Ahem.

Blogger won't let me start over without permanently ridding myself of everything they have of mine.

wastedpages.tumblr.com

Sixth time's the charm?

Im wondering if doing book reviews here would be fun? Ive a got a few i could recommend after being around them all year.

Ten Things I Hate About Children

1. They take over the television, insist on watching cartoons or horrid Disney shows. Or worse, really bad shows (or TERRIBLE DVDs that I may or may not have hidden due to brain bleeding last time they made me sit through it).

2. They always wanna know "WHATCHA DOIN?" "None of your business ya little creep, now get out of my room."

3. They're the only human beings immune to my stare of death. They know no fear.

4. They're needy. "I'm hungry, I'm bored, I'm thirsty, I just ate but I wanna be a fatass and have a snack..." etc. STFU.

5. They're LOUD AS HELL when playing with one another but then they get all quiet and mumbly and shy when talking to adults. I CAN'T HEAR WHAT YOU'RE FUCKING SAYING YOU'RE TWO FEET OFF THE GROUND AND I'M WAYYYY UP HERE.

6. They're incapable of SITTING THE FUCK DOWN. Unless they're shoveling food into their dirty mouths.

7. Peronal space. They don't understand it.

8. They make a mess of EVERYTHING.

9. No fucking privacy.

10. You can't complain about them because their parents will get all huffy and feelings will be hurt and OH MY GOD I'M NOT THE ONE WHO POPPED SIX KIDS OUT OF MY VAG TAKE CARE OF YOUR OWN DAMN CHILDREN JESUS H CHRIST.

Never shall I ever be a mother. Can I donate all my eggs, please? I don't need them.

Anyone else get dream songs stuck in their head? Mine goes, "i will promise you heaven / i will put you through hell"

I Talk Out Loud Like You’re Still Around

So I'm reading Sloane Crosley's How Did You Get This Number? (great book go get it) and at the chapter where she explains her learning disability (something about really crappy spatial reasoning which gets her lost all the time) I feel myself relating to her problem. Why? At first I'm confused because I don't have any issues that I can recall that inhibit me from functioning normally...OH WAIT DUH. It smacks me in he face: I've got the shittiest memory ever. So shitty that I forgot about my own shitty memory. Whoops.

In the book Crosley explains her ways of dealing with her disability. She has invented elaborate ways to cover it up so it doesn't impede on her adult life. So being the overly involved reader that I am (I do this with every book I read, sticking myself in it) I start to consider how I deal with my shite memory.

My coping mechanism is to over-analyze everything.

David does it too. My best friend that is. We have a habit of taking minor occurrences in our lives and breaking down the memory of it: discerning cause, effect, psychological motivations, etc. Most people HATE when I do this. David is all for it, and we laugh at our own ridiculousness.

Do we really have to decode exactly what circumstances led to us running into one another on his -and now mine as well college campus? Normal people would simply think, "Oh, duh! I had registration today and Dave has a summer class in this building so we were bound to see each other!" We aren't very normal.

And in this very pattern of over-analyzing I see:

I need to break things down in to patterns and know the WHY of the event to help myself in remembering the event.

David needs to turn over every detail and know WHY because of the anxiety he gets over things he can't figure out. If he can't figure out why his boyfriend said something it'll fester and make him more exacerbated until he intentionally picks a fight over something pretty negligible.

We're such freaks.

Shave It Off

Reminder to myself to find and repost that song i wrote about hairy [indie/hipster/whatever] boys. It needs to be restated as they've just gotten hairier.

EDIT: Found it! Its not very good but it was just for shits and giggles, and in the looking for it I found some stuff I'd forgotten that I wrote. Anyway, here it is, try to imagine it being sung to a punk melody by an 18 year old girl. And try not to laugh.

BEARD RAWK

Up on stage with your hair so long
can you see your guitar?
can you see me singin along?
Between your beard and that mop you wont get real far
without bumpin into somethin
without gettin a concussion

They said you had a baby face
So you grew out a beard to erase
the id at the liquor store
and the sixteen year old whores
But you didnt forsee how its botherin me
cause I see you
and you cant see me
even when we're in bed
I'll have this song stuck in your head

SHAVE IT OFF SHAVE IT OFF
cause youre not santa claus
and i'm tired of getting rug burn
on my face
[repeat]

I know you dont think its so wrong
to resemble a grizzly
as if its 1973
but youre only twenty five
how long can that fur survive?

SHAVE IT OFF SHAVE IT OFF
cause youre not santa claus
and i'm tired of getting rug burn
on my face

SHAVE IT OFF SHAVE IT OFF
and get a round of applause
cause I'm tired of getting rug burn
yeah im tired of getting rug burn
on my face

Testing, 1, 2, 3...

Old picture, just a test of the posting system V Mobile uses. That was fast! Real posts soon.
--
Sent from my Virgin Mobile

I have a bad habit of thinking of things to rant and/or ramble about in the wee hours when my pc is off. And i'm in bed. Lo siento, mis amors.

They Call Me Diva, But That's All Him

A little Canadian birdie floated the first vid my way, and I loved both it and the second. I need to live in the UK someday, there are so many wonderful people there, it seems!

Wasted Pages 2

[I interrupt the story that may never be finished to note that I may actually start writing actual blog entries that are not vague and mostly not personal. I'm officially bored of writing diary stuff. I'm gonna try to keep myself practiced in creative writing and opinion stuff. Though it'll still be really informal and randomly updated. Its not like anyone reads this anyway. Now back to a teensy bit of an extension.]

"Um, in a good way or a bad one?"

"Neutral. I thought you were younger."

"Haha, I guess that's a compliment."
"Not necessarily."

Before he can respond, a customer arrives. The bell above the door jingles softly alerting us to the presence of a tall, strong looking woman who made the cafe her personal catwalk. From the short conversation I caught between her and Gavin, she was a local business owner who came every day for her lunchtime coffee and a croissant. Her name was Isabel. The scent of cigarettes wafted after her and her voice was soft and barely audible. She waited patiently for her things, and I saw a five dollar bill drop in to the tip jar. Then she was gone as quickly as she came.
"Now, that's an admirable person. She works even when she's on her break. Its because she has to take care of her mother and her business is just starting to take off." Gavin smiles and leans over the counter. "The antique place, its hers. The one across the street."

[I'm so tired from work and I have another long shift tomorrow so I'm stopping now but there'll be more.]