Ew Cooties

Ahem.

I would just like to say...

Some people are so sweet together it's sickening.

People such as:

My brother and his wife
My friend and her boyfriend
My cousin and his girlfriend
My parents, for chrissake

If this was in spring, you could mutter something sarcastic about how springtime affects everyone's brains and congeals them into a molten pile of mushy romantic...mush.

Except it isn't spring.

It's autumn.

I realize, of course, that this makes me quite the hypocrite, since I know that I have inflicted several people with gushy nonsense within the past two years.

I also don't care. As a great man once said... "My boat, My rules."

That said, here is a fun and completely unrelated picture for you.

Hi again.

I feel like I'm worrying people now, if the first thing they see is the "Creepy. As. Hell." disease post when they look at my blog.
I want them to be worried later on, when they can't escape.
...
It feels like the other post kind of did the trick, though. I can now address my followers and not just my follower.
That's right.
I can pluralize.
Thank you, my minions.

If you have not watched Rurouni Kenshin, I suggest you do. Along with the GetBackers. I know you can watch a lot of free anime here.
These are two really excellent animes. Even if you don't really like anime, you should like these.

I've been watching Rurouni Kenshin a lot lately, and as a result, all of my sketches have become littered with people holding swords in a threatening manner.

Really don't have a lot on my mind right now.

Besides saying thanks for following me.

:)

Creepy. As. Hell.

I was wandering around on the Internet today...and found this disease called "Fatal Familial Insomnia." And pardon my English, but this disease is just one of the most fucked up diseases of all time.
All right. I only found this today, so my understanding of this is not perfect. Feel free to research and correct me.
So what happens is that there are proteins, like, everywhere in your body, yeah? So there are proteins in your brain. These are prions. Well, what happens sometimes is that the proteins in your brain mutate. (The mutation is normally genetic, and 50%. If your mom had it but your dad didn't, you've got a fifty percent chance of getting this.)
Once this mutation happens, you are, essentially, dead man walking. The prions, essentially,eat the part of the brain that lets you sleep. Okay? So you have constant insomnia, until you die, which is in about nine months after total insomnia hits.
The bitch about this disease? You can't sleep through it. The lack of sleep gives you all sorts of issues. You lose control of autonomic systems - like sweating. Stuff you'd do normally.
But you are still awake. You know what's happening to you. You know you're going to die. You can talk to your family, despite the fact that you have not slept for nine months.
In my opinion, that's the most horrible fucking thing in the world. Fatality is 100% because once you've lost the ability to sleep, the little lizard in the back of your brain...you know, the one that says "breathe, sweat, eat, blink"...goes insane.
And you're awake to see it happen.

Bleh to Introspective

I wanted to write a post when I got on here...
Then my mind blanked. And then disconnected from my fingers and fine motor functions.
So I'm just going to write stuff that comes into my head.
Kay?
Kay.
Good.
(This is the good thing about running a dictatorship. The only person you have to agree with is yourself. If you don't have multiple personalities, you should be good.)
I'm kind of sad that I have only one follower right now. However, I am fairly sure that more people than one person read this at least semi-periodically...but still. The follow button is >that> way!

Now I sound whiny and not tough. *sigh*

Oh well. I knew it was only a matter of time before my clever disguise of awesomeness slipped and I would be revealed for the crazy lunatic that I am.
I just didn't expect it would come this soon.
*obviously employing heavy use of sarcasm*

Hmmmm...

On a more serious note...

I'm also really pleased at the fact that some of my friends (who shall go nameless, but know who they are if they read this) have been experiencing either relationship success or easy contentment with the way single life is going after several years of crap that they are far too nice and patient and wonderful to have put up with for so long.

It gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling in my chest. Of course that could also be indigestion.

My own life is starting to settle again, after the initial craziness of moving into college.

I have many old and new friends...which is cool, and still gives me a surprise when I think about it.

I've had so many years of thinking of myself as an outsider, a lone wolf...that when I actually look around at the friends that have surrounded me...I can only wonder at their patience for dealing with my ego, oddness, and misplaced humor for so long.

And then I remember - they are every bit as odd as I am.

There are very few people (in my opinion) who are as blessed as I am with the sheer awesomeness of their friends.

I started a club - a creative writing club - and I have high hopes.

For the past year...and the first time in a long while...I've been on really good terms with both my siblings and my parents...

And my grandfather called me last night.

So I'm in a good place right now.

Possibly one of the best places I've been in a long while.

I'm going to go make popcorn and edit the spelling on my previous posts now...

Promises....

As I've said before, I write stuff.
And a friend of mine (Anna's Blog) asked me recently if I could post one of my stories up here.
So I will.
That said, if I am gracing you (the general public) with my hard work, you (the general public) will not steal my stuff or I (the author) will be pissed and stop posting stories so that you (the general public) will be deprived of my magnificence.
Got that?
Awesome.
I will also say that these stories are almost definitely NOT autobiographical.
This particular story was one that I wrote, almost in its entirety, during Nanowrimo last year.

Dreamer
Chapter 1:

Dreaming…
Except he wasn’t, was he? His previous dreams were terrifying, filled with violence and terror, and he could always smell the sickening coppery tang of blood.
So dreaming wasn’t an option. But, still, there was that sense of disconnection from life, as though it wasn’t real. He struggled for memories, possible explanations to this discrepancy.
Nothing.
His heart hammered in his chest. Just a few times, just enough to bring his thoughts out of himself and the terrifyingly blank void inside his head.
He was standing outside of a door, one with wood paneling. The porch that he was standing on was made of a darker, probably stained wood that blended in well with the night.
His hand was in his coat pocket.
In the pocket, there was a gun.
He could recognize the feel of the cold, cold metal easily, which led him to believe that it was his own.
It had not been fired yet.
The information rose to the surface of his mind slowly, and the word “yet” worried him.
A voice spoke into his ear, and he jumped. “Target is coming to the front door. Over.” It was tinny, and echoed in his ear. He reached up to his ear with the hand that didn’t have the gun.
He couldn’t. He could feel the hand; feel how it rested against his jeans.
But he couldn’t move it.
He tried to move his other hand, to move it away from the gun.
He couldn’t move it.
His heart started to hammer again, and he tried, desperately, to move any limb.
But he remained, standing casually (at ease, his brain supplied) by the door, his left hand in a pocket with a gun inside. His mind gave him an answer – that he was still dreaming – that this was just a more sophisticated, horrible dream than he’d had before.
But in his heart, he knew the truth.
The door opened.
The voice in his ear came to life again. “Now.” And his hand began moving of its own will. He tried to stop its upward motion, tried to stop the easy movement of the gun upwards…
And couldn’t.
Something of his desperation must have been reflected in his eyes, because the small, pretty woman who had opened the door had paused midway through her greeting, confusion showing on her face.
And then she saw the gun.
She started to close the door, but his trigger finger tightened, and the gun went off.
He fell back into his own mind in self-defense of what he had done – what he could not prevent – into dreaming and darkness.

Moldy Bread

Just so you know. This is NOT an autobiographical comic. However, I WAS getting some bread out of the fridge today for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. And I'm used to Krista's Kitchen bread, which is made without preservatives. And I've had this bread in my fridge since the beginning of school two months ago, so I'm wondering..."Just what IS the expiration date on this?"
(I never did get around to finding out.)
But after I wonder that, I wonder, "What WOULD I do if this bread was a little moldy?"
And at this point, I REALLY want a sandwich.
The bread wasn't moldy, by the way. But...if the bread had been moldy...I have a feeling I would have cut out the mold at least...but I would have eaten the bread.
If my parents read this, I'm sorry. I apparently learned nothing about nutrition. But at least I take my PB&Js really seriously.

Bikes = Cool

A week or so ago, I really wanted to eat breakfast.

Some background - Usually I don't eat breakfast. I skip it. Don't do this. By college, make sure that you have a well-regimented eating schedule so that your stomach DOESN'T growl during class, or so that you DON'T wake up at 3 am craving steak. To the three people who actually do this - Good Job! To everyone else - Congratulations. You are sane.

Unfortunately, when I want to eat breakfast, sometimes I wake up too late to do anything except wave at it on my way out of the door.

But I REALLY wanted to eat breakfast.

So I ate breakfast, looked at the clock (9:55. My class was at 10:00.) but I didn't swear. I kind of went "Meh."

That is because I own a bike.

It is an awesome bike. It's a blue Schwinn, and has a purple sparkly banana seat that cost about 20 bucks to put on.

It got me to class in about two minutes.

So. Bikes are cool and you should get one.

Especially if you're in college.

Heh.

I write stuff.

(To which you, say, "Duh, you're writing this right now. How dumb do you think I am?" To which I say, "There's 'Gullible' written at the bottom of this post, jerk." and then you insult my mother, and I insult your father's sexual preferences, and you make fun of my hair, so I challenge you to a cheerleading competition where my group of plucky, honest cheerleaders triumph over your group of clingy, manipulative cheerleaders but try to be really nice to you afterwards even though during the competition we all somehow manage to steal your boyfriends and possibly get married to them too and we make you come to our weddings and wear horrible looking theme dresses and....okay. A little off subject. Also a paragraph-long sentence.)

But I write things that aren't for class or blogdom. These things are many and various, and if you ask to read them, I will feel insecure and say, "Well, it isn't finished yet" and you will say "I want to read it anyway" and I will lend it to you.

Then you'll return it three weeks later, smelly and ripped and covered in coffee stains.

Then I will feel sad. (These things have happened to my drafts. Just not all at once.)

I will feel happy when I look through it and find out that you wrote COMMENTS! because that showed you realy did read it and want to better my writing instead of leaving it at the bottom of your locker (or backpack or shoe) for three weeks and just now decided you'd had it for WAY too long.

Then I will feel sad again when these comments say shit like "u shud totally put cooler stuff in this" and "this is irritating" and "OMG I TOTALLY DIDN'T REALIZE THAT CHARACTER X WAS NOT A GUY AND I THOUGHT THIS WAS YAOI FANFIC EVEN THOUGH YOU CALLED HER 'ANNABEL' TWENTY TIMES IN THE FIRST THREE PAGES." (The last comment has never happened. Thank God. But it's a fear I have.)

Looking back on this, you can deduce that I'm apparently really insecure about other people reading my stuff, which begs the question of why I have a blog. On the Internet. Population of more than several MILLION. You can also deduce that I really suck at getting to the point.

The point was that when I write stuff, sometimes I'll decide to refer to something that I don't know much about, and then I'll spend three hours researching it, learn EVERYTHING about it...and later decide that the wording didn't work for the situation and delete the sentence and the concept forever.

On the other hand, I'm a virtual fount of information about stuff you never really cared about in the first place.
But I think it's funny.
So yeah.







(P.S. Gullible)

Pheh.

I usually don't have much to say.
When I do, it's nice to have this so I can get my opinion out to my loyal fan.
When I don't, you will notice such posts will be titled by things like, "Meh" or "Pheh" or funny variations of the word.
Just so you know.
At the moment I think I may have a problem.
Back home we have dial-up. And a library with a really crappy Internet connection.
Therefore I'm not actually on the Internet for any period of time.
Here, we have Excellent internet connections.
Therefore I may be addicted to webcomics and facebook.
On that note, these are webcomics I think are really good.
One or two of these will be repeats of webcomics I recommended earlier on in the year; this just means that you should REALLY read them. Or that I'm just too lazy to go back and actually read anything I've written.
Questionable Content
Earthsong
Catalyst
Special School
dream*scar
Mac Hall
Sunset Grill
True Magic
Torch
Planes of Eldlor
Winters in Lavelle
Ctrl+Alt+Del
Dominic Deegan: Oracle for Hire
Goblins
Finder's Keepers
Fey Winds

I hope these links have worked out. Comment me if they don't.
Comment me if they do.

Since I usually don't have much to talk about...I'll just pick one of these up if I'm feeling guilty about not posting for a while and post stuff about it - why I like it, why you should read it, blah blah blah.
They are wonderfulses.
Speaking of which...
Selkie
Fun grammar.
Edit: I've apparently not been guilty enough to discuss these. And my list has trebled.

Receipts and other insanity

I'm in college now. A month or something. Yay me.
I didn't post about it because I forgot I had a blog in the insanity that was happening at the time...
Although the UND Hall Orientation Team rocks. We drove in, worried about how we were going to get all this stuff into my room...
And, swear to whatever god you wish, twelve H.O.T. members descended upon us.
So I like them now.
My classes are good.
Technically I only have two, but one of them is four-in-one, which is a good deal.
I should technically be doing my homework in that right now, but...
Homework vs. playing on the Internet.
Guess who wins.

We went to the bookstore to get my books. Got one I really didn't need, but didn't notice until much later.
Parents went home.
I lost the receipt.

*THIS IS A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT*
*DON'T LOSE THE RECEIPT*
*KEEP THE RECEIPTS. ALL OF THEM. EVEN THE ONE YOU GOT WHEN YOU WERE DRUNK AND BOUGHT A GUMBY DOLL WITH THE SPARE CHANGE YOU FOUND UNDER YOUR ROOMMATE'S BED.*
*THANK YOU FOR LISTENING*

So I couldn't return the book. Which is called Careers in Criminal Justice and Related Fields, by the way. For those of you who are interested.
Also, these books were rented. This means that at the end of the year you must return them or you have to pay the full amount.
These books normally cost about 200 - 300 dollars.
Renting? Costs about 25.
Get my concern?
So I fired off an email to the bookstore people, asking if there was any way they could help, blah blah blah, feel like a moron, blah blah blah, please reply, thank you, bye.
Never returned the email.
Ever.
This was last month.
I didn't even get a form letter that said,

Yes, you ARE a moron. Pay the full price.
Sincerely, us.

So yesterday I sent off another one.
A little less apologetic, because I was slightly ticked at them for not reading their mail and really ticked at myself for losing the receipt. Gave them ALL the contact information that I've ever had.
Today I found the receipt.
It was in the middle drawer of my desk. Next to the broken scissors I need to replace, the spare batteries, the headphones, the sewing kit, and the calculator.
Of course I would never look there. *rolls eyes*
So yay!
Also

Dear UND Bookstore:
I'm sorry.
But you should check your mail more often.
Sincerely,
Me

Now I'm gonna go and return my book. And get money.
And stuff.

Books you should read...
Name of the Wind.
by Patrick Rothfuss.
He has a blog. (http://blog.patrickrothfuss.com/)
It's awesome.
Read it.