About This Guy...

So, again, this guy in my history class. I don't know... how am I supposed to talk to him? And what if I'm wrong? What if my faulty gaydar has incorrectly spotted a straight man and I end up asking out a heterosexual? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW HIS SEXUAL PREFERENCES??!! Gah... maybe I should give up on men... that might be the only cure for my love sick heart... oh my God, if I ever write anything that cliched ever again, somebody needs to shoot me. Well... not literally, I suppose, but firguratively... leave me a nasty comment. WEll, I'm gonna start a one shot now... I'll post it when it's done...

Obama and Hillary... together at last!!

I saw this awhile ago on MadTV, but I could not figure out how to embed a video! It took me absolutely ages... anyways, I really like this one. It's freakin hilarious. Don't have much time right now as I'm supposed to be doing my homework or what not... I'll post tomorrow or when I have time next...

What should I do about this guy? He looks at me in class, and when I look back at him, he looks away quickly and pretends that he wasn't staring. I know better. Especially when it happens more than once. I would like to talk to him... but I have nothing to say! Gr... girls are so much easier than guys are... dammit, why do they have to be so freakin stoic all the time?! He's cute... but I'm kind of afraid to talk to him. Usually I'm gung ho, but I get nervous around him and my mind ceases the successful facilitation of communication. That is, I stumble and look like an idiot. I wish I had the courage just to go up to him and ask, "Are you into men? Do you like penis?" But I can't. I just can't.

Stupdi men, being all "ooh, I'm big and scary and if you talk to me, I'll make you feel insignificant and inferior because you are!". But usually, these are the guys who once had a little bit too much to drink and end up making out with thier best friend. They wake up in the morning, covered in sweat, booze, and another unidentifable substance, and swear to one another that no one will ever find out. But we do find out. At least I do. And then I tell the rest of the world! No one beleieves me though.... I wonder why that is... I'm not a rumormongerer or anything... am I? Answer me dammit!

Alright, math time... gross. I hate math. Why can't everything be a creative writing assignment? That would make my life a ton easier. Three tons actually, cause then i wouldn't have to carry all these books are over the freaking place. Whatever... I'm tired and you're pissing me off! Not really... but the former is true. Goodnight... zzzz....

Umbrella Music Video Parody (Madtv)

A Parody of Rhianna's "Umbrella". Lyrics:

Obama: [rapping] Uh huh! Uh huh! Yo my girl Hillary, former first lady, will she be president? Who knows, maybe. Yo Barack Obama! I'm a black democrat, no I ain't no punk, Hillary's a hot mama. She's got her eyes on the prize, and I'm talking 'bout my junk. Hillary, where you at?

Hillary: I'm in the front. But what I want is a little bit of mandingo love. Bill had Monica, played him like a harmonica. So can I be blamed if I wanna get some strange?

Yes, I am a firm believer of some hardcore jungle fever. He's my boy, I am his girl, hellz yeah we're both down with the swirl! We may have differed on Iraq, but no one's stiffer in the sack. I can't lie - that's why I wanna be under Barack Obama, bama, bama, ay, ay, ay, under Barack Obama, bama, bama, bama, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay.

The polls have me in the lead, but your polls the only one I need.

Obama: Girl you're making me really hot, I'm gonna put my ballot in your slot.

Hillary: Pour your chocolate rain on me and I'll make you my VP.

Obama: Gonna put my lovin' on ya.

Hillary: I wanna be under Barack Obama, bama, bama, bama, ay, ay, ay, ay, under Barack Obama, bama, bama, bama, ay, ay, ay ay!

Sin's Eventual Partner, Guilt

I am so tired in my head
My eyes, my sight they are so blurred
I want to sleep, rest like the dead
Remain forever undisturbed.

I want to close my eyes and sleep
To run away, escape to dreams
Embrace the darkness, shadows deep
To silence those ungodly screams

That echo in my bedroom still
They haunt my every waking step
Horror, my skull those wails do fill
Cold terror strikes my heart's full depths.

Shot past my soul, across the sand
Dark pictures flutter, burned and torn
Like broken glass upon my hand
I find those tombs on which I mourn.

These memories, I hold so close
I wish, I wish I could forget
My sins in chains, make scars that show
Upon my chest, I do regret.

So now I lay, in tortured rest
Unable yet to close my eyes
For on the bloody, morning's crest
I see their face, I see them die.

Our World is Timeless

There is no Time

No time to write
No time to read
No time to think,
No time to breath.
Everything goes by so fast
Both future and the present
Always morphing into past
No end to it I see
No comforting repast
Just on and on and on
This forever ever lasts.
No break, no intercede
That separates the age
Like a moment and eternity
Trapped we are in time's dead cage
A child to life, yet death's owned slave
Foolish youth and ghastly sage
Here and now we dig our graves
In the graveyard's sable shade
In the cemetery's final gloom
In the warmth of darkened womb
In the night of a new moon
We are victims, this I know
Of growth and growing our own doom.

To Love and To Lose

In words of wisdom, hot and wild
In whispers secret, ice and guile.
I look upon thee with a smile
And hold you in my arms awhile.

In your eyes I find a mire
Lost in a daze of twisted wire.
And you run and run until you tire
Losing yourself inside the fire.

And them, your voice, I hear you cry
Blood in your ears, tears in your eyes
But in your heart, no love I find
For your love hath left and died.

Homework... what homework?

Geez, so I forgot to do my precalc homework. Again. But, you know what, I don't really place much value in knowing how to draw a curved line; it just isn't interesting to me. We have a test tomorrow, but oh well, its an automatic bomb. I try. I really do. I do all my homework (okay, most of it...) and I study but I can never manage to raise my grade higher than a freakin B. I'm pissed. That stupid class is mutilating my GPA. Bitchy math.

And then freakin chem. I hate chemistry. Do you know what polyatomic ions are? Do you use them in your everyday life? No, I didn't think so. And plus, I got into all these AP and Honors classes to look smart, and to make colleges like me, but I forgot about the major down side of smart classes: limited eye-candy. In all my classes, there's like a 2:1 ratio for girls:boys. Ridiculous. Great if I were straight, but uh, not doing much for me as I am. Ah... I wish school sucked less. I would like to get a job, and I was looking at the Google Adsense program, but that contract looked mighty scary. I don't want to mess with that.

My aunt is looking over my house while my parents are awya, and I gotta admit, things are much easier around the house. I come home and the dishes are washed: weird. My room is clean and my laudry is done, and I'm thinking to myself, "I don't remember doing all this work..." cause usually I'm who does it. WEll, no more! Actually, no more till Thanksgiving, but hey, I'm not complaining.

Maybe I'll start a fanfiction-y blog. Just write and write and write until my eyes fall out. Or I could type up all my poetry and make a blog of those. I don't know... what am I going to do? For life, i mean. Everyone keeps telling me that if I major in English, I'll either become a teaher, or homeless. Not exactly my ideal occupations. I'll figure it out, I suppose. Ah, well...

Is it just me, or does it seem like no one is actually reading this? I wonder how I can people to read my blogs more... I'll think of something... I just hope I don't have to resort to shameless self-promotion... that would be the end of me.

Another Long Night of Walden

Alright, so I'm reading Walden for AP English, and the author (Henry Thoreau) is unbearable. An absolute hypcrit. He's constantly talking about how we only learn when we do things ourselves, that we can never learn anything from someone else, and that we only progress through our own labors. There is some truth in those words, sure. But he would be a lot more convincing if he practiced what he preached. He lived his entire life living off of other people: first, his mother, living with her AFTER he graduated college. Then, he lived his brother, and they started a school. Then, when his brother got sick (and could no longer do all the work!) he left and lived with Emmerson, another Transcedalist author, for TWO years! I can imagine their first conversation:

Thoreau: Hey! You're that guy who writes those books! (I bet you're loaded!)

Emmerson: Hm? Oh, yes, yes I am! (Oh my God, somebody actually read my books!) I see that you are, no doubt, an intrepid young scholar who also believes in the ideals of Transcendantalism! (Whew! I thought I was a loner!)

T: (What the hell is talking about?) Um... yes! Absolutely! I uh... was just discussing with my good friend the finer points of, um... intuition... and uh... self-reliance. (Geez, my mom would die laughing if she heard this)

E: (Oh. My. God. I think I've found my soulmate...) Exactly! Oh, if only my colleagues could hear this! What do you think about the Oversoul?

T: (Shit. Shit shit shit.) Uhh.... Erm... That is... Ah, hey, you know what, I don't think I can get into all that right now. The topic is far too large to be fully dissected over the course of a single evening. Nay, even a year or two wouldn't suffice! (Goal! What an excellent save!)

E: Hey! I just had a great idea!

T: (Oh no... forget the money, I just want to get away from this creepy, creepy man...) Uh... really? And what would that be? (Go away go away go away.)

E: Yes! Yes! You see, I have a spare room that is just dying to be occupied! You could... oh, I don't know, perform odd jobs around the house and I could rent you the space!

T: (Oh. My. God. What the hell does he mean by "odd jobs"? Ew... ew... ew... oh, the pictures in my mind! Make them go away!) What makes you think I'm looking for a place to live? (He's been watching me... I knew it! He just wants to get into my suspenders!)

E: Well, when your mom kicked you out again... this makes twice now, right? Anyways, the whole town could hear your screaming and protesting, "Mommy, mommy! Why are you doing this to me?" Oh, yes, it was quite comical!

T: (I hate you. So much.) Er... yes, I suppose I am looking for a house at the moment...

E: (Yes!) Then its settled! Just meet me tomorrow at my house and we'll work out your payment plan! *chuckle*

T: (Did he just giggle?) Oh, yes, I'm... looking forward to it. (I'm going to leave that house a changed man.)

That's my take on it. It probably didn't happen that way, but... oh well. Anyways, going back to Thoreau: he says that you only learn from the labor wrought from your own hands: he doesn't even build the cabin he lived in! Other people did it for him! And then, like I said before, he says that you can only learn from your own expreiences. But then, he's like, read my book and learn from it. How can we if we can only teach ourselves? Somebody is a little bit contradictary... His name is Thoreau.

There's this guy in my history class, and I'm convinced he's gay. Well, maybe that's just wishful thinking on my part... okay, it definitely is me hoping desperately that he likes men. But what's the difference? Anyways, my gaydar is awful. I'm ALWAYS wrong. You'd think that as a homosexual I'd be able to identify my own kind, but sadly, I can't. So I'm not sure if he's queer or not. He's really cute... and smart. Not exactly a trend one finds in men these days. (Not a slight to men, but those are the facts: there are 21 girls in my AP United States History Class. There are seven guys. Hm... I wonder why...) So going back to this guy. Like I said, he's attractive. Lots of my lady friends have been throwing themselves at him for years, and yet, he's never had a girlfriend. (You could argue that he's just not interested in girls yet... I would say that its because he likes boys.) One of my good friends tried to go for him: the thing was a fiasco. She's pretty, blond, average height, nice smile, large-ish breasts. So we got physical appearance covered. She's also smart, witty, and very critical (just like him! Condescending bastards! Just kidding... sort of...) So they are personality compatible. So she asks him to a movie, and they agree on a date and time and so forth. So, the night of the movie, he calls her and says that he can't make it. Later, my friend and I discover that he couldn't go because he was at a play. With one of his guy friends. If blowing off a hot girl to see a play with another guy isn't a rainbow flag, then I must be straight. And I am not straight.

Maybe I'm stereotyping. Actually, I am stereotyping. Maybe I'm looking for signs that don't exist. Either way, I'm going to get him. Actually, I probably won't, because he's got two inches on me, plus biceps.

But I can dream, can't I?

My night of fruitless searching...

So. I wonder what propelled me to blog. Well, I like to write. A lot. So, I decided that if I can't get people I know to read my writing, I might as well let complete strangers read my literature instead. My aunt blogs. I think that's what did it...

My current frustration: my computer. It is running ridiculously slow, and I don't know why. Actually, that's a lie, but still. And, I've been searching online and on Limewire and Bittorrent for past century, and I cannot find Sailor Moon music. Argh... not to mention all of the web pages load very, very slowly, as if they were snails on a very, very hot day. So I've found almost nothing of which I was looking for. How productive.

And then, in attempt to relieve the angriness, I decided to log onto fanfiction.net, and was rewarded with crap writing and unfulfilled romance. Fine, Edward and Jacob meet a bar. That's fine, I can understand that. I can understand that they bump naughties. I got that. I mean, I wrote a fic about them getting it on, so really. But my fic didn't have ugly, gross, SIMPLE grammatical errors, such as misplacing or skipping conjunctions and commas. I understand that people are at different levels of intellect and I'm not trying to condescend. But I put a great deal of effort into my writing: I brainstorm and take notes and write and edit and write and edit and then edit again, just to make sure that my writing sucks because of CONTENT, not because of conventions. So to see someone slap an idea onto paper, type it up, then watch what could have been an excellent story trasform into a disgrace to the English language... terrible. It was a good story. I just wanted to stab my eyes out screaming,
"Comma! COMMA!! AHHH!! No, no! This sentence could be four! AND YOU DIDN'T INDENT THE NEXT PARAGRAPH!" Maybe that's just me being Puritanic about writing. Maybe it's a sign that some people should repeat middle school. Oh, what a horrible punishment that would be... *shudders*

Anyways... so I'm reading Walden right now... and I swear to God, Thoroeu (or whatever) was a fruitcake. I'm a fruitcake. I think fruit is delicious. But, digressions aside, the man lived with Emmerson for two years. TWO YEARS. Performing "odd jobs around the house, to pay for room and board" as my lit. book puts it. Really? Or, they could have been sleeping together, and Thoroeu was just a needy boyfriend. That's my thoery anyways. I think it has a certain ring of validity.

I'm so glad that elections are over. I can't even vote, but all of this endless arguing... I'm just gald it's over. FYI, I think Palin is adorable. So, she might be slightly mentally impaired. It never stopped anyone else, like Paris Hilton or Madonna. They're none too bright, and look where they are. Well, maybe that was a bad analogy. Back to the point, I want to meet Palin and go shopping with her. I mean, she might pull a gun on me, a .45 in one hand, and Holy Water in the other, but hey, she's so gosh darn cute!

Anyways, my eyes keeping falling down. Oh, and my mailman is really hot. I thought that was important. I hope this was fun/entertaining. Maybe if I get enough followers, I'll start taking requests for fanfics! That would be way fun...

Russ