ANGSTADY-ANGST, HURRAH!

Hello, world.
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 Vlogbrothers. 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.
That being said, 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 WHEN) that I became aware of just today. I HATE DOCTOR'S OFFICES. I DON'T KNOW WHY. 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 be my undoing.
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.
<rant>
...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.

AND THAT'S JUST THIS WEEK. A rather GOOD week, compared to what this month's been like.

</rant>

...Oh, and commas are CONFUSING, especially when I misuse them. Sorry about that. >.<
BAH. Anyway, what was I saying before my post was bombarded by ANGST??
Oh yeah. I'm not depressed anymore.
Wheee. <waves maracas/>

My father scourged you with whips; I will scourge you with scorpions.

I'm 16!!

HAH. Take THAT, ninjas!! You have failed to kill me and now that I am of age, I am able to look upon the Scroll of Zule and learn it's secrets safely. With this knowledge I may harness the power of lighting, raise the dead, hire some Igors, and generally tower above everyone else! Yes. I now have access to.....

My grandmother's pancake recipe. O_O

LLAP!! XDD

Ninclowns

I just realized something terrifying.
Mimes are a cross between clowns and ninjas.

Think about it!
What are the two things that clowns and ninjas share in common? They both terrifying. However, this quality manifests itself in vastly different ways when you work with vastly different creatures.
You see, clowns are scary in an in-your-face kind of way. Ninjas are the exact opposite. They're scary in a dum-de-dum-walking-home-from-work-ohcrapaninja-DEAD!!! kind of way.
Both terrifying, right? The question is, what if you take key elements in these different styles and then add them together? The answer? MIMES.
Yes, that's right. When one takes the most terrifying aspects of two* of the most terrifying creatures known to humankind and smashes them together (the smashing itself probably involving quite a bit of setting fire to nursing homes, sacrificing puppies, and jaywalking) we get MIMES.

See for yourself.

Color
C=wild colors
c=neutral colors

Tact
T=subtle
t=up-in-your-face

(We may assume that both clowns and ninjas have the potential to be deadly and/or evil.)

Clown
Ct

Ninja
cT

	C	t
c	Cc	ct
T	CT	Tt

As you can see, when you cross a clown with a ninja, you may get one of these things:
Cc- A Chameleon Ninclown or Shifting-Color Ninclown (very confusing and difficult to look upon)
CT- A Colorful Ninclown (they make up for their eye-drawing colors by being especially deadly)
Tt- A Bipolar Ninclown. (pretty much exactly what it sounds like.)

ct- A Silent Ninclown (commonly known as a Mime) (puts up a wall of invisibility, follows you home, hides under your bed, then silently jumps out and stabs you with an invisible stake-knife. Then mimes eating your heart.)

Yeah.

....... France is so screwed.

_________________________________

*Notice that I didn't say THE most. Just TWO of the most. Not even the top two. Sharks are probably scarier.

......OH NO.


PS!! Please don't chase me with pitchforks and fire if this punnet square is incorrect. I've had enough of THAT from the local villagers already. (I mean 'cmon! Just because I have a strange urge to chase rabbits and howl at the moon about once a month doesn't mean that you have to try and KILL me!! And seriously. Silver bullets?? They don't really do all that much better then the regular lead ones.)

AHEM.
Anyway, tracing clown and ninja genes is HARD. Do you know what I have to go through to get blood samples of CLOWNS?? On a good clownnapping you sneak up behind it, hit it over the head with a shovel, then put it into a body bag and then into your trunk without being seen. Then when you get back and open the bag, it's usually awake and you have to avoid the chloroform-soaked rag thrusted into your face and beat it into dazed submission. (IF it doesn't actually turn out to be the joker. [If THAT'S the case, then just pray that you don't have a heart attack when he sits up and proclaims "Or maybe alive??"])

Don't even get me STARTED on the ninjas.

I Iz Schizo? =D

Huh....
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schizotypal_personality_disorder

Let's take a look at how this applies to me, shall we?

• Ideas of reference (excluding delusions of reference)

Yup.

• Odd beliefs or magical thinking that influences behavior and is inconsistent with subcultural norms (e.g. superstition, belief in clairvoyance, telepathy, "sixth sense", or bizarre fantasies or preoccupations)

Odd to whom exactly? And yes.

• Unusual perceptual experiences, including bodily illusions

No bodily illusions. Although does realizing about once every 3 months that I'm actually really just a whole buncha meet on a skeleton count? Because that happens. And man, it is SO weird.

• Odd thinking and speech (e.g. vague, circumstantial, metaphorical, or stereotyped speaking)

      Oh most definitely.

• Suspiciousness or paranoid ideation

Who wants to know?? Seriously though. Definitely. CLOWNS?? Those are some scary bastards..... OH! And mimes. Creepy. Ninjas?? Oh GOD. Trolls..... The government... MY NEIGHBOR! Oh crap. O____O

• Inappropriate or constricted affect

Yeah, sometimes.

• Behavior or appearance that is odd, eccentric or peculiar

Do I even need to answer this one??

• Lack of close friends or confidants other than first degree relatives

I'm not sure how to answer this. I now have two close friends, but all the years before that? Not one.

• Excessive social anxiety that does not diminish with familiarity and tends to be associated with paranoid fears rather than negative judgments about self.

Huh. This is a little creepy. I think that Wikipedia has been reading my mind. OR listening to me through my built-in laptop microphone!!

.......I KNEW IT!!

Jurrasic Garden

I was  navigating the harsh vegetablish terrain of my garden, collecting grasses for my tortoise to eat this morning. (He's a Sulcata. He loves weeds. He's so awesome. =D) As I twisted my way through the dense undergrowth of a large tomato patch, trying to ignore the sickly sweet sent of nightshade infiltrating my nasal passages, (yes, tomatoes are a type of nightshade. Just don't eat the leaves. =P) my eyes feel upon something shiny. The bird part immediately wanted to know what it was, and if it was edible. The squirrel part froze, hoping to not be caught, and the wolf wanted to kill it. My human quickly side broke up their warring and stepped in for a closer look. Upon inspection, I found that it was a pair of clip on sun shades. The kind that flip up and down.

The geek kicked in, and I realized my immediate danger. These sunshades could only belong to one kind of person. A snooty field scientist..... The kind you'd kill off in a movie. The kind of character that you don't care about enough to be very upset over, but the kind just tough enough to impart a sense of shock at his death. The kind of character who's soul purpose in the movie is to demonstrate what the others are up against in the manner of a bloody bloody death.
I knew this, and I immediately felt the need to make myself scarce. We'd done it. the threat was real. And now the human race would pay the price. We'd really done it this time. We had cloned....... Dinosaurs. Yes, that's right. The government had successfully cloned dinosaurs, the dinosaurs escaped, and were lurking in back yard. My garden was........ A Jurassic park.

I frantically cast my eyes around, hoping to not find fresh meat. I saw none. I knew not of how long ago he was slaughtered. I could only guess. It seemed pretty old, as the vines were almost covering the glasses, but then, maybe they went flying when the cold blooded monsters ripped the poor guy in half. Either way, I neither saw nor smelt flesh. That meant that while I would not run into any scavengers in search of leftovers, I would also be in danger of becoming breakfast to some crazy ass son of a petri dish.
I decided that my best chance was to sneak away as swiftly and quietly as I could. I snatched up the shades and put my sneaky-run plan into motion.

I traveled back into my house without further mishap and set the glasses on the table. I explained our garden's contingency to my Dad. He seemed pretty understanding. At least he didn't immediately suggest my use of a straitjacket. I also explained that I didn't find any gore, and that I was a bit let down. I was hoping to at least find some toes.

So, long story short, there are dinosaurs in my garden. Or, as I'm gonna call them, crazy-ass-sons-of-a-petri-dish. Or maybe petri-bastards? That would also work. Whatever the marital status of the parents of these crazy ass petri spawn, I'm gonna be stocking up on heavy artillery.
Hasta la vista, petri baby.