Ugh

It's been way too long.

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.

I'd like to start writing for Cracked.com, 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.

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.

First off, I suppose I should make a general update on my life.

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.
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.

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.

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.

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."
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.

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.

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.

Well, that's all I have for now. Please forgive the lackluster sentence structure in this post, I need caffeine and a better brain.

URL 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."

So yeah. Name change needed.

But what should I call this place instead? Mr. Munroe has a guideline.

This advice has served me well with my tumblr, ScreamingGnomeGenocide.tumblr.com (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.

Tales from Yo Mamma's Basement
Robot-Dragon Love Affair
League of Anti-Affiliates
Eulogy for a Cyborg Queen
Alan Leads the Machines
Gears Squish My Brain
Presume the Worse
Nothing Good Can Come of This
Gentle Dreadnought
The Cynical Optimist

...At a certain point they become too cheesy. I'll keep trying, though.

Blogging my way around writer's block

I stopped posting on here a while ago because I was afraid of offending people with my odd worldview.
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.
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.
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.

I'm Still Learning to Ask for Help

So I was going through this blog just now and I realized something mind blowing.
When I gave my therapist an estimate of how long my last bout of depression lasted, I guessed about 6 months.
Out of the blue today I got curious as to how long it actually was so I went archive diving.
This post was made right before depression really hit: Horse Sh*t and I Fight the Blues
And here's when it went away: Rain, Rain, Stay All Day!
They're posted a year and 13 days apart.

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?

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.
I'm not sure how many people will actually read this, but it can't hurt to add some helpful links.

• Toll free suicide hotline- National suicide prevention lifeline
• Free online chat-based support for anyone suicidal or going through a crisis (for people like me who don't like talking)- IMAlive online crisis network

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.

Creak

Hey, all. I guess. Does anyone still read these? Probably not.
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.
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.
I have my Anthropology final on Friday, so I'm worried about that.
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.
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.

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.

I can't make noise above a croak and even that hurts.

So yeah. I'm kinda bored and scared and sad. Not really sure what to do about it, though.
Maybe I'll post more crappy poems later. That'll class this place right up. I should make one about tapeworms.

Crappy Poems from 3:25AM

I don't pull out maggots
I don't pull out gore
I'm not even sure
What I was looking for.

I lost it in here
I'm not sure what it was
Spare me your tears
And spare me your gauze.

It must be here
Although I've looked
I've a feeling that they've all cooked
A marvelous plan beneath my own skin

I'll pull it all off
To be whole again.

I tear through the skin
And with spoon I dip.
Aha! Here we go- A tracking chip!

Do not be frightened!
Please don't be alarmed!
Don't you see- now they're unarmed!

They won't find me ever.
Don't matter where they look.
They'll never find me!
I'm not in their book.

Update

Okay. So.

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.

...But I've digressed.

I thought I'd give the robots a little update on my life. Because what the hell.

____________________

I'm going to college, taking Cultural Anthropology from Patricia Taber, one of the cooler people I've met thus far.

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.

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.

I'm also thinking about becoming a dentist. Because I want to stick sharp things in people's mouths.

Yu Gi Oh kid moved to Portland.

Shanti moved away to a location I probably won't disclose.

Talon and I haven't talked.

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.

We finally found a home for our obese beagle. He lives with Deina and Naomi now.

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.

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.

I'm working on my blackbelt in Aikido, which is cool but really scary.

I hurt my right knee, so now I walk like an old man when it rains or I push myself too hard.

I still get depressed every so often, but I don't really have the time to deal with strong emotions, so I ignore it.

I've gone down from 3 panic attacks per week to about 1.

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.

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.

Cancer has caught up to my grandfather. It took about a decade and I think he's technically a survivor now.

He's told me that he's proud of me and that I'm a smart kid.

He gave me his car.

I fixed the horrible huge banner on the site.

I think I'm also going to change the background again.

___________________

Anyway, I just wanted to say that I'm NOT dead. I'm sorry if I scared you, little robots.

I will try to post again, maybe sometime in the next month or so.

Live long and prosper.

Vengeance for Kelly Thomas

Something really fucked up happened recently.

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.
Despite this, the police found reason to search him. When he refused and turned away from them, they hit him with a nightstick.
He pleaded for help, but they kept beating him. One of the two officers pulled on some rubber gloves and said "Now you see my fists? They’re getting ready to fuck you up."
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.
(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.)
All of this was caught on camera.

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.
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."
It is not an officer's place to beat anyone to death, whether they be a child molester or just a homeless man.
I can't believe that any person could watch this and believe that these men were in the right.

I am horrified that this jury let the beating of a helpless man slide. I am horrified that no one reported this.
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.
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.

No 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 wasn't a problem and your computer was not in immediate danger of being infected.

Here's what happened:
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.
HOWEVER, this did NOT happen because I fixed it.

TL;DR: *
This site was not infected. It will not be infected. Your computer is (probably) not infected.

Chrome is amazing at protecting us from malicious software and I applaud it for working to make the Tubes a better place.

Again, sorry for the scare.
-Rahel



*"Too long, didn't read."

Instagram Is in the Eye of the Beholder

For many years, people have strived to perfect the art of photography, studying lighting, framing techniques, filters, and building darkrooms.
Then, one dark and stormy night, a monster was borne from the minds of two well-intentioned software engineers-
INSTAGRAM.
Well, not just Instagram. There are many good photography programs out there (Hipsamatic springs to mind), but Instagram is a big one.
Anyway, everyone is now an amateur photographer, carrying the means to create beautiful pictures around in their pocket.
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.
Finally, I realized something- these photo-editing programs are actually helping photography. Here's how.

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.

T H E   A S P H A L T   L O O K S   L O N E L Y

Anyway, this guy's work is good. Why, though? Here are some reasons that instantly come to my mind:

1. The resolution is amazing
2. The shots are beautifully framed
3. The shots show Adams' awe of the power of nature

But what makes this guy so special even now in this age of rapidly progressing technology? 

Resolution? I think not. The resolution on a lot of smartphone cameras is more impressive.

The positioning and the way it's framed? Crop tools can help with that.

That leaves one element- Adam's point of view.

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.

This 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 without the cropping and coloring. If people don't get a sense of you 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.

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.



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 want 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.

Beagle 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.
No, seriously. He puked.
I think that I like dogs.

Update

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.

So, here goes.

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.

One of my friends is in New Mexico, but I think she's visiting soon. <waves/> I miss her.

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.

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.

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.

Cooper is in college, studying furiously and getting good grades.

My maternal grandfather has terminal cancer. They just put him on morphine, so I'm not sure how next year is gonna be.

My step-mom is pregnant with another kid. This one is a girl. I hear sleepless nights in my future.

I'm still not depressed, but I'm not feeling upbeat either. Still, better to be moody and deadpan then terrified and sad!

My sister is going to get her blackbelt in Aikido. It's gonna be rad.

I've been drawing a bit and I've become much better. I should post some of my work some time soon.

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 way 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.

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.

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.

...That's all I've got for now. Until next time.

*Radiolab, Welcome to Night Vale, The Thrilling Adventure Hour, and How to Do Everything

Roses are Crocodiles of the Mind

"Stop to smell the roses!" People tell me when I worry. "You're young!" They say. "Live a little!"

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."

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.

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.

I remember my Dad explaining the plot line of Blade Runner 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."

This did not sit well with me. I'd be playing with dinosaurs on the floor and think "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?"

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 don't mess with.

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 by god I would find out.

After months of freaking out about this periodically, I had the pleasure of watching Spaceballs. There's this great scene where Darth Helmet and his henchman find the Spaceballs movie and, in one of the most meta scenes ever, fast forward through it, hoping to find the whereabouts of their enemies.

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 "Soon."

This kinda stuck with me. "Maybe," I thought "If I don't focus on the past 'nows' and focus on the 'soons' instead, I won't freak out so much."

And it's worked. I now think way into the future, always chasing that 'soon' and running, breathless, from that 'now.'

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 not here.

Stupid roses.

Rain, Rain, Stay All Day!

And the rain rain rain came down down down
And the rain rain rain came down.

Hey, people. It's raining out!! Isn't that amazing? And I don't mean a sprinkle here and there. It really rained. For at least 15 mins! It even slanted at one point.
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.
I haven't been this happy in a very long time.
I waved my arms around and screamed, startling passing drivers.
"GOODBYE, DEPRESSION!" I yelled as loud as I wanted. "YOU TRIED TO TEAR ME DOWN WITH SUNLIGHT AND BIRDS, BUT BEHOLD!" I believe that I spun around at this point. "THE RAIN COMES, BRINGING COLD AND HAPPINESS! AHAHAHAHHAAAH!!!!"
On a related note, I think the neighbors think that I'm mad.
BUT WHO CARES??

I have no need of drinkin'.
Don't need a bottle or two.
I can sit all day not thinkin'
Of how much I miss you...
Because the rain is here to stay
And I wouldn't have it any other way...

Yes, the rain is here so I'm not drinkin' for you.
Yeah, the rain is here so I'm not drinkin' for you.

Some guys they like their whiskey
In bottles deep and clear
But that poison can be risky
And the rain is here.

Oh I don't need to drink again
I'll let the rain wash me away!
No I don't need to think again
I'll save it for another day.

And when the rain is gone and done
I'll go out, find another one.
Someone clean and someone true
No, I don't have to think about you

'Cause I don't need to drink again
I'll let the rain wash me away!
No I don't need to think again
I'll save it for another day.

Fuzzy and Confused

The weeks have been getting longer and my head's been feeling fuzzy.
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.
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.
I can almost pull off writing because I can go back and re-read stuff, but it still ends up being really dry.
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.
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.
Whatever it is, it needs to go away soon so that I can get on with things.

Personal Character Development

So I've been reading about Asperger's syndrome lately. I'm pretty sure that I have it and it's taking a lot of willpower to not go research-crazy (because self-diagnosis can lead to sketchy Real Life details later on. Hypochondriac, remember?). Still, I've learned quite a bit and I wanted to bring something up.

I am very good at bullshitting. I am not good at lying. Yes, there is a difference.
For example, if you ask if I did or didn't do something I was/wasn't supposed to, I will always 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 can't 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.
Bullshitting, 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.*
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.
The trouble is, I've become really good at pretending to be other people.

I love characters. There's nothing quite as fun as slipping into an act, to take on alien characteristics.
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 started on the 10th Doctor.
It's all fine when it's a recognizable character. It only gets weird when your moods suddenly have character detached from you.
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.
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?"
"Not bad." He said, returning the smile. "How are you?"
"I'm good." I said, although I wasn't really feeling fantastic.
"That's great." He said. "I'm gonna look at some books. You take care now."
"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.
What I did was insincere in the moment, but it wasn't meant to trick 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.
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 am 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.).
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 too inappropriate to bring up... It's really tiring.

SO if you see my face suddenly change after talking to someone, you'll know why.



*No, seriously. I told my neighbor kids about this. It was awesome.
**Actually, he isn't our landlord. I've forgotten the correct term. It doesn't really matter right now, though.

Publishers and the Adherance to Phantasmic Posulations

So 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.
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!
However, unlike most fanfiction, this one is going to be huge. About the size of an actual book. And the crazy part? All of the characters are original.
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?
Because it's a challenge.
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.
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.
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 Star Trek II Biographies, a licensed Star Trek novel (basically a glorified fanfic)? Gene Rodenberry and Nichelle Nichols 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 Alternate Reality.
<takes breaths/>
Whew! Did not mean to geek out so much there. What was I saying?

Oh yeah!
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.
Phew.

Logging out. Live long and prosper.

ZeFrank: Pwner of Angels

So... Much... ZeFrank.... @_@
This man is so amazing, every time he smiles a tree sloth poops rainbow butterflies onto unsuspecting tourists.
Check him out on youtube or on his website, zefrank.com
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.
Now GO.

Friendship Advice?

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.
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.
This hasn't happened and I'm kinda freaking out.
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.
I know that I should never forget the impact that she's had upon my life, but sometimes I wish that I could.

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.
Thank you.



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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.

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, less? 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.

PPPS: To make up for the drama in this post, here are some funny picture of cats.










PPPPS: I used to have a very impressive lolcatz collection, but I lost it when my motherboard overheated. =(

PPPPPS: How many postscripts can you make?

PPPPPPS: According to wikipedia, you can make an infinite number of postscripts.
"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, ad infinitum) are used, though only PPS has somewhat common usage." [source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Postscript ]
As tempted as I am to push it to the limit, I think I'll stick with the 6.

Telephones and Tardiness

8:04

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.

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.

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.

So I turned off my alarm.

When I woke up, my clock read 9:42. Normally I'd be all jazzed about the 42, but something hit me:

DID SHE MEAN THIS WEDNESDAY?

They open when my shift starts, so I couldn't call. I'd have to walk over there to find out.

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.

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.

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.

I ran out the door at 9:55. As I ran, I opened my phone to see if I had any missed calls.

There, in the corner in tiny letters, was the time. 7:55.

I stopped and looked around. It did 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.

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.
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.

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PS: While looking for an appropriate word for the title, I came upon the word "metachronism." Neat, huh?

PSS: I finished writing and editing at 8:34. I worked on the title until 8:47. PRIORITIES.