor, and publishers... But after that's done, should we pay for every single digital copy of the book? The work has already gone into it. I know that the author and the typists or programmers are still getting paid every time we buy one, but it's still kind of weird. We're used to paying for physical copies of things. Buying a used movie is fine, because you're buying it from the original buyer. But it it okay to buy or even trade a digital copy? Where should the line be drawn, and by whom?<br />
When you sell a work of art, you're selling the physical product and an idea. You want your copy of <i>The Picture of Dorian Gray</i> to hold up, but the whole reason you bought it was so that you could experience the story the pages contain. So if the physical aspect is taken away (like with eBooks), the only thing that remains it the feeling itself. In this digital age, we are peddling ideas. Nothing more.<br />
So how much is an idea worth? Can it be translated into dollars? If so, should it be? Should it be regulated?<br />
These are questions that I have no answers to. If you have opinions or corrections on any of the points I've made during the post, feel free to leave them in the comments! Don't worry, I don't bite! I'll even respond to each one. =)<br />
<br />
______________________________<br />
<br />
*As far as I know, he only sold one painting: <i>The Red Vineyard.</i> ...So <i>no, </i>he did <i>not</i> get his money's worth.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-70482369199267657252013-06-17T19:47:00.000-07:002013-06-17T19:52:42.914-07:00JUST STOPThe checkup I talked about in my last post went all right, but they weren't able to draw any blood from me. My veins are too small, so they couldn't really find 'em. Didn't stop them from trying, though! Now I have a stab in each arm. X(<br />
<div>
I also got the first of three shots that will vaccinate me from.... <drumroll/></div>
<div>
CERVICAL CANCER!!</div>
<div>
...Wait, <i>what?</i> Why do I need <i>that??</i></div>
<div>
As it turns out, cervical cancer is actually quite a problem and all female teens are supposed to get a vaccine for it.</div>
<div>
Well and good, right?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
WRONG. This means that I have to get <i>3 MORE</i> shots of this crap, and I'M NOT PLANNING ON USING MY CERVIX ANY TIME SOON.</div>
<div>
In case you don't know, human reproduction is a bit of a hot-button issue for me. Our numbers are increasing at a rapid rate. Humans are breeding faster then we can find answers to our numerous health, economic, and environmental problems. So it isn't just that I'm cranky about taking unnecessary drugs, I'm cranky about being lumped in with all you breeders!<i> </i>Good <i>GOD,</i> there are too damn many of us! Just STOP for a while, will ya??</div>
<div>
Goddess almighty. >=[<br />
<br />
PS: Yup, I can feel the hate-mail comin' in... Family members: I love you, but I've already heard the speech. I just want you to know that nothing will make me not feel REALLY pissed off about overpopulation. Yes, I KNOW that it's a hairy issue and that you can't just stop people from breeding. I'm sure my opinions may change in a few years. <b>This is nothing against you guys. </b>Shots and human sexuality just gets on my nerves, okay?? Go pester some pot-head and leave me with my angry, hypocritical, skewed outlook on the world. According to you all, it should change next month anyway.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8044840049971644868.post-46204885363243536242013-06-17T03:40:00.000-07:002013-06-17T03:43:04.398-07:00ANGSTADY-ANGST, HURRAH!Hello, world.<br />
Despite what my last post may have lead you to believe, I'm actually not constantly depressed anymore. What cured me? I'd like to say the support of my family and friends, but I'm gonna be honest here. While the humans whom I occasionally let within my personal bubble of 5 feet (most notably Cooper McHatton) helped me feel a little less empty inside, what really cured me was the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/vlogbrothers?feature=watch">Vlogbrothers</a>. I'm sorry, guys. You helped a lot, but there's something about John and Hank that reminds me that, despite our faults, we're all made of some form of awesome.<br />
<i>That being said, </i>I'm not feeling too amazing at the moment. I have a doctor's appointment (for a check-up) in a few hours (I don't know <i>WHEN</i>) that I became aware of just today. I HATE DOCTOR'S OFFICES. <i>I DON'T KNOW WHY.</i> I can read all day about lympoma and sleep soundly at night. I can look at diagrams of tracheotomies and all I'll think is "Neat!" I'm the kind of person who thinks it's fun to stay up until 6:00AM on a school night reading up on torture methods on wikipedia. However, when I walk into that cold, foul-smelling office, I immediately start to panic. My throat feels like it's closing, I can't fight off the people trying to hug me or comfort me, and I'm afraid that the rushing sound in my ears will <i>be my undoing.</i><br />
So, yeah. I don't particularly like the doctor's office. On top of all this, I DON'T KNOW IF I WORK THIS FRIDAY. The days have been scrambled up on me and I can barely remember what I did yesterday, never mind the day before that. I really hope they'd call me if I skipped a day. It is VERY important that I find out if I work, because I have a therapy session RIGHT WHEN I F#CKING WORK EVERY OTHER FRIDAY.<br />
<rant><br />
...And I've been staying until at least 4:00AM every night for the past week, my library book is due tomorrow, my friend Talon and I are trying to make things work between us (but I think we might be failing), I'm sure Shanti has sent me a new email, but I haven't checked it yet and I hope she isn't mad at me, I love math but I suck at it, I feel like a heel for not hanging out with Cooper as much as I should, the overuse of emotion among humans is stupid, unnecessary, and confusing, I don't understand women, I can't remember what day it is, I keep forgetting why I'm here and I wonder if I ever knew, panic attacks are rampant, the ninjas are all after me, and I'm pretty damn sure that the Silents are creeping up on me wherever I go.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPbI4bc9wvnfdRs1FSjRKqLTfJaR3EN1gYnDSbI9JjM2lNgTdhjMRRgPLOjyzeqCIhqlGZteJ-ui9nMbYD-Fso44lI47QR4azc6bc_aVW1kWDNKpZRzbV-5tV3ygugvrJ4R5PzBoAfjFw/s1600/Saccadic+Masking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Saccadic Masking" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPbI4bc9wvnfdRs1FSjRKqLTfJaR3EN1gYnDSbI9JjM2lNgTdhjMRRgPLOjyzeqCIhqlGZteJ-ui9nMbYD-Fso44lI47QR4azc6bc_aVW1kWDNKpZRzbV-5tV3ygugvrJ4R5PzBoAfjFw/s1600/Saccadic+Masking.jpg" title="Time to Forget..." /></a></div>
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AND THAT'S JUST THIS WEEK. A rather GOOD week, compared to what this month's been like.</div>
</rant><br />
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...Oh, and commas are CONFUSING, especially when I misuse them. Sorry about that. >.<<br />
BAH. Anyway, what was I saying before my post was bombarded by ANGST??<br />
Oh yeah. I'm not depressed anymore.<br />
<i>Wheee. </i><waves maracas/>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16691181341816476426noreply@blogger.com0