Thursday, July 7, 2011


I haven't written anything in ages.
Summer makes me so lethargic.
I keep telling myself I'm going to start writing again, finish the billion-and-one art projects that have remained halfway done since January, get someone to fix the oven so it no longer catches fire when I'm trying to bake cupcakes, find nuclear waste and acquire super powers/die horribly in the process, etc.
I've been putting it all off.
For you see, I am going to write a story entirely off the top of my head.
Here goes:

There once was a koala bear named Manny who had severe anger issues. His anger issues stemmed from a deep-seated hatred of ignorant people calling koalas "bears" when they are, in fact, marsupials.
However, Manny, like everyone else in the world, was also annoyed by more common issues. For instance, traffic jams, bug bites, and people who make weird whistling noises while chewing. He was also irritated by lazy, pseudo-intellectual teenage girls who claim to love writing, but then sit on their butts for months giggling at lolcats and not writing a single thing.
Manny was so annoyed by this that he used his Koala Kung Fu (I am pretty sure that's a thing) to beat the bejeebus out of all of those lazy, pseudo-intellectual aspiring teenage writers that I had mentioned earlier and motivated them through fear and their love of adorable animals to write more often, and less crappily.

Manny the unnecessarily angry koala may be a recurring character around these parts. WHO KNOWS? CAPS LOCKS AND I ARE FEELIN' PRETTY CRAZY TODAY, AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN.
Actually, I do know what's going to happen.
I am going to stop typing and bid you adieu, my lovely Blog and my lovely reader(s.)

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Millipedes = Mobile Eyebrows

I saw a millipede today.
At first, I was convinced it was merely a great, big, hairy eyebrow moseying its way across the floor until I realized that eyebrows generally do not just fall off a person's face and decide to take a stroll around town. Usually.
Strangely enough, I only freaked out about seeing it after I found out it was a bug, not a walking eyebrow.
So, my last story is due for the newspaper on Wednesday, and I've run out of stories from my reserve of Creative Writing prompts from last year, meaning I'll actually have to write something new.
I am kind of looking forward to it. Maybe the fact that it has to be done will actually help me follow through with it.
I keep writing half-stories, or quarter-stories, or sixteenth-stories that I know will never get done.
I need to set more goals for my writing. And then, I need someone with a large blunt object to beat me if I do not make those goals. That way, I'll learn; or die. Either way, somethin's going to happen.
They want me to write something about the end of the year, about seniors graduating and all that jazz, but, honestly, that sounds rather dull. I'm graduating and I'm not even excited about it, so how can I write a story about said end-of-the-year excitement? I couldn't possibly.
I think I'm going to write about a lion. He will have a sidekick named Harry, who is in fact an eyebrow posing as a millipede with a tragic backstory and sassy catchphrases.
I will make millions.
And with that, I shall say goodbye, dear Blog.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011


Writing, writing, writing. I feel like writing this evening.
Of what I shall be writing, I am not sure, but I certainly do have some words I would like to spew all over the Internet's face. If the Internet has a face. Clocks have faces, so why not Internets?
I haven't written for, what, a few months now? Does anyone even read this thing? Does anyone wish to read the words I plan to spew in the possibly non-existant face of the Internet?
Probably not, at this point, but it matters not, for I am going to write anyway.
I kind of feel like starting this off with a TV drama opening.
"Previously, on Le Blog Title: blah, blah, blah, bloobity-blah-blah!"
However, since my life, and consequently my blog, is not at all like television show, I shall not be writing it like as such.
Instead, I'll just say that back in January, I partook in a writing contest. Nothing too big, really, just a local contest hosted by a community college. And it's not as if I was expecting to win.
I was, however, at the very least, expecting to see some results by this point.
You see, instead of physically mailing my entries along with contact information/general ways to reach me, I gave them to my English teacher who works part-time at said community college.
Makes sense, doesn't it? She works with the english department, the ones what are hosting the contest, so it only seems logical that she would know of the progress of the judging, no?
HOWEVER. I had asked her of this just the other day and the woman looks at my like I had suffered massive brain trauma by way of repeatedly smashing my english text book against me skull.
"Oh, they didn't contact you about it? Well, I don't know anything about it because it's totally not like I work at the english department, LOL. Now go write an essay or something, kthnxbai."
It's really not as if I'm asking a lot. It's not as if I'm saying, "WOMAN, you'd best be getting me that first place prize or I'll resurrect Shakespeare only to stab him right in front of your very eyes, GOT ME?"
All I want to know is who won and whom I can go congratulate! That's all I want, argghhh!
In other news, I shall be graduating fairly soon. Stangely enough, I am feeling rather apathetic about the whole ordeal.
Anyway, that is about all I am going to spew in the face of the Internet for this evening.
Adieu, sweet Blog.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011


When I was in fourth grade, we had this reptile handler come to our school.
Being that us elementary students were not nearly important enough to have our own auditorium, we all sat on the floor in front of him on the gym/lunch room/all-purpose room floor.
The handler came out, holding a baby crocodile up high, so the kids in the back could see.
While he was off prattling random facts about the crocodile species, using large words no one understood and stating things about the crocodile family no one cared about, all of the sudden, it unleashed a torrential downpour of urine. It just kept coming and coming. Nobody said a word, neither the kids nor the handler. There was only the sound of urine splashing, droplets hitting the children unfortunate enough to be in the front row.
The only thought that was in anyone's mind, (except, perhaps, for those in the front row, thinking something along the lines of, "I wonder if crocodile urine comes out. I've never really needed to know this information until now.") was "I had no idea a creature's bladder could possibly contain so much."
Eventually, after what seemed like ages, the waterfall ceased.
Everyone continued to be quiet, not really registering what had just happened.
Teachers exchanged looks, unsure of what to do or say in this situation. Understandable, really, it's not something the teaching handbooks much covered. The handler continued to stand there, holding the crocodile at a somewhat awkward angle, facial expression showing both disgust and embarassment, as if he had been the one urinating all over the gym floor/children, not the crocodile.
He was the first to speak, saying, "Well! At least he won't have to go for a while now!" with an uncomfortable little titter.
The teachers joined in, awkward laughter ringing throughout the gymnasium. The children chimed in as well, figuring any bodily function to be amusing, and the show continued on as normal. After a short while, a janitor walked in with a mop, cleaning up the considerable amount of urine, and we all returned to our classrooms.

This event is one of the many reasons why I am what I am today. Had that overgrown lizard not done what it had done on that fateful day, I could be an entirely different person.
Somethin' to think about.
Anyhoo, that's enough for today.
Adieu, blog!

Sunday, January 2, 2011


So, I've recently acquired my driver's license.
I suppose it should be a good thing, but really, all it has been doing is making me feel old.
I can't imagine why, considering that a piece of plastic with an unfortunately unflattering picture of myself is not a magical aging device that sucks the immaturity out of a person, but I feel like perhaps it has. Or rather, it should.
I feel as if someone with a driver's license, job, checking account, debit card, etc., should not still be laughing, and quite hard I might add, at the word "duty."
I feel like, at this point in my life, I should be a bit more, I don't know, grown-up. But I'm not.
Although, I am led to believe that it is often not a bad thing to be young at heart. I can't imagine what it would be like to write if my sense of humor was not nearly as childish and silly as it is now.
And, were I to listen to Spongebob, adults have to grow sideburns and acquire a taste for freeform jazz, which hardly sounds fun at all, so I think it would be a fine idea to remain immature for a while longer.
Anyhoo, I think that is about all I have to say for today.
Adieu, all.