Blog Title.

Attempt at a New Year's Resolution: write more stories, dangit!

2012-01-01T00:09:00.002-05:00

Elise Knight would like to say that, for all intents and purposes, she is not a witch. However, Morgan Knight, Elise’s grandmother, was once one of the most powerful and feared witches in all the land; “was,” in any event. Currently, the 90-year old Morgan was contained to smaller acts of malevolence, such as cackling menacingly in her rocking chair and occasionally turning the odd passer-by into a cabbage. Elise never really minded. Some people’s grandmothers forgot names, and others turned people into cabbages – it was just one of those things. Besides, it’s not as if they permanently stayed as cabbages. The spell wore off in a day or two and those who weren’t carried off by wild animals or made into a nice salad turned out mostly all right. Unsurprisingly, though, because of her grandmother’s aforementioned fondness to turn would-be playmates for Elise into fresh produce, she really never had much luck making friends. The villagers assumed - and justifiably so, I should think - that the poor girl was just like her senile old grandmother and, if given the barest hint of a chance, would hex their children's normal heads into leafy green ones. Thus, the villager's children were never allowed to set foot anywhere near their cottage.

As such, Elise was a rather lonely little girl. Sometimes, she would attempt to talk with her grandmother, but old Morgan could never really keep up her side of the conversation, as her vocabulary was limited to chortling maliciously to herself and snoring loudly. Elise was positively desperate for someone to speak to who would not fall asleep every 30 seconds, or threaten to turn her into a vegetable when she misbehaved. So, with this in mind, Elise set her heart on traveling someplace where either a. no one knew magic or b. practiced restraint with their magic and didn't just turn people into leafy green heads of cabbage all willy-nilly.

_______________________________________________________

Well. It's been a while, hasn't it?

I missed you, Blog, I truly did. Did you miss me?

Who am I kidding, of course you did.

Now, dear Blog, I rather hope that you like this story. I, uh, I'm not really entirely sure where I'm headed with it, if I even intend to head anywhere with it at all. But, hopefully I can write more soon, as I am sort of, kind of attempting to update more lately.

BUT enough about that. It's 1 o'clock in the morning and I am off to bed to dream of cabbages and cackling witches.

I HAVE MADE A NEW BEST FRIEND; HIS NAME IS CAPS LOCK.

2011-07-07T15:07:00.004-04:00

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.
BUT TODAY WILL BE DIFFERENT. I WILL ACCOMPLISH SOMETHING SIGNIFICANT AND CAPS LOCK WILL HELP ME DO SO.
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.
THE END.

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.)
Adieu.

Millipedes = Mobile Eyebrows

2011-05-29T10:19:00.003-04:00

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.
Adieu.

PREVIOUSLY, ON LE BLOG TITLE....

2011-04-27T20:12:00.003-04:00

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."
Asdfghjkl.
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!
Whyyyyyyyy.
...
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.

FLASHHHBACK.

2011-01-19T19:50:00.005-05:00

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!

Blah.

2011-01-02T17:52:00.000-05:00

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.

Newspaper time.

2010-10-18T20:55:00.003-04:00

Writin' stories for the school newspaper. For every month, I am re-doing an old fairy tale, which is proving to be quite fun thus far.
Now, this one is meant to be next month's story, but since I am so terribly kind, and since none of you (so far as I know) have access to our newspaper, I shall post it here for you to enjoy or, if it so suits you, spit at.
It is not entirely finished, but I like what I have so far.

Rapunzel Redone.
Once upon a time, there lived a young man and woman who had wished for a child but had been unsuccessful in producing one. “Honey,” the young wife wheedled her husband, “I have been wishing with all of my might for a baby, so why is it we do not have one yet?” Her husband rolled his eyes and rubbed his temples in an irritated way. “Darling,” the man said, struggling to keep the agitation out of his voice, “I have explained over and over again that one cannot simply wish for a child to appear. Must I explain the birds and the bees again?” The young man was just about to get out the puppets and demonstrate for what seemed like the 50th time, when his wife inadvertently stopped him by gaping like a moron out of the window. (Well. A bigger moron, that is.) “What is it?” the young man asked cautiously, squinting out of the window as well, “Is that squirrel back again?” The young woman continued to stare blankly past the neighbor’s tall wall and into the garden. “I bet,” she said slowly, “if we got some of that delicious-looking rapunzel from that garden, we’d get a baby in no time.” Now it was the husband’s turn to gape stupidly. “What the-?” he thought, confused. “How on earth did she come up with that? Why would eating a salad of all things produce a child? Maybe I should have made her take an IQ test before marrying her.” The young man took a deep breath before responding. “And how, dear wife” he said through clenched teeth, “do you think the rapunzel will help?” His wife smiled pleasantly at him, completely dissipating his annoyance with her (for the moment, anyhow,) and said, “I just know it will. Please?” She batted her eyes repeatedly for effect. Her husband sighed loudly and dramatically, saying, “Fine.” He sighed again, even more obnoxiously this time, and stomped out the front door.
Several hours and many bruises later, the young man had successfully scaled the high wall surrounding the neighbor’s property. He took a moment to catch his breath and to really think about what he was about to do. “Okay, Tom.” (For that is his name, you see. It seems I’ve not mentioned it up until this point, and for this, I apologize.) “Let’s think about this for a second or two. You have just, quite awesomely might I add, scaled the neighbor’s wall in order to steal some sort of cabbage that you could have just gone down to the market to get. And now you are about to trespass on the property of, if the rumors are correct, a particularly cranky and vegetable-obsessed witch just because your wife batted her eyes at you. Is that about right?” Tom nodded in response to his own question. “Just making sure. Well, we’ve already gone this far, Tommy ol’ boy; might as well finish the job.” He nodded once more and jumped down off the wall into the garden.

DUN DUN DUN.
That's all for now, I suppose.
Adieu.

We can dance if we want to, we can leave your friends behind, 'cuz your friends don't dance, and if they don't dance, well, they're no friends of mine

2010-09-26T12:45:00.005-04:00

...
So, I have joined the school newspaper. Or at least, I am in the process of joining.
I am a bit disappointed, however, that the student editor did not read the massive stack of stories/writing samples that I thrust at her during French class.
She claimed that the newspaper will accept anyone without examples of their writing, but I am certain she just didn't want to read my gargantuan pile of papers.
PSSHAW.
I will not stand for lazy editors. One cannot edit a person's writing if one does not read it beforehand, yes?
I digress.
In other news, my mom is shaving the puppies in the living room.
I was debating on using the dog hair strewn about the carpet to make fur coats for them, in case they get cold due to the fact that they now look like shorn sheep, but I figured it would be too much effort, and have decided against it.
It will grow back eventually, I suppose.
Anyhoo, with that, I shall bid you good bye for this afternoon, dear Blog.
Adieu.

College, college, college.

2010-09-20T14:50:00.005-04:00

College essays.
College applications.
College campus visits.
Collage.
Collies.
Cauliflower.
...
I am rather disliking this whole college process.
Though, really, I cannot fathom meeting anyone who would enjoy it. Save for my english teacher, who seems to get some sort of sick, twisted joy out of reminding children that they are all going to have an emotional breakdown due to stress this year. How perfectly marvelous.
And then she goes on to tell us that she likes our class and that we're going to have a fun senior year together.
I am not sure when the fun will be, though, as she was not very specific. I am guessing it is either after my crippling psychological breakdown or sometime before it.
Or maybe the fun will be during my breakdown. I have never experienced a breakdown, so who knows? It could be a rousing good time.
Perhaps that is why my english teacher was so excited about it.
Of course, I will not know for sure until I actually experience this breakdown, so we shall see.
Anyhoo, I think that will be all for today, dear Blog.
Adieu.

The worst spy you've never heard of.

2010-08-30T18:49:00.000-04:00

It occurs to me that I've been seriously slacking on blogging and story-writing.
SO, in order to rectify this, I'll post this lovely part of a story that I am working on with a good buddy o' mine.

Adrian Harper is probably the worst spy you've never heard of. Mr. Harper works for a tiny agency downtown which is cleverly disguised (at least, the head of the agency thinks it's pretty clever...) as a bakery. They used to use the baked goods they sold as means to spy on their customers, who, according to Adrian, were almost always enemy agents. Adrian oftentimes placed micro-cameras into the chocolate chip cookies, but the cameras were always destroyed by the customer's molars and stomach acid before they got to record any possible suspicious activities. The customers usually came back, brandishing both hospital bills that needed to be paid and the middle finger. The idea was quickly scrapped and Adrian was smacked upside the head for being slightly more stupid than usually. He deeply regrets ever listening to Adrian in the first place about that idea, and for weeks afterward, you could hear him grumbling to himself and kicking potted plants over.

That's it so far. :I
So, that is all for today, yes.
Adieu.

I have far too many Castlevania soundtracks on my iPod for not having even played a single game from the series.

2010-07-30T22:46:00.004-04:00

I'm having a difficult time getting motivated to post anything.
In fact, I'm only really writing something right now in order to keep the spambots from piling up too many comments.
I wonder why those darling spambots decided to grace me with their presence, anyhow.
Did they look at my blog and think, "You know, this place is pretty nice, but I think some links to porn websites would really spruce things up a little."? I think that about certain blogs from time to time.
Or maybe I just have so many loyal readers visiting my blog, they felt that it would be an excellent place to get some views for their various websites dedicated to the erotic arts? < /sarcasm>
I can't say I know.
I wonder if other blogs have this problem. Maybe all of them do, only they're much more efficient at deleting the comments before the sheer numbers reach biblical proportions.
Also, on an unrelated note, I seem to have misplaced my old creative writing binder. Which really is a shame, because I had a bunch of unposted writing prompts and stories that I had yet to post up on here.
Perhaps if I find it, I shall treat my lovely spambots to some new stories.
Well, that's it for today.
Adieu, lovely spambots.

Doodlin's.

2010-06-23T21:21:00.006-04:00

You would be amazed at the things you'll find in old history folders.
I found a bunch of ridiculous doodles I drew when I should have been taking notes.
The most disturbing of which being this:
Ignore the random "m," as I drew this on my history study guide and was too lazy to crop out all of "communism."
I did a lot of disturbing little doodles like this'un, I just felt this was the best of them all.
Anyhoo, I think that is probably enough to give all of you poor souls nightmares when you go to bed tonight, so, out of pity, I shall bid you adieu, sweet Blog.

Summer, yes.

2010-06-21T22:12:00.003-04:00

Summer is here.
However, unlike any normal person with half a brain and access to an accurate calendar, I do not determine this by the date, but rather by the amount of insects that get into my home.
For instance, this morning, a stink bug fell onto my face, so, therefore, after a fairly reasonable amount of screaming and wild face-clawing, I was able to determine that summer was indeed here.
Although, I still find myself unable to determine whether or not the extra hours I get to sleep in are worth the persistant plethora of pests that parade themselves across my person in the wee hours of the morning.
Who am I kidding, of course it's worth it. It does not make it any less unpleasant when I find myself nose-to-thorax with a hideous insect, though.
Oftentimes, I wonder what makes my house so appealling to insects. With the amount of cats, dogs, and creepy-crawly loathing persons living in this home, you'd think they wouldn't find it to be a very welcoming environment to settle in. In fact, on more than one occasion, my father has been referred to as the Raid-toting Rambo, but yet they still insist on barging their way underneath door cracks and through windows solely for the purpose of crawling my face at night and, after the cats have had their fun with them, leaving their own dead carcasses on the floor for me to sweep up.
I'll never understand it.
So, if anyone who is an insect or perhaps has a talking insect friend (preferably named Raoul or Paulo, because those are awesome names) could provide me with some insight into the bug mind, I'd be much obliged.
All right, that's enough for this evening.
Adieu to all.

DUCKS.

2010-05-23T15:40:00.003-04:00

Right, so, being that I've not posted in a month, I feel kind of obligated to update. However, unfortunately, although not surprisingly, I really don't have a whole lot to say.
So, instead of writing something significant, I shall post a picture of some lovely plastic ducks for all to enjoy.
Yes, ducks in uniform. Despite having a rather distinct naval theme, none of them can actually float. Go figure.
And on another, non aquatic-fowl-related note, I have offically finished my term paper. Not that I mentioned having a term paper to any of you, (see first sentence regarding my not having posted in a month) but I'm sure you'll be happy to know that it's done.
It's not particularly good though, mind you, but then again, my term papers never are. They generally end up being about 10 and a half pages of caffeine-induced drivel with ten-line block quotes on every other page.
Oh well. At least I cited it properly.
Anyhoo, I should think that's about enough for this evening.
Adieu, dear Blog.

Summer's a-comin'.

2010-04-25T16:47:00.006-04:00

I'm so glad summer's coming. I am entirely too tired of thinking.
The time is nigh, dear Blog, to allow my brain to dissolve into a pile of mushy goo due to severe lack of use, and to remain indoors for weeks on end.
Of course, on the other hand, I probably should try and make this summer at least somewhat significant, as the number of summers I've got left are dwindling rapidly.
Perhaps I should go to the beach, or band camp, or some other place that will get me involved in a plethora of wacky teenage hijinks. Not that I particularly want to get involved in adolescent shenanigans, but it does seem like the proper summer thing to do.
Or maybe, rather than go cow tipping or whatever it is my fellow young adults do when practicing tomfoolery, I could actually do writing exercises more often, as opposed to being a procrastinating lump all day, which is usually the norm for me.
Perhaps I could even update my Blog more regularly. (Pfft, that's not going to happen.)
Anyhoo, I think that shall be all for this evening.
Adieu, dear Blog.

Thoughts 'n' Things.

2010-04-04T22:36:00.005-04:00

Being that I always spend so much time inside of my own head, I always find myself curious as to what other people are thinking.
For instance, why was the older gentleman I saw on the bus the other day scowling at that bag of apples? Was it because they were over-ripe and he didn't notice when he picked them out at the supermarket? Were they plagued by a colony of earthworms? Or was it because he believed they could speak and that they were currently saying rude things about his rather overgrown eyebrows? I honestly do not know.
I also often wonder if people have the same general thought process that I do.
Would most people find themselves pondering over the dilemma of the old man and the apples? Or would most people go, "Hmm. That elderly fellow looks quite annoyed at his fruit. I think I'll look elsewhere now."?
And how is one "easy to read"? I find myself utterly unable to pick up on if someone has had a bad day or not.
Granted, yes, I can perceive the fact that someone might be annoyed after, say, having their forehead poked for the 100th consecutive time, but I find the little emotions to be difficult to distinguish.
But, ah well.
I suppose I'll just be glad that I do think. I've found thinking, or at least thinking before one speaks, to be a rather rare thing at my school.
So, then, I shall bid you good evening, dear Blog.
Adieu.

No one even reads the school newspaper anyway.

2010-03-22T16:29:00.004-04:00

So, my english teacher keeps telling me I need to join the school newspaper next year. However, I am not entirely sure.
I mean, I probably should join the newspaper considering how good it would look on my college applications and all, but I am still not thoroughly convinced.
First off, I am not even sure if I would be allowed to use sarcasm in my articles, and, without any of my sardonic witticisms, my "writing" (if you can indeed call it that; generally, it ends up being just ramblings.) would be quite abhorrent.
Second of all, I would probably end up writing about the school's various sporting events, and I can't say that I would enjoy that, being that our school's sport teams generally lose every game they have to play. Wouldn't you think that it would start to get difficult to think of something to write about the game after their 37th consecutive loss?
"Hey, look at it this way, guys; most of the fans have already stopped coming to your games, so you don't have to feel embarassed about losing! No one was even there to see it! (Well, except for me, but I totally wouldn't have come if I didn't have to hand in this stupid article next week.)"
But, of course, on the other hand, the newspaper's editor is also my english teacher for next year, and I've heard she gives out extra credit to her staff members, so that's always a plus.
Besides, I do love to write. I'm sure that if it were for the sake of writing, I'd be willing to join the school's rather under-appreciated press.
So, I do believe that is all for this evening.
Adieu, dear Blog.

Curse you, HSPA's!

2010-03-03T19:26:00.004-05:00

It has never occurred to me just how much I loathe standardized testing.
I hate the expository essays, I hate the persuasive letters I have to write to my fictional congressman stating my opinion on a subject I sincerely haven't any opinion on (and even if I did have an opinion on the matter, why would my fictional congressman care? He's a busy man, I'm sure he has better imaginary things to do), and I hate filling in those little answer bubbles with a number two pencil. Why number two? Why not number three, or perhaps even number four? Why must these tests discriminate against the types of pencils I use? Were I a writing utensil, I would be terribly offended.
What's even more terrifying is that if one cell phone were to go off, all of the tests would become invalid, forcing the entire class to go through the horror that is the HSPA's again, which would be, to me, and most of my classmates I'm sure, a fate worse than death.
I doubt I'll ever be accustomed to the blasted things, either. Whenever I take them, I always feel as nervous as I did when I first took them in the 3rd grade, my free, school-provided bagel sitting uncomfortably in my stomach as I panicked and filled in random bubbles in an attempt to get the test finished in the allotted timeframe. (Truly a terrible thing to do to a small child; provide them with unpleasant food and then make them stress out over something. This childhood trauma is probably one of the many, many reasons I turned out the way I did.)
However, tomorrow is the last day of testing, and then I'm free until senior year, so I suppose that's a plus.
So, I believe that shall be all for tonight, dear Blog.
Adieu.

Ramblings.

2010-02-15T21:12:00.004-05:00

You know, it has only recently occured to me how frighteningly close I am to college.
I've only just one more year of high school and I have still no idea what I want to do with my life.
In theory, I could write stories for a living (if that is indeed an actual career path), but what if I suffer an unfortunate and permanent case of writer's block, and thusly would be unable to support myself, spiraling into a deep depression that eventually ends up with me being one of those crazy homeless people you find on street corners who spits at passers-by?
Or maybe I will be able to think of something to write, but when I bring it in to be looked at by a publishing house, an employee will look at it and say something along the lines of, "This is a terrible story that is significantly less adorable than you think it is, and if that was not enough to convince me not to publish your story, you also have something gross and unsightly in your left nostril. Rather than offering you a tissue, I shall give you back your story to blow your nose in, for that is all it is good for. Good day to you, madam."
Both of which seem like unpleasant scenarios, but honestly, I cannot think of anything else I'd rather do, aside from lying in bed like some sort of paranoid, insecure lump all day.
Which is why I'm kind of freaking out about the whole thing.
But I suppose I'll figure something out sooner or later.
Good night to you, dear Blog.
Adieu.

Fable Attempt.

2010-02-06T12:34:00.002-05:00

Right, well, this one was for part of my Creative Writing mid-term. We had to pick an old proverb (mine was "attempt not impossibilities") and try to make a fable out of it.

It was a beautiful spring morning and all of the birds were out soaring in the sky. Turtle gazed wistfully up at them. "Why do I have to have this annoyingly heavy shell?" he grumbled to myself. "I could never fly like a bird with a shell as weighty as this!" (It was true. Turtle's stumpy little legs could barely support him and his shell while walking; what chance did they have if he tried flying?) "But your shell is so useful! It also protects you!" Hen told him, in an attempt to make Turtle feel better. "Oh yeah, it's great..." Bear said, unenthusiastically. (He had to listen to the whole "I want to fly" spiel every morning, and, frankly, he was getting a bit tired of it. We can't all be as patient as Hen.) "I don't want to be protected, though! I want to be freeee!" Turtle threw his stubby legs up towards the sky as if he was some sort of scaly, green Superman.
"It seems to me," Fox said mischieviously, popping his head out from the bush that he was rather rudely eavesdropping in, "that were you to step out of your shell, you'd be able to fly." All of the animals stared at Fox, wondering what he was up to. (He was always up to something.) Though, Turtle, desperate in his desire to fly, asked, "You really think that I could?" Fox grinned broadly. "Oh, of course I do!" he said, unconvincingly. "See, what you have to do is take off your shell and then find a big hill to jump off of! That way, the wind will catch you, and you'll be soaring through the air in no time!" Hen squinted at him angrily and squawked, "Oh, come on! You don't really think that Turtle is stupid enough to believe that, do you?" Fox jerked his head towards Turtle in response. His eyes were filled with stars, and anyone could clearly see that he was, in fact, stupid enough to believe that. "Come on, Turtle," Fox called out, clearly enjoying being evil, "let's go find a hill big enough for you to jump off of!" "Okay!" Turtle beamed happily, jumped out of his shell and streaked after Fox as Hen and Bear stood there gaping.
"Gosh," Turtle gulped, staring down over the steep drop of the hill. "You really think I can do it, Fox?" Fox attemped to hold back his laughed and managed to say, "Sure I do, Turtle. I believe in you!" Turtle, innocently fueled by Fox's insincere words, took a deep breath and a running jump off the hill. "I can fly!" he shrieked joyfully. He couldn't. After the words were out of his scaly little mouth, Turtle plummeted like a green rock towards the grassy meadow below. "Oof!" he hit the ground with a thud. Fox, after he was done with his immature laughing fit, helped turtle to his feet, dusted him off and smiled mischieviously, saying, "Attempt not impossibilities, little one."

Bluh. Sorry if the story sounds a mite clichéd, but it was my first attempt at a fable.
Besides, it's been awhile since my last update, so I wanted to post something, at least.
All righty, that's about it.
Adieu, Blog.

My sincerest apologies and one ridiculously long story.

2010-01-22T17:03:00.002-05:00

It occurs to me that I have not put up a creative writing prompt in a frighteningly long time.
I could say that this is because my creative writing teacher was arrested for sexual assault, but that is not really an excuse, considering that we’ve already a replacement.
So, really, my lack of posting is entirely my fault.
Please feel free to grumble angrily amongst yourselves for a moment, perhaps stick a few pins into a voodoo doll that you’ve created to my likeness and then continue reading.
I’ll wait.
...
Are we good?
Splendid.
Now, without further ado, I present to you a story of sunburn, lobsters and floral beach umbrellas.
____________________________________________________
The waves roared thunderously as they crashed up against the cliff walls of the annoyingly touristy Hawaiian island. (Or maybe it’s in the Bahamas. At the risk of sounding prejudice against various land masses, they really look all the same to me.) At the very top of the bluffs, there was a rather fair-skinned boy, maybe 15 or 16, huddled up on a folding chair underneath his mother’s monstrously-sized, embarrassingly effeminate floral-printed beach umbrella. (He is deeply regretting having left his own umbrella at home.)
Such a lovely sunset, the boy mused to himself. What a shame that every second I sit here, more and more UV rays are being soaked into my skin. The boy's expression turned sour as he recalled his last family vacation to the beach, when he got such terrible sunburn that he couldn’t move for a week. A few moments later, his face expression morphed into one of unimaginable rage as he remembered his family’s complete and utter lack of sympathy, slapping his sunburn as hard as they could and then feigning innocence with a coy smile and a “whoops, I forgot.”
While the boy not-so-fondly reminisced about sunburns passed, a somewhat strange girl (of course, I cannot say that I know her personally, but, based on her zebra-striped swimming wear and comically over-sized sunglass, I think it is safe to assume she is perhaps a mite off-kilter) hiked up the bluffs and joined our pasty hero staring at the sunset. After a few moments, the girl directed her gaze at the boy, grinned, and attempted to strike up a conversation, completely ignoring the fact that he was entirely too engrossed in thinking up an assortment of ways to get back at his family to listen to her.
"Hiya," the girl said pleasantly. "I quite enjoy your umbrella, it's really pretty. My aunt has one just like it." Silence from the boy. "She tried again, "are you staying underneath it because you get really bad sunburns?" The boy continued to be silent. "Because um," she attempted again, somewhat less confident this time, "you seem like the type who starts to look like a lobster after you've spent 15 minutes out in the sun."
Half-way through the sentence, the boy glanced over at the girl. He thought he managed to catch something about a lobster. Where did this girl come from, and why is she talking to me about lobsters? He wondered. The girl continued to stare at him, waiting for a response with a somewhat desperate look on her face. The look was probably due to the fact that the boy had not answered any of her questions in the past 5 minutes, but he didn't know that and he assumed, not incorrectly, that the girl was a bit of a weird-o. Determined not to upset the strange girl any further, the boy uncertainly said, "Oh, um, yeah. Lobsters. They are quite delicious, escpecially with butter."
The girl stared at him as if he had grown a second, equally pale head. Oh god, what did I do? The boy groaned internally, somewhat worried if he had offended the odd girl. Is she a lobster enthusiast, perhaps? Did I hurt her feelings by saying I like to eat lobsters? Am I coming off as a jerk now?
The two continued to stare awkwardly for a bit, until the peculiar girl smiled and said not disagreeably, "You don't listen well, huh?" the pale boy grinned sheepishly in response, resolved not to say anything else that would embarass himself further. The girl shrugged, saying "that's okay, half the time I talk so much that people don't even bother to respond." She beamed brightly and asked, "mind if I join you?"
The boy patted a shady spot underneath the uncomfortably girly umbrella and the both of them sat staring at the sunset (much to the boy's happiness) in silence.
____________________________________________________
Hmm, that's a long entry.
I believe I am done for the evening, then.
Adieu to all!

It occurs to me I never really put a whole lot of thought into my titles.

2010-01-03T19:40:00.004-05:00

Why is it that I always feel the need to try and post something new whenever I have nothing to say?
Is my subconscious attempting to give me eye cancer by forcing me to stare at a blank document for an hour whilst thinking of something amusing to write? Is that it?
Because if so, that makes quite a good deal of sense, really. My brain seems to always be out to get me.
Ironically enough, though, my brain never seems to stop and think that, "Hmm. Eye cancer is a pretty unpleasant thing. Maybe I shouldn't force this poor little girl with the unfortunate amount of writer's block to stare at that blank screen for an indefinite period of time because it seems like having retinal tumors would probably be a fairly disagreeable experience for her."
So, here I continue to sit, staring at the screen with very little to say besides various vaguely paranoid statements and stories about my bodily organs that are attempting to passive-aggressively murder me.
Therefore, that'll be all the paranoia for this evening, I should think, unless, of course, my liver decides to try and poison my coffe again. We shall see.
Adieu.

Further Creative Writing Assignments.

2009-11-29T19:13:00.002-05:00

This time I have to write up a dialogue of what happened during my Thanksgiving dinner, which is somewhat difficult, being that my family does not really celebrate it.
However, this will give me the marvelous opportunity to disturb the bejeesus out of my teacher (of course, that is not to say that I do not do that anyway.) by making up some sort of depressingly upsetting holiday tale.
Perhaps the turkey will be slightly overdone and because of that minor mishap with the oven timer, my mother's manic-depressive half-sister will attempt to commit sepuku with a butter knife.
But then, perhaps, Aunt Crazy will have that knife snatched out of her hands by lackadaisical Uncle Phil, who was not at all trying to spare her from her fate of buttery doom, but rather wanted something with which to cut open his crescent roll.
But, alas, as it turns out, that was the last crescent roll! A mad fist-fight breaks out amongst both the adult and the children's tables as they battle to the death over the warm, flaky pastry, unbeknownst to the lot of them that there was, in fact, another batch being baked at that very moment!
It shall be filled with so many dysfunctional family moments that it shall be on par with those of the hit daytime television talkshow Jerry Springer.
Only, except for Billy Bob cheating on his wife and secret-other-family-girlfriend, Billy Bob will be hogging all of the cranberry sauce, which, if you ask me, is about as evil as the former offense.
Hopefully writing this will not earn me a trip to the school's guidance counselor, though.
I do not enjoy my visits to their office, you see.
But, I believe that is all for this evening, dear readers.
Adieu.

Creative Writing Prompt Deux.

2009-10-27T17:03:00.002-04:00

High School Sketch: Create your own high school. Name, location, mascot, school colors, etc.

The high school is set in one of those dreary west coast states, perhaps Washington or Oregon, where it is constantly raining.
Well, actually, it’s not even rain; more like a perpetual drizzle, like the sky is continually urinating on its inhabitants, which is pretty gross. The students of Lakeville high school find it quite unpleasant as well.
The students don’t like a lot of things at Lakeville, like the name of their school, for instance. It is not near a lake, nor was there ever a lake. There was once a villa, but it’s long since burned down. I’m not really sure how that managed to happen, though, considering the aforementioned unending cloud-leakage, but, in any event, thanks to that, neither parts of the school’s name really make a whole lot of sense.
Their mascot is, rather unfittingly, some form of variation of the Loch Ness Monster. I would believe it to be more appropriate were there actually some kind of large body of water nearby, but, as I’ve stated earlier, there is not. I suppose they could have made their mascot a burning house, but that would be a pretty depressing, albeit more chronologically accurate, mascot, so I guess it's better this way.
The school colors are a kind of drab brown and musty-looking green. I presume that whoever picked the colors was some type of dastardly villain who constantly wanted to remind the students that they lived in the repulsive, sky-peeing Pacific north-west and get rid of whatever miniscule amount of energy these teenagers had to begin with, which really wasn’t a whole lot, but still.
Their motto is “Four more years until we’re out of this dump!” That’s not the official motto, of course, but the students do seem to enjoy saying it, and I find it far more fitting than whatever annoyingly perky saying that the administration did come up with.

Aaaaand, that's it thus far.
I am planning on finishing it eventually... No, really.
I just thought I would post the beginning of le Prompt because it would appear I've not posted in about 20 days or so. (So much for my attempt to start updating more often. D:)
All righty then. That is all.
Adieu.

Creative Writing Prompt

2009-10-08T15:37:00.003-04:00

Family House Sketch - Describe the outside of a family home:

At first glance, there's nothing particularly out of the ordinary about the house, but let us look past its cliché suburban white picket fence for a moment and inspect it a bit closer, shall we? First, the yard.
The father of the household was one of those annoyingly meticulous lawn-lovers, so the yard was always in pristine condition, except for the small scorched splotch near the center of the yard, courtesy of little Billy and his magnifying glass one blistering August afternoon.
On the back patio, you'll find a grill. The father often enjoys cooking hamburgers and other various processed meat products for the family, but after learning about his son's unhealthy obsession with fire, (see above) he rarely ever asks little Billy to help start up the grill.
The front porch, you'll notice, is covered in crumpled up balls of paper. Ashley, the family's youngest, is something of an artiste and tries to draw everything she sees in the yard; dogs, cats, butterflies, little Billy and his matchbox, etc. However, recently, Ashley has become bored of the mundane routine of drawing on paper and has decided to move on to scribbling upon bigger and better things, like the side of the house.
Personally, I think Ashley should be praised for her lovely scribblings, as they are far more interesting to look at than the drab white paneling, but, as we all know, parents are cruel beasts who enjoy stiffling creativity, so instead of the reward she deserved, she was scolded by her mother and sent to her room. Alas, life is cruel, but we have one more section of the house to tour, so we shall be moving on.
Lastly, the back yard. Because the father doesn't care about the backyard, as only the front is judged by his many scrutinizing neighbors, you'll notice it is quite cluttered with toys. Little Billy often enjoys setting up tiny towns out of building blocks and then smashing them apart like some sort of miniscule 7-year-old Godzilla.
In my opinion, the parental figures of the household really should be more concerned for the mental health of little Billy, but don't tell them I said that. I am only the tourguide and it is not my place to discuss these sorts of things.
Anyhow, with that, the tour is over.
Please do not forget to visit the gift shop on your way out, as a portion of every item you purchase contributes to little Billy's therapy bills.
Thank you for joining us at Suburban Home tours, and please come again soon, as next week's tour will be of the neighborhood bully's home!

Epic Procrastination

2009-09-30T18:13:00.006-04:00

Why is it that whenever we have to do something involving physical exercise for a grade, I somehow contract an illness?
Is there perhaps some sadistic little man in a chair somewhere in my head who shuts down my immune system whenever he hears I'll be graded for something involving me running?
"Ah, we're doing the mile today, I see. Hey, is that H1N1?"
Paranoid, you say?
I think not. "Correct" would be a more appropriate adjective.
But, I digress.
I actually meant to post an epic picture of procrastination on here, but it is not showing up very well.
However, I cannot tell you about the picture and then not show you, for that would make me crueler than the tiny evil man who resides in my brain.
So, here you are.

Overall, this took about 6-7 hours to do. It's also somewhat difficult to type because of the massive carpal tunnel it induced. I quite like it though.

If you'd like a larger size, as it is quite difficult to see right now, you may see my DeviantART. (Shameless self-promotion, you say? Perhaps.)

That is all.

Adieu.

Huzzah for procrastination!

2009-09-17T16:57:00.006-04:00

So, rather than researching for my history project (how I loathe you, U.S. history 2 honors), I have spent the afternoon doodling a rather smarmy looking gentleman.I like to think that he is a more-than-slightly inebriated young entrepreneur who is spending his evening at a rather dank pub, making eyes at any woman or effeminate-looking man (mind you, he is quite drunk.) that catches his fancy.
I did not draw the bartender, but I imagine him to be making an exasperated face at our unctuous young gentleman, which is silly because as a bartender, he has probably seen rowdier crowds than the likes of him.
Perhaps he's a new bartender. I am not quite sure.
In any event, this is my first procrastination from a project (but certainly not the last) for the new school year.
Truly it is a joyous occasion.
Anyhow, I should probably get working now.
Adieu.

I've got to wake up HOW early?

2009-09-09T15:40:00.006-04:00

So, the first day is over and done with.
My creative writing class does not seem too terrible, but apparently we will have to write a one act play sometime during the year, which scares me a bit. I am not exactly Shakespeare. (Actually, the idea of being Shakespeare scares me even more than the fact that I'll have to write a play, simply because I cannot say I would be fond of being a bearded fellow who has been dead and buried for nearly 500 years. Though, I digress.)
Perhaps it is just the insecurity talking, but I tend to think that any play I would be able to come up with would be pretty atrocious.
Generally, the stories I write don't really have a solid plot, so rather than writing an epic tragedy about star-cross'd lovers, I would probably write a story about an impatient guy who goes to the post office and encounters a lonely mailman who is desperate to talk to someone.
The whole play would be their conversation, which I imagine would go something like this:

"Mail Man: Ah, so you've got some outgoing mail, I see.
Impatient Guy: Yes.
MM: It's always nice to get mail. It makes me feel important.
IG: (glancing at watch) Indeed it does.
MM: Of course, people don't send a lot of mail these days. They send those -what'chacall'em - electronic messages! See, back in my day, we didn't have anything like that. We had one mailbox in town and you had to walk 3 miles in the snow uphill both ways to get to it...." Etc.

Needless to say, any play I would write would be quite abhorent, which is why I'm a bit nervous. But I suppose I shall cross that bridge when I come to it.
Overall, the first day was pretty all right, and that is all I have got to say, so I shall bid you adieu this evening.
Adieu.

School's a-comin'.

2009-09-01T20:06:00.003-04:00

So, it just so happens that I did not get any art classes this year.
Please do not misunderstand me, I did attempt to get one, but I was unfortunately thwarted by my music teacher who, yet again, guilted me into taking Instrumental Lab, so if you were hoping to see any drawings of a higher artistic quality than my Microsoft Paint stick figures and unrealistically sized angry-bees, then I'm afraid I shall have to disappoint you.
However, I was able to get a creative writing class, so perhaps you will be able to see, dare I say, even more cranium-explodingly amazing writing from yours truly. (Egocentric, you say? Whatever gave you that idea?)
I am somewhat depressed that summer is coming to an end, though.
It hardly seems as if I was able to do anything these past few months except get attacked by various insects.
It is indeed quite a shame, but I suppose that these sorts of things are bound to happen.
To me, anyway.
So, it is on that note I leave you, my dear blog readers.
One hopes that your summers were filled with less leggy anthropods than mine.
Adieu.

More Insect Mishaps.

2009-08-23T14:19:00.005-04:00

No, I am not talking about the cricket-wizard infestation.
We have learned to get along through simple compromises.
As long as they do not jump out of the silverware drawer at me, I will not procede to stomp the bejeesus out of them with my shoe.
It works well.
But anyhow, getting back to the subject at hand, the insects I am referring to are the inexplicably angry wasps that attacked me whilst I was mowing the lawn the other day.
For your convenience, I have prepared an illustration in Microsoft Paint that should well explain what the situation was like.
Aren't I an amazing artist? These cranky little fellows attacked my father and I because we were apparently too close to their hive, so to Walmart we did go to procure wasp spray, and spray them we did.
All is well now, but I felt I had to tell my lovely readers about it.
And now that that is done, I shall bid you adieu.
Adieu.
(Hello to my new follower, by the way. :D)

Driving lessons grow increasingly nigh...

2009-08-04T21:12:00.002-04:00

I'm a bit nervous.
With the amount of video games I've played involving violent car crashes and vehicular homicides, i.e Grand Theft Auto and its various sequels, I can't help but think I'll be a terrible driver.
It worries me that these games are the only reference I have towards proper driving etiquette.
You see, in these games, flipping off little old ladies during high-speed pursuits with the police after brutally running over pedestrians and stealing their wallets seems to be the norm driving-wise, but the particularly sweaty woman at the DMV with whom I discussed this dilemma seemed especially perturbed and attempted to take back my learner's permit.
Now, the perspiring DMV woman seemed to know what she was doing, (most sweaty women do) but I do not wish to believe that video games would ever lie to me.
Perhaps I shall just follow what the driving instructor tells me to do.
Instructors tend to be more knowledgeable in their respective fields than over-heated females or violent video games, I believe.
So, with that, I bid you goodnight.
I wish you all good luck if you happen to pass by me on the road.
Adieu.

Blargh.

2009-07-21T16:33:00.003-04:00

Inspiration to write an amusing blog post is difficult to come by these days.
The dastardly fiends known as the Writing Gods have, in order to spite me, kept all the funny story ideas to themselves, leaving me not unlike a desperate fratboy denied a high-five.
"Come on, bro, don't leave me hangin'!" I eloquently beg the sadistic deities, my backwards baseball cap falling off in despair.
(Yes, headgear can fall off in despair. Shut up.)
But, alas, despite all of my pleading, the Gods continue to revel in their Schadenfruede, leaving me with nary an amusing limerick to please my perpetually patient blog readers.
So, if you were wondering why I've not been updating as of late, it is because the Writing Gods are out to get me, not because the cricket-wizards have finally finished me off.
Not that they have not been trying, mind you, what with all their hiding in the silverware drawer, trying to give me a heart attack by jumping out at me when I only want a spoon for my delicious Cheerios.
All righty, then.
That is all.
Adieu.

Too Much Free Time...

2009-07-02T11:30:00.000-04:00

I think the crickets are out to get me.
I do not think they are trying to physically harm me (not yet, anyhow) but I am certain that they are playing some pretty cruel mental games with me.
You see, the crickets reside in the kitchen.
I am not sure how they manage to get into the kitchen, but the fact that the doors and windows are sealed tightly every night leads me to believe that they practice a sort of door-unlocking witchcraft.
However, I do not believe that the crickets have any protection charms or healing spells, as they cannot gird themselves against the cats that come in to maul them late at night and leave them half-dead and twitching on the linoleum floor.
In their final moments, the crickets pick up their mangled bodies and hurl themselves into the cats' water bowl, leaving me to dump out the water poisoned by their disgusting, bloated corpses and refill it.
This is, of course, the mental torture to which I am referring.
Were this to happen once in a blue moon, I would not be so irritated, but it seems that whenever I refill it and turn my back, 2 more appear from thin air and fling themselves into the bowl.
I blame this on the cricket witchcraft as well.
Unfortunately, I've checked the Yellow Pages twice, and have yet to find an insect exterminator that also dabbles in protection against the dark arts, so I am going to have to just deal with it for now.
That is all.
Adieu.

Ah, Summer.

2009-06-22T09:52:00.000-04:00

Marissa's Attempt at Cleaning Her Room, Part Deux:
I ventured deeper into the room, pushing past the vines to glance at the walls, which were painted a sort of Pepto Bismol pink, only even more nauseating to look at, if you can believe it.
It has been awhile since I've been in my room, I thought, scowling.
When did I stop liking the color pink? 5?
And is that a N'Sync poster I spy?
Curious.
If I am not mistaken, they stopped being popular before I was born...
I took a moment to stop and glare angrily at Justin Timberlake's faded, smarmy face.
"Your songs are atrocious, and your acting is even worse." I said aloud to the poster.
His smile seemed to dim a bit from my unkind words, and his eyes, usually devoid of any sign of intelligence, seemed to grow slightly sharper.
I didn't think anything of it at the moment, simply shrugging it off and continuing onward, straightening my safari hat a third time.
When I was finally satisfied with the straightness of my headgear, a sudden eerie wind came from behind and knocked it clean off, blowing it underneath a nightstand.
Well crap, I thought. That was my favorite hat, and now it's probably being devoured by the dreaded Chapeau Mangeur that often lurks underneath bedroom furniture.
As I pondered how my hat could've got knocked over by the wind whilst indoors, I heard laughter. Prententious laughter that could have only come from one person. A certain fallen pop star...
"Justin Timberlake," I whispered as realization dawned.
"Baby, bye, bye, bye." the poster said, suddenly in front of me, and then I blacked out.

(Oho. Suspense.)

Procrastination, Part Deux

2009-06-08T15:37:00.000-04:00

So, my outline for my career speech is due tomorrow, and I am wondering what to write.
I was debating on going along with being a truck driver and somehow turning my previous sardonic blog post into a speech, but eventually decided against it. (Mostly because I could not acquire a sleeveless flannel shirt and trucker hat in time for my speech 6th period.)
Alors, due to these unfortunate circumstances, I am going to write about what I would actually enjoy doing for a living. Being a writer.
Ironically enough, though, I am having difficulty writing about my future writing.
I am tempted to just stand in front of the class and say something along the lines of "I LIKE WRITING, DURR.", but there's no possible way I can stretch that out into a 3-5 minute speech.
Well. I mean, it's possible.
But it wouldn't really be coherent.
"Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii *inhale* liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikkkkkkeeeeeee *inhale* wrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiittttttttttttiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnggggggg, *inhale* durrrrrrrrrrr. *inhale* Any questions?"
...I'm sure there would be a lot of questions if I were to say that. As well as phone calls home. And trips to the Guidance Office.
Which means I must actually work on this speech.
Which means I shall have to bid you all adieu.
So, adieu. Auf Wiedersehen. Sayonara. Adios. Das vidania. Ood-gay ye-bay. Etc.

My New Career Path.

2009-06-04T17:02:00.000-04:00

So, recently, I had to take a career assessment test.
Take a guess as to what "the best career path" was for me.
I'll give you a moment to think about it.
...No, I'm not going into prostitution.
Honestly, you don't know me at all, Voice-in-my-Head.
Actually, according to this placement test, one of my best career paths would be a truck driver.
So, it is because of this test that I have decided to give up creative writing and pursue my career in the art of trucking.
I have also decided to replace all the tops in my wardrobe with sleeveless flannel shirts, and acquire myself a southern accent/beer belly.
I'm thinking about acquiring a driving license as well. It seems like it would be a good idea.
I'll live a simple life on the road, chewin' tobacco, and spittin' it out the window onto the poor unsuspecting passengers in convertibles. (Notice I'm workin' on the accent.)
So, dear sweet Blog, and dear sweet Blog readers, I must bid you adieu, for a new life awaits.
A new life life of driving big rig trucks and belching loudly at small children.
That's the good life, my friends.
Adieu.

(Unnecessary Note: Hopefully, all of you can detect sarcasm, but for those unfortunate souls that cannot, I shall tell you that I am not, in fact, being serious. I mean, the test people did assign "truck driver" as a possible career path [idiots.], but I am certainly not planning on giving up writing because of it. Honestly, though, how in the name of The Fonz did they get truck driver from "enjoys reading, writing, and personal hygine?" Gah! ...But anyway. I am glad we got that cleared up. Adieu a third time, Blog readers.)

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you...

2009-05-27T18:12:00.000-04:00

Marissa's Attempt at Cleaning Her Room, Part 1:
It was the last door on the hall. Tentacles wiggled and writhed their way through the bottom, latching onto any unfortunate soul who happened to walk too close and dragging them deep into the depths of the room. A sign hung from the knob. "Abandon all hope, yee who enter here."
I bit my lip, thrust my machete forward, straightened the brim of my safari hat, and entered.
Immediately, my nostrils were assaulted by the stench of decaying flesh. The pile of bones to the left of the door was probably the cause of it, I thought.
Also, that explained where my brother's annoying friend Tyler went to...
I ventured further, hacking away at the vines hanging from the ceiling.
A pair of yellow, unblinking eyes stared out at me from underneath the piles of clothes of questionable cleanliness. Corpses of discarded empty soda cans lay crumpled and misshapen in the corner. One poor almost-empty can crawled close to me.
"Save yourself," the beverage said weakly, before coughing out its last few drops of Diet Coke and collapsing to the floor to join its fallen bretheren in Soft Drink Heaven.
I turned away, supressing tears.
"I'll avenge you." I whispered, trying not to choke up.
I straightened my hat yet again (it always seemed to be getting lopsided.) and headed onward into the heart of the bedroom...

Sigh.

2009-05-23T13:40:00.000-04:00

It seems to me like I should be updating Le Blog more often.
Really can't think of anything to say, though.
Nothing witty, anyway.
I mean, it's possible I could just post this entry with me just saying I've nothing to write about.
But that would be quite dull.
And I'm sure my followers (OMG WTF BBQ, I HAVE FOLLOWERS!) would be quite unhappy if I did.
Because I am sure they expect something a bit more entertaining than me just blathering on about my lack of inspiration to be quirky and strangely amusing.
Hmm.
Write about my life, you say, mysterious voice from nowhere?
No-no, that won't do.
I am not particularly interesting.
Except for the odd occasion when I hear mysterious voices suggesting topics to write about. Also, my fingers can talk. And they are not fond of me. I really can't blame them.
What's that, Mr. Voice?
Stop blathering and post the dang entry, you say?
Well.
I can do that.
And I shall.
Adieu, my unhappy followers.

The Creative Process.

2009-05-09T14:58:00.000-04:00

For those of you curious as to how I come up with my posts, I present to you...

The Creative Process:
Every so often, I'll open up a new draft on Blogger and try to think of something to write.
I'll stare at the blank page for, oh, about a half hour or so, until, brows furrowed and eyes blinded, I'll squint angrily down at my fingers on the keyboard.
"Write something," I tell them.
"Be quirky and entertaining," I say, close to begging.
My pleading is to no avail, of course.
They continue to sit motionless, mounted atop the spacebar, as if mocking me.
The buttockses.
Of course, by this point, I get frustrated.
Frustrated meaning I get the kitchen knife and threaten the lazy fingers with a game of Five Finger Fillet.
"She's bluffing!" the middle finger cries out to his fellow digits, trying to reassure them.
Oh, but I wasn't bluffing, and 2 fingers later, I managed to come up with this lovely entry.
Please enjoy as I head off the the emergency room, as the bloodloss is making me somewhat woozy.
Adieu.

I got a review?

2009-04-20T14:46:00.001-04:00

Granted, the review was from a (the only) follower of mine, but t'was a nice gesture indeed.
This anonymous blogger thanks yee kindly, Alicia.
This was not my intention, however, to be an anonymous blogger, so perhaps I shall share a bit of information about myself.
Unfortunately, the only relevant thing I can think of to say is, "Hi, my name's Marissa, and I enjoy writing.", which really isn't anything new.
I mean, you can find that information on my Profile, as well as a lovely picture of my thumb dressed up as a smiling cyclops-type thing. What more could you want?
All my personal information, you say?
No-no, Mr. Spam E-mail. I don't care if I've miraculously won the UK national lottery, and all I need to do is enter in my social security, date of birth, and credit card number. I was told to keep that information secret.
Besides, I'm an American citizen, and it makes little sense for me to have won the UK lottery.
Anyhow.
Perhaps I should just make a list of things that I enjoy...
Voyons...
Writing, reading, learning languages, watching movies, finding interesting music, talking to the Internet (not people on the Internet, mind you. Just the Internet.), having unhealthy obsessions with fictional characters, quoting various things, playing the bass, doodlin' stuff, making peculiar clay creations, baking things (burning things, rather.), and sleeping.
Those are in no particular order, mind you.
If I had to organize them from most-liked to least, sleeping would be much closer to the top of said list.
Anyway, one believes that one has shared enough personal information about oneself, so one shall bid you adieu.
Adieu, mes chous.

Sweet merciful crap!

2009-04-10T09:27:00.000-04:00

I got a 97 on that Crucible essay!
Which is hard to believe, considering I only changed 2 sentences from the rough draft, on which I got a 91, but I am not one to argue with my english teacher's grading habits, especially not when they turn out well for a change.
So, now that that's all said and done, I can finally write something that isn't about my irony essay.
Or, rather, I would if I were remotely creative with my writing, but, alas, I am not.
All those years of sitting in front of the television whilst drinking beverages laced with articficial sugar and trace amounts of bug feces have rotted the creative, as well as most of the analytical, portions of my brain.
Which is indeed quite depressing.
However, I will continue to write despite my festering imagination because I've nothing better do to.
So. Lovely weather we're having lately, eh, Blog?
Oh. You wouldn't know? You say you live on the Internet?
Well, surely it's nice on the Internet as well...
No? You say that at night, when the spam blocker goes to sleep, you are incessantly tormented by pop-ups advertising natural male enhancement pills and mail-order brides from Russia?
Well, that's simply depressing, Blog. So depressing that I shall stop typing and maybe go outside for a change.
I bid you adieu for this evening, sweet Blog and Follower.
Au revoir.

Further procrastination.

2009-03-22T18:29:00.001-04:00

Blargh.
Don't you hate it when you find out a band has free downloads for their music on their website after you already went ahead and bought the album on iTunes?
Why bother putting it up for sale if you've got free downloads?
Solely for the purpose of irritating those who were too stupid to Google the band before purchasing the songs?
That must be it.
Music is out to get me.
It's the only logical explaination.
...Anyhow, on a non-paranoid note, I've still yet to finish that irony essay.
Rather, I've yet to finish the final draft. (Miraculously,) I managed to get an A- on the rough draft, so I only need to tweak the intro a mite.
Can't seem to get motivated enough to do that, though.
Which is fine with me.
I write my best work at 3 o'clock in the morning anyway.
So, I shall bid you adieu for this evening, my sweet but imaginary blog readers.
Adios.

Procrastination.

2009-03-05T18:02:00.000-05:00

So, I am currently putting off doing my irony essay at the moment.
I've been doing pretty much everything but.
It's a bit like that old Spongebob episode.
"Spongebob: I can't write my essay knowing there's a mess in the kitchen, Gary!"
"Gary: ...Meow."
Except I don't have a snail named Gary, so I made do with my cat, Peng-Peng. Also I wouldn't be caught dead voluntarily cleaning, because that'd just be silly. If I were dead, I wouldn't be cleaning anything. I'd just be, y'know, decomposing.
Anyhow, it went a bit like this.
"Me: I can't write an essay knowing there's ingredients to make myself a sandwich in the kitchen, Peng-Peng!"
"Peng-Peng: ...Meow."
I don't know why I didn't start that stupid essay earlier. I don't even know why I'm not doing it now. I mean, it's already 6 o'clock. And I've not even started the thing.
I suppose it's just stupidity on my part.
Sigh.
All right. I'm off to attempt to write that essay. And make myself a sandwich.
I bid you adieu, sweet blog reader.

Hmm.

2009-03-01T19:54:00.000-05:00

So, I find myself drawing more and more lately.
I've even signed up for art next year rather than taking creative writing course.
Which is bound to confuse any college that decides to interview me when I tell them I want to be an English major.
...Here's how I'd imagine that scenario might go.
College Interviewer:"So, you want to major in English, eh?"
Me:"Uh. Yes."
CI:"Yet you have a C-average in English."
Me:"Uh. Yes?"
CI:"And no creative writing, or literature appreciation classes?"
Me:"Uh. No?"
CI:"You also speak completely ineloquently. Can you even start a sentence without an 'uh?'"
Me:"...Duh?"
..Yeah.
I do want to be an English major, though. I just can't seem to find the motivation to write anything anymore.
Which is why I'm trying to write more regularly here. Get the creative juices flowing, so to speak.
Which sounds unpleasant.
However, I assure you, the result of the creative juices flowing will not be brain-goo squirting all over the place and ruining the new carpeting; nay, the result will hopefully be my brain thinking up new, interesting, perhaps even mildly witty things to write about, thus ensuring a good college interview that won't end up like the one I envisioned.
That was an impressive run-on. I should probably attempt to fix my grammar as well.
...Later, though.
The Simpsons are on now , and re-run or not, it's still more appealing than spending a half-hour trying to correct all the grammatical errors in this entry.

Alors, adieu, mon petits chous.

Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow, etc., etc., more Shakespeare quotes.

Oh. It's you.

2008-10-29T16:52:00.000-04:00

Well.
Hello, blog.
It's been awhile.
Did you cut your hair? Maybe lose weight? You seem a bit slimmer.
I digress.
I'm really here to talk about... well, the lack of communication between you and me, Blog.
I know, I know, I promised I'd post.
I don't know why I haven't. Things have just been so hectic, what with the waking up in the morning, and the going back to sleep at night. I honestly have not been able to find the time to post a new entry on you, Blog. I've got school until 2:30, and I need at least 6 hours of doing nothing after that.
It's tough on you, I know, but we all need to make sacrifices.
I only got in 5 hours of doing nothing today to post on you! I'd say I've suffered enough, wouldn't you?
Okay, I'm glad you agree with me.
I'll talk to ya later.
Oh, what?
Yeah, sure, I love you too.
Buh-bye.

Watch your step as you enter the gangway...

2008-10-22T16:29:00.000-04:00

Goooood afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.
This is your Blog Captain speaking.
Our Blog time of departure is... 4:36, Wednesday October 22, and our time of arrival will be approximately.... oh, merde, I don't know.
How long do blogs typically last? Long time, right?
Well, it'll be a long ride, then, folks. I suggest you make yourselves comfortable, maybe grab a soda from the cart that the flight attendants are pushing down the aisle as we speak. Please do not literally "grab" a soda, though, as they're 3 bucks a pop. Expensive, yes, but it's not like there's any OTHER drinks available onboard. Eventually, the thirst will get to you, and you'll shell out 3 dollars for a modest plastic cup of soda, so that's that.
Anyhow.
I expect we'll be experiencing some minor Blog turbulence, as I have no idea what I'm going to write about. Nothing interesting, I'd say. Your Blog Captain doesn't have a particularly interesting life, except for the odd occasion when the toaster catches fire, but that's a rare occurance, and you really can't write about that more than... oh, 3 times or so.
So, you all shall have to bear with me.
I hope it will be a relatively pleasant flight, and that you will fly Air Blog again sometime soon!
Enjoy your expensive soda! Ha!
Captain logging off.