I realize that it's been awhile since I've updated my blog, let alone been on blogspot. But looking back on my last post... Wow. Just wow.
Turns out that guy is a total ARSEFACE, and I'm completely over his sorry bum.
In case you're new to this blog, my last blog was uber-girly and embarassing and if you accuse me of anything stated in it, I will deny you.
Now to get on with some more interesting topics.
I have a surprise for you.
I'M WRITING A NOVEL!
Well, technically two. And like, three plays. And one novel I'm seriously considering turning into a play.
How is this possible? Well, you see, when a mommy and daddy love each other very much...
Wrong monologue.
Anyway, just because of the new addition, this doesn't mean that I love you any less.
STILL THE WRONG MONOLOGUE.
Reguardless, I don't have as much time for this blog anymore.
Howver, I DO plan to continue blogging more often :)
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Hannah Undisclosed-Surname and the Forgotten Remembrall
What kind of person forgets a remembrall?
-points to self-
This girl, right here. She forgets a remembrall.
To clear things up, my mom believes that shipping and handling is evil, so I'm only allowed to order things off the Internet in emergencies, like if I want a pair of footie pajamas, so therefore, I do not have an actual remembrall.
However, my iPod comes pretty darn close to being a remembrall.
Whenever I need to remember something, be it a story quote or a possible band name, I jot it down in the notes section of my iPod. Oh, ad there's also this feature on the iPod that plays music, and it's kind of like my life support.
I left my iPod at school. I brought it in my backpack to listen to o the bus and kept it in my backpack, howeer, I never actuallly listened to it because I didn't have time. Then as I was packing up all my stuff to go home at the end of the day, I chose not to bring my backpack home because I didn't have much homework and didn't need it. Oly when I got on the bus did I realize that my FREAKING iPOD was in the backpack I left in my locker.
-points to self-
This girl, right here. She forgets a remembrall.
To clear things up, my mom believes that shipping and handling is evil, so I'm only allowed to order things off the Internet in emergencies, like if I want a pair of footie pajamas, so therefore, I do not have an actual remembrall.
However, my iPod comes pretty darn close to being a remembrall.
Whenever I need to remember something, be it a story quote or a possible band name, I jot it down in the notes section of my iPod. Oh, ad there's also this feature on the iPod that plays music, and it's kind of like my life support.
I left my iPod at school. I brought it in my backpack to listen to o the bus and kept it in my backpack, howeer, I never actuallly listened to it because I didn't have time. Then as I was packing up all my stuff to go home at the end of the day, I chose not to bring my backpack home because I didn't have much homework and didn't need it. Oly when I got on the bus did I realize that my FREAKING iPOD was in the backpack I left in my locker.
Monday, September 27, 2010
School Carpet Theory
Dibs on the band name.
I'm home sick and have been meaning to blog, so I figure, what better time to blog than now?
A couple of years ago, I saw on the profile of several people on Fanfiction.net (since most people have THE EXACT SAME FREAKING PROFILE) that they wondered what happened to the little eraser bits. I do believe I have found an answer.
I was bored in Social studies, and had fallen asleep ever so slightly whilst holding an opened orange highlighter, and as my head began to bob, I highlighted part of my face. I only noticed when I felt something wet go across my face, and for a moment, I thought someone was licking me. However, there was an orange highligeter in my hand and no one within a close enough proximity to me to have been the licker, so I concluded that I had just turned a portion of my face orange. Then, I got to wondering, "Is this how the 'Orange Skin' trend got started?". As groundbreaking as that was, it is not the theory about where all of the little eraser bits go.
Not wanting to fall asleep again and become more Snooki-fied, I began studying the carpet. All school carpets look the same, you know. I don't care what grade you're in, the economic standing of your school district, the climate of the area in which you live, how dead or not-dead you are, ALL SCHOOL CARPETS LOOK THE SAME.
I began pondering, "Hmm, WHY could all school carpets look the same?" and then it hit me.
OBVIOUSLY, the carpet is scientifically designed to absorb all of the little eraser bits. I mean, DUH! Why hadn't I thought of it before?!
Icky! I just puked a bit. Usually, I wouldn't tell you that, because I am a lady, but it leads to another topic: People with bad taste.
Displays of Bad Taste I Have Recently Witnessed
1. The douchebag shell of a guy I once was friends with choosing '69' as his football jersey number. *groans*
2. The boy at a football game who asks a girl for her phone number the second his girlfriend leaves to go get popcorn or something.
3. People who ask other people to take pictures of them as they are texting. WHY?
4. My dad sending my mom a card for her birthday and asking why they don't make cards for ex-wives.
5. A certain 9-year-old mop-headed overrated teenage popstar calling himself the Kurt Cobain of his generation.
6. Algebra teachers in plaid shirts always finding little ways to make me redo my work.
7. Girls who talk about a guy's girlfriend badly just because they want him, too.
8. You don't want to know.
9. People who use the duckface in pictures.
10. Girls who think it's cute to jump up and down and scream during class while I'm trying to learn because they know the teacher won't call them out on it, however, if I start reading a book during that period before the begining of class when nothing happens, it gets confiscated.
So, I found some Playboy Bunny perfume by my locker and figured it was a girl's. So I brought it on the bus with me to show my friends and planned to put it in the Lost and Found the next day because even skanks deserve to find their lost perfume. It turns out, it was a guy's. OOPS.
I'm home sick and have been meaning to blog, so I figure, what better time to blog than now?
A couple of years ago, I saw on the profile of several people on Fanfiction.net (since most people have THE EXACT SAME FREAKING PROFILE) that they wondered what happened to the little eraser bits. I do believe I have found an answer.
I was bored in Social studies, and had fallen asleep ever so slightly whilst holding an opened orange highlighter, and as my head began to bob, I highlighted part of my face. I only noticed when I felt something wet go across my face, and for a moment, I thought someone was licking me. However, there was an orange highligeter in my hand and no one within a close enough proximity to me to have been the licker, so I concluded that I had just turned a portion of my face orange. Then, I got to wondering, "Is this how the 'Orange Skin' trend got started?". As groundbreaking as that was, it is not the theory about where all of the little eraser bits go.
Not wanting to fall asleep again and become more Snooki-fied, I began studying the carpet. All school carpets look the same, you know. I don't care what grade you're in, the economic standing of your school district, the climate of the area in which you live, how dead or not-dead you are, ALL SCHOOL CARPETS LOOK THE SAME.
I began pondering, "Hmm, WHY could all school carpets look the same?" and then it hit me.
OBVIOUSLY, the carpet is scientifically designed to absorb all of the little eraser bits. I mean, DUH! Why hadn't I thought of it before?!
Icky! I just puked a bit. Usually, I wouldn't tell you that, because I am a lady, but it leads to another topic: People with bad taste.
Displays of Bad Taste I Have Recently Witnessed
1. The douchebag shell of a guy I once was friends with choosing '69' as his football jersey number. *groans*
2. The boy at a football game who asks a girl for her phone number the second his girlfriend leaves to go get popcorn or something.
3. People who ask other people to take pictures of them as they are texting. WHY?
4. My dad sending my mom a card for her birthday and asking why they don't make cards for ex-wives.
5. A certain 9-year-old mop-headed overrated teenage popstar calling himself the Kurt Cobain of his generation.
6. Algebra teachers in plaid shirts always finding little ways to make me redo my work.
7. Girls who talk about a guy's girlfriend badly just because they want him, too.
8. You don't want to know.
9. People who use the duckface in pictures.
10. Girls who think it's cute to jump up and down and scream during class while I'm trying to learn because they know the teacher won't call them out on it, however, if I start reading a book during that period before the begining of class when nothing happens, it gets confiscated.
So, I found some Playboy Bunny perfume by my locker and figured it was a girl's. So I brought it on the bus with me to show my friends and planned to put it in the Lost and Found the next day because even skanks deserve to find their lost perfume. It turns out, it was a guy's. OOPS.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
I died peacefully... In a terroist bombing in my orthodontist's office that was also my grandma's house.
Title unrelated.
I had my first dress code violation of the year today. I'm perfectly aware of how skank-tastic this makes me sound, but I can explain myself. Male readers, I ask you leave now or be forever branded a perv.
I'm a C-cup, so I can't wear anything remotely low cut without having my teachers get on me about the only low-cutness of my shirt. I've tried EVERYTHING to keep them in place, like wearing camisoles under everything, but that, however, seems to help nothing.
Last year, I had a math teacher who seemed to take telling me my shirt was too low as a hobby. She once told me my skinny jeans were too baggy. Yes, there is definitely something wrong with that statement. Also, I've been aproached at lunch by lunchroom moniters who try to "whisper" that my shirt is too low, but anyone within a fifteen-foot radius can hear "HANNAH!! YOU LOOK LIKE A SKANK!!!".
Oh, but that's not even the best part.
Today is Wednesday, which does not only mean that Kayley Hyde will be posting a video today (YAY!!), but it also means that the cheerleaders wore their uniforms to school today.
In my pervious blog post, I ranted and raved about how disgustingly skanksauce the cheerleaders' uniforms were. The 8th Grade cheerleading uniforms aren't QUITE as bad, BUT THEY STILL VIOLATE THE BLOODY DRESS CODE! One of them even admitted that she's uncomfortable with the shortness.
So, the cheerleaders are allowed to wear super short skirts, but I'm not allowed to wear a remotely lowcut shrit even though my intentions are not slutty? FAIL.
I had my first dress code violation of the year today. I'm perfectly aware of how skank-tastic this makes me sound, but I can explain myself. Male readers, I ask you leave now or be forever branded a perv.
I'm a C-cup, so I can't wear anything remotely low cut without having my teachers get on me about the only low-cutness of my shirt. I've tried EVERYTHING to keep them in place, like wearing camisoles under everything, but that, however, seems to help nothing.
Last year, I had a math teacher who seemed to take telling me my shirt was too low as a hobby. She once told me my skinny jeans were too baggy. Yes, there is definitely something wrong with that statement. Also, I've been aproached at lunch by lunchroom moniters who try to "whisper" that my shirt is too low, but anyone within a fifteen-foot radius can hear "HANNAH!! YOU LOOK LIKE A SKANK!!!".
Oh, but that's not even the best part.
Today is Wednesday, which does not only mean that Kayley Hyde will be posting a video today (YAY!!), but it also means that the cheerleaders wore their uniforms to school today.
In my pervious blog post, I ranted and raved about how disgustingly skanksauce the cheerleaders' uniforms were. The 8th Grade cheerleading uniforms aren't QUITE as bad, BUT THEY STILL VIOLATE THE BLOODY DRESS CODE! One of them even admitted that she's uncomfortable with the shortness.
So, the cheerleaders are allowed to wear super short skirts, but I'm not allowed to wear a remotely lowcut shrit even though my intentions are not slutty? FAIL.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Sixth Grade Boys Make Me LAWL
Hey there... Please put the knife away, I have a good reason for being gone so long (not really, lol). I started school today. I have pretty much all of the same teachers as I did last year. It was a good day, but two things kind of screwed it all over.
I have Mr. Plaidshirt for Algebra again this year. I had him last year for Algebra, as well, and I kind of made him hate my guts. Long story short, I started a "That's What She Said" contest in the class, and wrote "My dice will not grow wings, steal my muffin, and fly to Jupiter" as an answer on some homework. I also once rode a pink scooter past his class one day... Anyway, I quit his class because even though tormenting him was kind of fun, he would make me re-do my work all the time and it was pretty much hell with a ton of books, but not even good ones, books with no pictures or story save for the occasional outdated picture of eighties people with bad perms who have a very fake look of surprise on their faces or the story problem, the only place one may purchase 82 watermelons and no one questions it.
I just hope he doens't hate me. Well, OK, I know he does. I'm probably just going to do the responsible thing and apologize for what I had done. Even though I totally regret nothing, I just don't want him to make my life a living hell again. The worst part is, choir, one of my favorite parts of the day, is right after, and lunch is right before so it goes HAPPYsadfaceHAPPY. No fricking fun.
Also, as I was getting off the bus I heard a sixth grader say, "Woah! Hot girl!" as I passed. I kind of regret wearing a skirt now. But in truth, I think he was just saying this to please his friends, as he's kind of on the, "I've just started middle school, aren't I so suave?" high, where apparently it's cool to be a total sleaze.
You know, it's kind of funny, isn't it?
That they think this is what gets girls? No, it's degrading. I'd rather you compliment me on my skillz on the pink scooter than my looks. Because the pink scooter is freaking awesome and was my idea, whereas my face (I hope it was my face) was NOT my idea.
I'm amused, yet violated.
I have Mr. Plaidshirt for Algebra again this year. I had him last year for Algebra, as well, and I kind of made him hate my guts. Long story short, I started a "That's What She Said" contest in the class, and wrote "My dice will not grow wings, steal my muffin, and fly to Jupiter" as an answer on some homework. I also once rode a pink scooter past his class one day... Anyway, I quit his class because even though tormenting him was kind of fun, he would make me re-do my work all the time and it was pretty much hell with a ton of books, but not even good ones, books with no pictures or story save for the occasional outdated picture of eighties people with bad perms who have a very fake look of surprise on their faces or the story problem, the only place one may purchase 82 watermelons and no one questions it.
I just hope he doens't hate me. Well, OK, I know he does. I'm probably just going to do the responsible thing and apologize for what I had done. Even though I totally regret nothing, I just don't want him to make my life a living hell again. The worst part is, choir, one of my favorite parts of the day, is right after, and lunch is right before so it goes HAPPYsadfaceHAPPY. No fricking fun.
Also, as I was getting off the bus I heard a sixth grader say, "Woah! Hot girl!" as I passed. I kind of regret wearing a skirt now. But in truth, I think he was just saying this to please his friends, as he's kind of on the, "I've just started middle school, aren't I so suave?" high, where apparently it's cool to be a total sleaze.
You know, it's kind of funny, isn't it?
That they think this is what gets girls? No, it's degrading. I'd rather you compliment me on my skillz on the pink scooter than my looks. Because the pink scooter is freaking awesome and was my idea, whereas my face (I hope it was my face) was NOT my idea.
I'm amused, yet violated.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
"Hey, Where's the trash?" "Over there" -points to cheerleaders
First I want to say no hate to cheerleaders as a whole, and am actually friends with some, but our Varsity squad at the first football game of the season seemed particularly skanky. I have little to hold against cheerleaders, seeing as I tried out last year (Note: Falling flat on your butt will not land you a spot on the squad), so saying I hate them ALL would just be dumb.
"Oh, Hannah, it can't be THAT BAD."
Oh, Reader, yes it was.
Looking at the big picture, it made the average Miley Cyrus performance look like some skit on Sesame Street, and not one of the unintentionally perverted ones, either.
When you go to look at the little details, you'll notice they're wearing sailor costumes. EFFING SAILOR COSTUMES. Effing sailor costumes that were shorter than the shorts on the sixth graders behind us who were trying to be cool by wearing denim unders. Which, by the way, is disgusting and impresses no one, because you ALL LOOK THE FRICKING SAME.
Next thing you see is that they're not really dancing. They're just like... Jumping. And squealing and performing a lot of unorganized arm-flailery for no real reason. At these point, one of my cheerleader friends said, "If they ever make us do something like this... I'm not doing it."
The only reason I actually watched the rest of the performance is because our school has a very skilled Michael Jackson impersonator and he was dancing in front of all of the cheerleaders. I only knew he came on because everyone was cheering. The way my school works, you would figure someone like, pantsed a football player or something, but it turns out the Michael impersonator had come out from nowhere (people just kept falling from the sky. I say this with all seriousness.).
The rest, I don't really feel like recounting. It just made me very ashamed to be female.
Anyway, the way I'm making this blog is because it's almost 5 AM and I have an auditon for Hairspray tomorrow for which I must be up at 8 AM, and I can't sleep. My brain is just in far too talkative a mood, so I chose to take it out on you. You're welcome.
What was that?
Did I just start dozing of a tad?
I believe so!!
G'night, friends!
"Oh, Hannah, it can't be THAT BAD."
Oh, Reader, yes it was.
Looking at the big picture, it made the average Miley Cyrus performance look like some skit on Sesame Street, and not one of the unintentionally perverted ones, either.
When you go to look at the little details, you'll notice they're wearing sailor costumes. EFFING SAILOR COSTUMES. Effing sailor costumes that were shorter than the shorts on the sixth graders behind us who were trying to be cool by wearing denim unders. Which, by the way, is disgusting and impresses no one, because you ALL LOOK THE FRICKING SAME.
Next thing you see is that they're not really dancing. They're just like... Jumping. And squealing and performing a lot of unorganized arm-flailery for no real reason. At these point, one of my cheerleader friends said, "If they ever make us do something like this... I'm not doing it."
The only reason I actually watched the rest of the performance is because our school has a very skilled Michael Jackson impersonator and he was dancing in front of all of the cheerleaders. I only knew he came on because everyone was cheering. The way my school works, you would figure someone like, pantsed a football player or something, but it turns out the Michael impersonator had come out from nowhere (people just kept falling from the sky. I say this with all seriousness.).
The rest, I don't really feel like recounting. It just made me very ashamed to be female.
Anyway, the way I'm making this blog is because it's almost 5 AM and I have an auditon for Hairspray tomorrow for which I must be up at 8 AM, and I can't sleep. My brain is just in far too talkative a mood, so I chose to take it out on you. You're welcome.
What was that?
Did I just start dozing of a tad?
I believe so!!
G'night, friends!
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Murder and Bedtime Stories Go Together Like Peanut Butter and Jelly: My Insane Childhood
If this hasn't already been gathered from my previous blog posts, I'm not the sanest eye of newt in the jar.
So, if one was to show the average psychotherapist my posts, they'd probably say something along the lines of, "Such behavior MUST have been caused by a turbulent childhood!"
They're right. Although, I really don't think "turbulent" is the right word for it. I mean, I was fed on a regular basis and was never hugged with a knife or anything, but my childhood was, without a doubt, far from normal.
I really could go on for ungodly amounts of paragraphs, but I'm not going to, because such a strange childhood just kind of induces laziness. No, not really. I'm just naturally like this.
I'm an only child. Don't think I didn't hear the "Oooh, LUCKY!". Well, it's not as good as you'd think. Apparently my mother is the only woman in town with the Anti-Weasley Uterus (Malfoy Uterus? I dunno), so I know like, 1 other only child.
This led to quite a bit of my oddness. And anti-social nature.
It also led to a rather racist game the teachers had us play at school. But that's a different story for a different time.
Not having a sibling to play games with, I usually played board games by myself. I innovated ways to play Candy Land alone, a Sesame Street thingamajig, then soon a Wizard of Oz game. Most of the time, I didn't play the game like a normal, sibling-having person would. I'd take the little game pawns and play with them, and make them actually do the challenges. In other words, during my childhood, whilst you were busy eating paste, I invented reality TV. Only-Child-ness: It gets stuff done.
Now that you want to spork my eyeballs out for inventing reality TV, I think you should know that by the time I started going to Kindergarten, I always played the games my way as opposed to the way other children were taught to play.
I distinctly remember playing Candy Land with Rachel in kindergarten, and she was just like, "Hannah... That's not how you play. At all."
Speaking of Rachel, the only person I know with a single ounce of sense, I remember in Kindergarten when apparently no one discussed Halloween costumes. See, I'm the type of girl who starts planning her Halloween costume around late December or so, and flip out around February if I don't at least have a few ideas narrowed down. I have literally had people ask me to please shut up about Halloween. Several times. Why, if I had a dime for every time that happened, I swear... I COULD BUY EVERY HALLOWEEN COSTUME EVVEEEERRRR *has puppies* Wow, I got off track. Anyway. Rachel. Halloween. We didn't discuss our costumes in kindergarten.
I was gonna be Rapunzel, my IDOL. Frankly, my almost-butt-length blonde hair WAS NOT LONG ENOUGH GOSH DARNIT. So, I did what any girl would do.
I tied a freaking jumprope to my hair.
It was so easy, all I did was throw on my favorite princess gown, place my crown atop my head, put my hair in a ponytail, tie jumprope to said ponytail...
Yeah. You get the picture.
So, I walk into the girls' bathroom where everyone's getting ready, and I'm talking to Rachel when I noticed her put this crown-ish thing that was all sparkley and whatnot with little streamers coming down on her head as I tied my jumprope to my hair.
I remember Rachel having a WTF moment but still really calm about the fact that her best friend had a jumprope tied to her ponytail, a feat few people can pull off.
"What are you?" One of us asked. Which one, I don't know.
"Rapunzel." The child who didn't ask the question said.
"Me, too!" The asker of the question said.
Great minds think alike. Blonde children put jumpropes in their hair. Remember this.
Throughout my childhood, I forced my dad to write fanfiction. You may call it "Bedtime stories". Meh, same flippin' difference.
Basically, Arthur, DW (characters from children's TV show), and myself would often go on mystery-solving adventures with the Scooby Doo gang, in the Magical Mystery Machine. God, that sounds like a play on "Magical Mystery Tour" or a type of LSD... Anyway, moving forward.
One of the more memorable times was when my dad had either spent too much time in the Magical Mystery Machine or was incredibly sleep deprived, and in the middle of the story, he just shouts things out, like:
"BEV IS A TERRIBLE DRIVER!!!" (Bev's my mom. I don't argue with this notion)
"And then, *mumbles* The happy dancing tree people were happy and rejoiced."
"Then the men started unloading tile from the truck..." (My dad's a construction contractor)
This was a story that I believe involved Pokemon and the board game Mousetrap. Nothing involving my mom being a driving tree-person unloading tile from a truck.
There was one bedtime story that made me ask the question, "Daddy, what's murder?". The mental image that came to my head when I'd heard the word didn't look anything like this at all. Actually, it kind of did. A lot.
In my minds eye, I saw a mother holding a baby tight.
DUDE THAT'S WEEEIIIIRRRRDDDD EVEN FOR ME.
And this is coming from the girl who once had neighbors with a little girl who liked to put a bucket over the head of herself and strangers and then hit the bucket with a freaking shovel.
That was my childhood.
So, if one was to show the average psychotherapist my posts, they'd probably say something along the lines of, "Such behavior MUST have been caused by a turbulent childhood!"
They're right. Although, I really don't think "turbulent" is the right word for it. I mean, I was fed on a regular basis and was never hugged with a knife or anything, but my childhood was, without a doubt, far from normal.
I really could go on for ungodly amounts of paragraphs, but I'm not going to, because such a strange childhood just kind of induces laziness. No, not really. I'm just naturally like this.
I'm an only child. Don't think I didn't hear the "Oooh, LUCKY!". Well, it's not as good as you'd think. Apparently my mother is the only woman in town with the Anti-Weasley Uterus (Malfoy Uterus? I dunno), so I know like, 1 other only child.
This led to quite a bit of my oddness. And anti-social nature.
It also led to a rather racist game the teachers had us play at school. But that's a different story for a different time.
Not having a sibling to play games with, I usually played board games by myself. I innovated ways to play Candy Land alone, a Sesame Street thingamajig, then soon a Wizard of Oz game. Most of the time, I didn't play the game like a normal, sibling-having person would. I'd take the little game pawns and play with them, and make them actually do the challenges. In other words, during my childhood, whilst you were busy eating paste, I invented reality TV. Only-Child-ness: It gets stuff done.
Now that you want to spork my eyeballs out for inventing reality TV, I think you should know that by the time I started going to Kindergarten, I always played the games my way as opposed to the way other children were taught to play.
I distinctly remember playing Candy Land with Rachel in kindergarten, and she was just like, "Hannah... That's not how you play. At all."
Speaking of Rachel, the only person I know with a single ounce of sense, I remember in Kindergarten when apparently no one discussed Halloween costumes. See, I'm the type of girl who starts planning her Halloween costume around late December or so, and flip out around February if I don't at least have a few ideas narrowed down. I have literally had people ask me to please shut up about Halloween. Several times. Why, if I had a dime for every time that happened, I swear... I COULD BUY EVERY HALLOWEEN COSTUME EVVEEEERRRR *has puppies* Wow, I got off track. Anyway. Rachel. Halloween. We didn't discuss our costumes in kindergarten.
I was gonna be Rapunzel, my IDOL. Frankly, my almost-butt-length blonde hair WAS NOT LONG ENOUGH GOSH DARNIT. So, I did what any girl would do.
I tied a freaking jumprope to my hair.
It was so easy, all I did was throw on my favorite princess gown, place my crown atop my head, put my hair in a ponytail, tie jumprope to said ponytail...
Yeah. You get the picture.
So, I walk into the girls' bathroom where everyone's getting ready, and I'm talking to Rachel when I noticed her put this crown-ish thing that was all sparkley and whatnot with little streamers coming down on her head as I tied my jumprope to my hair.
I remember Rachel having a WTF moment but still really calm about the fact that her best friend had a jumprope tied to her ponytail, a feat few people can pull off.
"What are you?" One of us asked. Which one, I don't know.
"Rapunzel." The child who didn't ask the question said.
"Me, too!" The asker of the question said.
Great minds think alike. Blonde children put jumpropes in their hair. Remember this.
Throughout my childhood, I forced my dad to write fanfiction. You may call it "Bedtime stories". Meh, same flippin' difference.
Basically, Arthur, DW (characters from children's TV show), and myself would often go on mystery-solving adventures with the Scooby Doo gang, in the Magical Mystery Machine. God, that sounds like a play on "Magical Mystery Tour" or a type of LSD... Anyway, moving forward.
One of the more memorable times was when my dad had either spent too much time in the Magical Mystery Machine or was incredibly sleep deprived, and in the middle of the story, he just shouts things out, like:
"BEV IS A TERRIBLE DRIVER!!!" (Bev's my mom. I don't argue with this notion)
"And then, *mumbles* The happy dancing tree people were happy and rejoiced."
"Then the men started unloading tile from the truck..." (My dad's a construction contractor)
This was a story that I believe involved Pokemon and the board game Mousetrap. Nothing involving my mom being a driving tree-person unloading tile from a truck.
There was one bedtime story that made me ask the question, "Daddy, what's murder?". The mental image that came to my head when I'd heard the word didn't look anything like this at all. Actually, it kind of did. A lot.
In my minds eye, I saw a mother holding a baby tight.
DUDE THAT'S WEEEIIIIRRRRDDDD EVEN FOR ME.
And this is coming from the girl who once had neighbors with a little girl who liked to put a bucket over the head of herself and strangers and then hit the bucket with a freaking shovel.
That was my childhood.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
I'm Going Away For Awhile
My aunt and cousin who live across the country were recently been in an awful car accident and my mom is flying down to Florida today to go help out for maybe a week or so. I'm going to be staying at my grandma's, or possibly between friends' houses while she's gone. Internet access will be VERY limited, and I'll be on when I can. Real-Life friends, please call or visit me as much as possible, without Internet I can assure you I will be bored out of my mind.
There's a slim chance there may be Wi-Fi at my grandma's, in which case, I'll probably delete this.
Sorry for probably failing to do Blog Every Day in August :(
There's a slim chance there may be Wi-Fi at my grandma's, in which case, I'll probably delete this.
Sorry for probably failing to do Blog Every Day in August :(
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
More Appropriate School Awards
If you haven't yet had to endure me squealing about how excited I am to be doing Yearbook Club next year, then you need to imagine Hermione given free roam in the Library of Congress. Got the mental image? Good.
So, every year, they have awards they give to the Eight Grade class. They're usually pretty stereotypical awards, like: Prettiest eyes, Nicest, Most School Spirit, Best Laugh, Biggest Beach Bum (Really, school? Really?), Loudest... You get the picture.
But when I masterfully start my reign as the unofficial dictator of Yearbook Club... the possibilities will be endless. And possibly illegal. But that is besides the point.
Now, I shall list for you what I think would be better in the awards categories.
1. Best Shampoo
2. Most Likely to Come Back and Teach
3. Most Detentions
4. Most Likely to Win Against Chuck Norris in a Cage Fight
5. Most Likely to Invent a Time Machine
6. Best Bangs
7. Most Glares from the Vice Principal
8. Best Locker
9. Most Likely to Provoke the Zombies
10. Funniest Classroom Interruptions
11. Best Impression of a Teacher
12. Best Braces Color Combinations
13. Most Likely to be the Next Hitler
14. Most Likely to Help an Old Lady Cross the Street
15. Most Likely to Die in a Mysterious Tennis Ball-Related Accident
16. Worst Pick-Up Lines
17. Future Soccer Moms of America
18. Best Screams of Terror (I have this one IN THE BAG. No, really. They love me at haunted houses)
Have anything you think should be added to the list? Tell me in the comments!
So, every year, they have awards they give to the Eight Grade class. They're usually pretty stereotypical awards, like: Prettiest eyes, Nicest, Most School Spirit, Best Laugh, Biggest Beach Bum (Really, school? Really?), Loudest... You get the picture.
But when I masterfully start my reign as the unofficial dictator of Yearbook Club... the possibilities will be endless. And possibly illegal. But that is besides the point.
Now, I shall list for you what I think would be better in the awards categories.
1. Best Shampoo
2. Most Likely to Come Back and Teach
3. Most Detentions
4. Most Likely to Win Against Chuck Norris in a Cage Fight
5. Most Likely to Invent a Time Machine
6. Best Bangs
7. Most Glares from the Vice Principal
8. Best Locker
9. Most Likely to Provoke the Zombies
10. Funniest Classroom Interruptions
11. Best Impression of a Teacher
12. Best Braces Color Combinations
13. Most Likely to be the Next Hitler
14. Most Likely to Help an Old Lady Cross the Street
15. Most Likely to Die in a Mysterious Tennis Ball-Related Accident
16. Worst Pick-Up Lines
17. Future Soccer Moms of America
18. Best Screams of Terror (I have this one IN THE BAG. No, really. They love me at haunted houses)
Have anything you think should be added to the list? Tell me in the comments!
Monday, August 2, 2010
RACHEL IS NOT CHINO!!
Since I don't really ever DO anything, for the most part of my Blog Every Day in August-ery, I'm probably just going to give you updates on my dreams, because weird dreams are the one consistant thing in my life.
In my dream, I was at school. It was still my school, but slightly modified. Also, the front of it, for some reason, was exceedingly similar to the front of the only good mall within 100 miles of town.
It was like a Pretty Little Liars/West Side Story/Peter Pan crossover, but with my friends and me in it.
The first thing out of the ordinary was that Ian Harding (mega sexy actor whom I recommend you Google) was a teacher at my school, and apparently we were together, and honestly, if I were ten years older, I would be SOO there.
Apparently he decided to wear my glasses (Yesh, I have glasses, I just don't wear them) to make him look "Unhandsomified" so no one would suspect that we were together, even though he still looked pretty hot. How that makes sense, I don't know.
Then, I recieve word that Chino from West Side Story is in the school and he's going to kill Ian Harding and I'm like "NOES!!", so I rush out to the front of the school and I see him and stab him. For whatever reason, I'm dressed in Colonial men's clothing. I guess, so no one will see me? I don't really know. Then, I take that off and am apparently wearing leggings and a dress-y shirt underneath. As well as my glasses, which just magically appear.
At some point, I run into the school and learn that I'm too late, and Chino killed Ian Harding but his ghost is here and wants to talk to me. So, we hide in an empty classroom and he talked to me. I don't remember what he said, I just remember those perfect, perfect dimples, and swirly, swirly curls.
Oh, drat. I got drool on my keyboard again.
After that, I'm pretty much just completely devestated and run outside to hitch a ride from someone's parents' taxi. Yes, in this world, everyone's parents have taxis. With their kid's Polyvore icon on them. So, I see Rachel's mom and I'm like "O hai can I have a ride" and she's like "SOMEONE KILLED RACHEL!!"
And it turns out, who I thought was Chino was actually Rachel. So then I was REALLY depressed, having just lost the guy I loved and my best friend. Then, I went to throw myself into the crocodile from Peter Pan's mouth. Then I woke up, because apparently you can have a shock attack in a dream.
In my dream, I was at school. It was still my school, but slightly modified. Also, the front of it, for some reason, was exceedingly similar to the front of the only good mall within 100 miles of town.
It was like a Pretty Little Liars/West Side Story/Peter Pan crossover, but with my friends and me in it.
The first thing out of the ordinary was that Ian Harding (mega sexy actor whom I recommend you Google) was a teacher at my school, and apparently we were together, and honestly, if I were ten years older, I would be SOO there.
Apparently he decided to wear my glasses (Yesh, I have glasses, I just don't wear them) to make him look "Unhandsomified" so no one would suspect that we were together, even though he still looked pretty hot. How that makes sense, I don't know.
Then, I recieve word that Chino from West Side Story is in the school and he's going to kill Ian Harding and I'm like "NOES!!", so I rush out to the front of the school and I see him and stab him. For whatever reason, I'm dressed in Colonial men's clothing. I guess, so no one will see me? I don't really know. Then, I take that off and am apparently wearing leggings and a dress-y shirt underneath. As well as my glasses, which just magically appear.
At some point, I run into the school and learn that I'm too late, and Chino killed Ian Harding but his ghost is here and wants to talk to me. So, we hide in an empty classroom and he talked to me. I don't remember what he said, I just remember those perfect, perfect dimples, and swirly, swirly curls.
Oh, drat. I got drool on my keyboard again.
After that, I'm pretty much just completely devestated and run outside to hitch a ride from someone's parents' taxi. Yes, in this world, everyone's parents have taxis. With their kid's Polyvore icon on them. So, I see Rachel's mom and I'm like "O hai can I have a ride" and she's like "SOMEONE KILLED RACHEL!!"
And it turns out, who I thought was Chino was actually Rachel. So then I was REALLY depressed, having just lost the guy I loved and my best friend. Then, I went to throw myself into the crocodile from Peter Pan's mouth. Then I woke up, because apparently you can have a shock attack in a dream.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Aww, frick.
As I may or may not have mentioned to you, I am currently on the most screwwwed sleep schedule ever.
On Wednesday night, I stayed up untill 2.
I know what you're thinking, "Awwh, Hannah, that's not SO bad, I mean it's not like you stayed up untill 2 PM instea-"
Well, I did in fact stay up untill 2 PM.
So, the next day, I tried to stay up a bit later so I could go to bed at a semi-reasonable time. I did stay up later. An hour later.
Then, on Friday, I entertained myself with finishing fanfictions and watching Nostalgia Critic videos untill I FINALLY crashed at 7:30 PM. YAY!! Regular sleep scheduleness has been restored! Collect $200 and pass go!
Then I woke up at about 4 AM, and after trying to fall back asleep for an hour with no avail, I declared myself Offically Pronounced Awake at around 5.
Well, see, guys, the problem herin lies at the time I fell asleep last night. 4:30 AM.
I'm BAFFLED. I wasn't tired at all untill around 4:30 when I just passed out from sheer tiredness that had just decided to show up.
I slept untill 5:47 PM. That's 13 hours and 17 minutes of sleep, folks.
Yep, I completely slept away the Boy Who Lived's birthday.
My, I feel like such a good person.
In other news, during my thriteen-hour-and-seventeen-minute sleep, I had a really odd dream that just goes to show how messed up my subconcious is.
So, in my dream, I lived in this old house with a bunch of Mexican people who I think were Mexican Weasleys because of that intuition you always get in your dreams and not because I'm racist* because I'm not.
In other news, during my thriteen-hour-and-seventeen-minute sleep, I had a really odd dream that just goes to show how messed up my subconcious is.
So, in my dream, I lived in this old house with a bunch of Mexican people who I think were Mexican Weasleys because of that intuition you always get in your dreams and not because I'm racist* because I'm not.
Then all of a sudden it was the first day of school and I'm like "OH YEAH WHAT NOW?!" And then once the bus is coming, I realize I don't have any shoes. And so the Mexican Weasleys are all like "AY AY AY!! BLOODY HELL! WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE! BURRITOS AND CRUMPETS!". I know. Those sentences just don't sound right together.
In the spur of my "Oh, CRAP!" moment, I run to the shoe closet which for some reason is on the porch (?) and my mom hands me some Crocs.
I didn't want to wear Crocs, because quite frankly, I no longer enjoy them, so I threw them onto the roof and grabbed some Adidas flip flops and ran for it.
I got onto the buss which looked oddly similar to the "Weird Load" bus in Across the Universe, and sat next to Rachel who had a seat in the back of the bus. So we start talking and stuff, when for reasons unexplained, we run over some sand, and apparently it's a really big deal.
However, that plotline goes nowhere.
We soon arrive in school, only, were were in this weird place that reminded me of a hospital, though, it was a really weird hospital that was more like a very old house with hospital-like qualities.
The next thing I know, I'm in Industrial Tech and we're doing a metal lab, weird, since I hated metalshop with a sincere passion. We decide to take a little excursion wearing space suits.
Then, once we get back, all of these celebrities are there and for some reason I'm like hurt or something and they had to give me an operation. After that, I was like, really weirded out, so I snuck upstairs and went to the fireplace to floo someone. Who, I don't know, because then I woke up.
Oh, and I'm doing Blog Every Day in August, or at least trying :)
On Wednesday night, I stayed up untill 2.
I know what you're thinking, "Awwh, Hannah, that's not SO bad, I mean it's not like you stayed up untill 2 PM instea-"
Well, I did in fact stay up untill 2 PM.
So, the next day, I tried to stay up a bit later so I could go to bed at a semi-reasonable time. I did stay up later. An hour later.
Then, on Friday, I entertained myself with finishing fanfictions and watching Nostalgia Critic videos untill I FINALLY crashed at 7:30 PM. YAY!! Regular sleep scheduleness has been restored! Collect $200 and pass go!
Then I woke up at about 4 AM, and after trying to fall back asleep for an hour with no avail, I declared myself Offically Pronounced Awake at around 5.
Well, see, guys, the problem herin lies at the time I fell asleep last night. 4:30 AM.
I'm BAFFLED. I wasn't tired at all untill around 4:30 when I just passed out from sheer tiredness that had just decided to show up.
I slept untill 5:47 PM. That's 13 hours and 17 minutes of sleep, folks.
Yep, I completely slept away the Boy Who Lived's birthday.
My, I feel like such a good person.
In other news, during my thriteen-hour-and-seventeen-minute sleep, I had a really odd dream that just goes to show how messed up my subconcious is.
So, in my dream, I lived in this old house with a bunch of Mexican people who I think were Mexican Weasleys because of that intuition you always get in your dreams and not because I'm racist* because I'm not.
In other news, during my thriteen-hour-and-seventeen-minute sleep, I had a really odd dream that just goes to show how messed up my subconcious is.
So, in my dream, I lived in this old house with a bunch of Mexican people who I think were Mexican Weasleys because of that intuition you always get in your dreams and not because I'm racist* because I'm not.
Then all of a sudden it was the first day of school and I'm like "OH YEAH WHAT NOW?!" And then once the bus is coming, I realize I don't have any shoes. And so the Mexican Weasleys are all like "AY AY AY!! BLOODY HELL! WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE! BURRITOS AND CRUMPETS!". I know. Those sentences just don't sound right together.
In the spur of my "Oh, CRAP!" moment, I run to the shoe closet which for some reason is on the porch (?) and my mom hands me some Crocs.
I didn't want to wear Crocs, because quite frankly, I no longer enjoy them, so I threw them onto the roof and grabbed some Adidas flip flops and ran for it.
I got onto the buss which looked oddly similar to the "Weird Load" bus in Across the Universe, and sat next to Rachel who had a seat in the back of the bus. So we start talking and stuff, when for reasons unexplained, we run over some sand, and apparently it's a really big deal.
However, that plotline goes nowhere.
We soon arrive in school, only, were were in this weird place that reminded me of a hospital, though, it was a really weird hospital that was more like a very old house with hospital-like qualities.
The next thing I know, I'm in Industrial Tech and we're doing a metal lab, weird, since I hated metalshop with a sincere passion. We decide to take a little excursion wearing space suits.
Then, once we get back, all of these celebrities are there and for some reason I'm like hurt or something and they had to give me an operation. After that, I was like, really weirded out, so I snuck upstairs and went to the fireplace to floo someone. Who, I don't know, because then I woke up.
Oh, and I'm doing Blog Every Day in August, or at least trying :)
Friday, July 30, 2010
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY!!
First things first, birthday wishes to Harry Potter on his 30th birthday! Sorry my plans for a birthday party fell through... Oh well, he'll never know. He's too half way across the world to know I failed.
In other news, I finally got around to watching Phantom of the Opera, which is about a love triangle.
Now, if you know me, you know that I have little tolerance for love triangles, which is most of the reason why I dislike Twilight and never finished Catching Fire. (However, I must add that one Triangle I like is in the fanfiction How to Save a Life)
However, the plot and music (and the guy Rauol) kept me interested. Mostly Rauol.
So, if you haven't seen Phantom of the Opera, and plan to, and don't like spoilers, don't read the rest of this entry.
-------- Spoilers be HERE ------------
So, the main character, Christine, ends up with Raoul, much to my SQUEE!!, and much to the Phantom's angst.
All happy about this, I go to my trusty Laptop of Knowledge and Google Phantom of the Opera because ya know what, that's just how I roll.
Then something crappy happened, very similar to the time when I Googled the oh-so-adorable song "Hey There Delilah" and found out that Delilah didn't like the song and snubbed the guy who sings it, hence ruining the whole song for me. Sorry if I ruined it for you, too.
What crappy thing happened was that I happened to see on Wikipedia that apparently there's a sequel to Phantom of the Opera calld Love Never Dies. Excited, I clicked on it. Well, it turns out, this is how it goes:
Raoul abuses Christine and their son, Gustave, and apparently doesn't love her anymore. BOOOOO!! God, people, this musical is called "Love Never Dies", not "Andrew Lloyd Webber Decides to Ruin a Perfectly Loving (and Really Ridiculously Sexy) Male Lead"!!
So, then, we learn that Phantom is Gustave's real father. WELL BLEH ON YOU!
Am I the only one who thinks this is like one of those really sucky sequels Disney has a tendency to pump out?
In other news, I finally got around to watching Phantom of the Opera, which is about a love triangle.
Now, if you know me, you know that I have little tolerance for love triangles, which is most of the reason why I dislike Twilight and never finished Catching Fire. (However, I must add that one Triangle I like is in the fanfiction How to Save a Life)
However, the plot and music (and the guy Rauol) kept me interested. Mostly Rauol.
So, if you haven't seen Phantom of the Opera, and plan to, and don't like spoilers, don't read the rest of this entry.
-------- Spoilers be HERE ------------
So, the main character, Christine, ends up with Raoul, much to my SQUEE!!, and much to the Phantom's angst.
All happy about this, I go to my trusty Laptop of Knowledge and Google Phantom of the Opera because ya know what, that's just how I roll.
Then something crappy happened, very similar to the time when I Googled the oh-so-adorable song "Hey There Delilah" and found out that Delilah didn't like the song and snubbed the guy who sings it, hence ruining the whole song for me. Sorry if I ruined it for you, too.
What crappy thing happened was that I happened to see on Wikipedia that apparently there's a sequel to Phantom of the Opera calld Love Never Dies. Excited, I clicked on it. Well, it turns out, this is how it goes:
Raoul abuses Christine and their son, Gustave, and apparently doesn't love her anymore. BOOOOO!! God, people, this musical is called "Love Never Dies", not "Andrew Lloyd Webber Decides to Ruin a Perfectly Loving (and Really Ridiculously Sexy) Male Lead"!!
So, then, we learn that Phantom is Gustave's real father. WELL BLEH ON YOU!
Am I the only one who thinks this is like one of those really sucky sequels Disney has a tendency to pump out?
Sunday, July 18, 2010
My absense, and rather realistic Marauder Sims
I'd like to start off with apologizing for my prolonged absense, just...
NOTHING'S HAPPENED.
Seriously.
The best thing I've done since I updated was going to a Fourth of July party, at which I read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix the whole time. I didn't know anyone there, so it was kind of like the "Poor Thing" scene in Sweeney Todd (which I've become rather obsessed with over my hiatus), only I didn't get raped or drugged.
So, if I have nothing happening, I have nothing to talk about.
Sure, I could tell you about all of the photo manipulations I made as movie posters for a fanfic I'm writing with Rachel that follows the plotline of Sweeney Todd, but with Harry Potter characters, but you would get bored out of your mind because few of my readers would actually understand what was going on, but if you did, you'd love it.
But something that you will likely understand is this: I have reason to believe I have the marauders living in my laptop.
OOOOKKKKK that sounds wrong.
Whatever, they live in my computer.
So, a few days ago, Rachel came over, and we made Marauders Sims just because we freaking could. So, We made Sirius, James, Remus, pettigrew (who soon wet himself and died. Best vengence EVER.) and put them in the same dorm as the Sims of us (as well as Tela and Izzy) and put the game on free will. That, my lovelies, is big mistake #1.
So, I'm going to give you a little run-down of what happened.
1. There was a giant dance party. Remus and Sirius did some type of dance move that looke mysteriously like Thriller, making me smile. Sirius also grinds Frank, making me highly amused and a little bit afraid.
2. peter pettigrew wet himself and died. I cheered.
3. The Sims were in University, which means they had to do things like study which only Remus and Rachel enjoyed. See, in the midst of this epicsauce dance party, everyone save for R&R forgot to do their homework before Freshman Midterms. Long story short, Tela got on Academic Probation and had to restart Freshman year. Everyone else somehow just barely scraped up a grade decent enough to pass.
4. We selected our majors. I took Theatre, Izzy and Rachel both took Literature (I'm still confused as to why Izzy did, but I can totally see Rachel doing this), Tela took Art, Remus took math, Frank took psychology, James took philosophy (probably just to get laid), and Sirius took political science (I can see this happening).
5. I forced everyone to study their blast-ended, well, ends off. Because otherwise they'll get expelled and I don't want that, because quite frankly, college is fun. My sim does homework but seems very distracted. This game clearly is advanced technology from the future on a planet whose name I cannot pronounce nor type.
6. I talk to James about theatre.
7. James throws a water balloon at me.
8. I joy-buzz James.
9. Sirius gets in a fight with a man named Wong.
10. Sirius starts rapping.
11. In a bathroom.
12. For tips.
13. While Sirius raps in a bathroom for tips, it seems James got too close. There was a glitch apparently, and now there's this hilarious picture in which it looks like James is giving Sirius a giant huggle from behind, and it's pretty much the best thing ever and I'm considering making it a religion.
14. James tries flirting with Izzy.
15. Izzy laughs at him and walks away.
16. Rachel and Remus snog (sorry, Fangbo. I didn't make this happen).
17. Then Rachel goes and sleeps in Frank's bed. I feel the need to tell her that this is completely counter-productive.
18. Then I go and sleep in James's bed. In my underwear. He watches me. I really don't have anything on Rachel anymore.
19. Then, you see me walking out of James's room in only my underwear. Ladies and gentlemen, if you ever see me walking out of James Potter's room in only my underwear, I give you my consent to use an unforgivable curse of your choice on myself and/or him.
20. James snogs... A mop? He was apparently romantically depraved, so he started going at it with the lady who just bought a Swifer Sweeper's ex.
21. I walk in on James and Mopsie. I ridicule James.
22. Then I proceed to flirt with him. -_-
23. Sirius intervenes with a dirty joke!! YAY SIRIUS!!
24. I think about giving birth as I eat cereal. I remain speechless.
25. I walk into James's room in my unders and we snog. This, my lovelies, is not my proudest moment.
26. We finish Freshman year (except for Tela, who had to restart the first half of the year when she got on academic probation), everyone on the Dean's List because I forced everyone to study (note: this is the only thing I did. Everything else is the works of the little brain inside my computer that sometimes gets a tad hungover and makes my sim do stupid things like snog James Potter while clad in only my unders - But that's a different story)
27. James and I sit on the couch and snog. Izzy walks by with a look of sheer WTF. Izzy's face says it all.
28. Rachel snogs Frank (again, sorry, Fangbo), making Remus pissed and break up with her.
29. Rachel and Frank snog repeatedly.
30. But the only thing Remus is doing is his homework.
31. But then he decides to go flirt with Izzy.
32. Izzy rejects him.
33. Then Remus tries again and this time Izzy doesn't slap him.
34. Tela discovers the hot tub on the upper level. So does a creepy ginger dude with a weird buzz cut who gets in with her. Tela gets scared and leaves. Good Tela!
35. Whilst making sure James isn't failing, I chose to check his wants. He wants to get engaged to me and start practice making things that look like mandrakes. I curled up on the floor and died.
36. It turns out my sim has the same wants. FML.
37. Oh, and Rachel and Frank want to get engaged, too.
Here's to NEVER leaving the Sims on free will and watching it like it's some sort of reality show.
NOTHING'S HAPPENED.
Seriously.
The best thing I've done since I updated was going to a Fourth of July party, at which I read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix the whole time. I didn't know anyone there, so it was kind of like the "Poor Thing" scene in Sweeney Todd (which I've become rather obsessed with over my hiatus), only I didn't get raped or drugged.
So, if I have nothing happening, I have nothing to talk about.
Sure, I could tell you about all of the photo manipulations I made as movie posters for a fanfic I'm writing with Rachel that follows the plotline of Sweeney Todd, but with Harry Potter characters, but you would get bored out of your mind because few of my readers would actually understand what was going on, but if you did, you'd love it.
But something that you will likely understand is this: I have reason to believe I have the marauders living in my laptop.
OOOOKKKKK that sounds wrong.
Whatever, they live in my computer.
So, a few days ago, Rachel came over, and we made Marauders Sims just because we freaking could. So, We made Sirius, James, Remus, pettigrew (who soon wet himself and died. Best vengence EVER.) and put them in the same dorm as the Sims of us (as well as Tela and Izzy) and put the game on free will. That, my lovelies, is big mistake #1.
So, I'm going to give you a little run-down of what happened.
1. There was a giant dance party. Remus and Sirius did some type of dance move that looke mysteriously like Thriller, making me smile. Sirius also grinds Frank, making me highly amused and a little bit afraid.
2. peter pettigrew wet himself and died. I cheered.
3. The Sims were in University, which means they had to do things like study which only Remus and Rachel enjoyed. See, in the midst of this epicsauce dance party, everyone save for R&R forgot to do their homework before Freshman Midterms. Long story short, Tela got on Academic Probation and had to restart Freshman year. Everyone else somehow just barely scraped up a grade decent enough to pass.
4. We selected our majors. I took Theatre, Izzy and Rachel both took Literature (I'm still confused as to why Izzy did, but I can totally see Rachel doing this), Tela took Art, Remus took math, Frank took psychology, James took philosophy (probably just to get laid), and Sirius took political science (I can see this happening).
5. I forced everyone to study their blast-ended, well, ends off. Because otherwise they'll get expelled and I don't want that, because quite frankly, college is fun. My sim does homework but seems very distracted. This game clearly is advanced technology from the future on a planet whose name I cannot pronounce nor type.
6. I talk to James about theatre.
7. James throws a water balloon at me.
8. I joy-buzz James.
9. Sirius gets in a fight with a man named Wong.
10. Sirius starts rapping.
11. In a bathroom.
12. For tips.
13. While Sirius raps in a bathroom for tips, it seems James got too close. There was a glitch apparently, and now there's this hilarious picture in which it looks like James is giving Sirius a giant huggle from behind, and it's pretty much the best thing ever and I'm considering making it a religion.
14. James tries flirting with Izzy.
15. Izzy laughs at him and walks away.
16. Rachel and Remus snog (sorry, Fangbo. I didn't make this happen).
17. Then Rachel goes and sleeps in Frank's bed. I feel the need to tell her that this is completely counter-productive.
18. Then I go and sleep in James's bed. In my underwear. He watches me. I really don't have anything on Rachel anymore.
19. Then, you see me walking out of James's room in only my underwear. Ladies and gentlemen, if you ever see me walking out of James Potter's room in only my underwear, I give you my consent to use an unforgivable curse of your choice on myself and/or him.
20. James snogs... A mop? He was apparently romantically depraved, so he started going at it with the lady who just bought a Swifer Sweeper's ex.
21. I walk in on James and Mopsie. I ridicule James.
22. Then I proceed to flirt with him. -_-
23. Sirius intervenes with a dirty joke!! YAY SIRIUS!!
24. I think about giving birth as I eat cereal. I remain speechless.
25. I walk into James's room in my unders and we snog. This, my lovelies, is not my proudest moment.
26. We finish Freshman year (except for Tela, who had to restart the first half of the year when she got on academic probation), everyone on the Dean's List because I forced everyone to study (note: this is the only thing I did. Everything else is the works of the little brain inside my computer that sometimes gets a tad hungover and makes my sim do stupid things like snog James Potter while clad in only my unders - But that's a different story)
27. James and I sit on the couch and snog. Izzy walks by with a look of sheer WTF. Izzy's face says it all.
28. Rachel snogs Frank (again, sorry, Fangbo), making Remus pissed and break up with her.
29. Rachel and Frank snog repeatedly.
30. But the only thing Remus is doing is his homework.
31. But then he decides to go flirt with Izzy.
32. Izzy rejects him.
33. Then Remus tries again and this time Izzy doesn't slap him.
34. Tela discovers the hot tub on the upper level. So does a creepy ginger dude with a weird buzz cut who gets in with her. Tela gets scared and leaves. Good Tela!
35. Whilst making sure James isn't failing, I chose to check his wants. He wants to get engaged to me and start practice making things that look like mandrakes. I curled up on the floor and died.
36. It turns out my sim has the same wants. FML.
37. Oh, and Rachel and Frank want to get engaged, too.
Here's to NEVER leaving the Sims on free will and watching it like it's some sort of reality show.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Today is Notsome, and I officially have a Petunia
Today's been pretty notsome.
Today, I learned that some eighth grade bitches (forgive my language, I'm angry) I don't even know made fun of my "dancing with air" thing at the dance. I wonder if they realize I was making fun of them, the ones who think they aren't worth crap without their boyfriend (who only likes them for their body (*cough*JAMES POTTER*cough) and easy-to-get-into-the-pants-of-ness)and bright orange spray tan.
Here's the best part. I learned that my COUSIN (who is a muggle and has SERIOUS ego issues) was amongst the spray-tanned airheaded individuals mocking my display of sheer awesome. So, yes, she's be forgetting to be awesome lately, and yes, she's been hanging around some of the worst types of muggles imaginable... But she's FAMILY. And I would've expected her to at least be a bit loyal to me. And yes, while I still love her like family should... Really? REALLY?!? Two galleons says that if my future husband and I ever died when our kid was still a baby and she was forced to take him in, he'd live in a cupboard under the stairs untill Hogwarts starts writing them and saying they know he lives under the stairs.
And you wonder why I've been considering moving across the country to the one really warm place with cowboys to live with my dad.
Today, I learned that some eighth grade bitches (forgive my language, I'm angry) I don't even know made fun of my "dancing with air" thing at the dance. I wonder if they realize I was making fun of them, the ones who think they aren't worth crap without their boyfriend (who only likes them for their body (*cough*JAMES POTTER*cough) and easy-to-get-into-the-pants-of-ness)and bright orange spray tan.
Here's the best part. I learned that my COUSIN (who is a muggle and has SERIOUS ego issues) was amongst the spray-tanned airheaded individuals mocking my display of sheer awesome. So, yes, she's be forgetting to be awesome lately, and yes, she's been hanging around some of the worst types of muggles imaginable... But she's FAMILY. And I would've expected her to at least be a bit loyal to me. And yes, while I still love her like family should... Really? REALLY?!? Two galleons says that if my future husband and I ever died when our kid was still a baby and she was forced to take him in, he'd live in a cupboard under the stairs untill Hogwarts starts writing them and saying they know he lives under the stairs.
And you wonder why I've been considering moving across the country to the one really warm place with cowboys to live with my dad.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Marauders in my yard?
My magic brings animaguses to the yard and they're like, where's the flying car?
Ok, that last part was COMPLETELY irrelevant. I just needed something that rhymed.
Anyway, today, my mom spotted A RAT in our driveway.
Now, my mother and I are very meticulous and neat people, so we knew that the rat was not because of us, but our neighbor who has neglected mowing her lawn for so fraking long, it is actually up to my thighs. Thank GOD we're moving!
Anyway, you may or may not know that the only two animals I truly detest are rats and pigeons. Rats, mostly because I'm reminded of that, well, rat, Peter Pettigrew, as well as their general creepy-filty-backstabbing-vermin demeanor.
As for pigeons... Well, that's another story for another time.
So, I naturally couldn't help thinking "PETTIGREW!!! That scum's here to spy on me, make sure I never get my Hogwarts letter..." And then I began reflecting on other times when I believe I've been visited by a marauder.
PRONGS: In our old house, we had all of this woods behind us. Often, we'd look out and see a cluster of about three or so deer. It doesn't stop there. In our current house, when driving, we often see deer out. We no longer have a forest, let alone many trees, in our yard, so I really don't expect to see a deer actually in my yard.
PADFOOT: One day, a big black dog came up to our back door. No ID or anything. He just sat there and looked up at me through the window in the door. Unfortunately, my dad wouldn't let Sirius in, no matter how much I begged an pleaded.
You now understand what my psychologist deals with on a regular basis.
Ok, that last part was COMPLETELY irrelevant. I just needed something that rhymed.
Anyway, today, my mom spotted A RAT in our driveway.
Now, my mother and I are very meticulous and neat people, so we knew that the rat was not because of us, but our neighbor who has neglected mowing her lawn for so fraking long, it is actually up to my thighs. Thank GOD we're moving!
Anyway, you may or may not know that the only two animals I truly detest are rats and pigeons. Rats, mostly because I'm reminded of that, well, rat, Peter Pettigrew, as well as their general creepy-filty-backstabbing-vermin demeanor.
As for pigeons... Well, that's another story for another time.
So, I naturally couldn't help thinking "PETTIGREW!!! That scum's here to spy on me, make sure I never get my Hogwarts letter..." And then I began reflecting on other times when I believe I've been visited by a marauder.
PRONGS: In our old house, we had all of this woods behind us. Often, we'd look out and see a cluster of about three or so deer. It doesn't stop there. In our current house, when driving, we often see deer out. We no longer have a forest, let alone many trees, in our yard, so I really don't expect to see a deer actually in my yard.
PADFOOT: One day, a big black dog came up to our back door. No ID or anything. He just sat there and looked up at me through the window in the door. Unfortunately, my dad wouldn't let Sirius in, no matter how much I begged an pleaded.
You now understand what my psychologist deals with on a regular basis.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Thanks to school, R-E-L-A-X is a word I'll never learn to pronounce.
I think I have grown too used to school. I bet on the first monday (I feel this utterly forsaken day of the week is unworthy of my capitalization) of summer, I'll wake up early, eat breakfast, and walk to the bus stop. Then, after hours of waiting for a bus that will never come, I'll realize it's summer.
School's worked me to the BONE. Knowing my luck (or lack of thereof) I honestly doubt I'll be able to accept the glorious fact that I'll have every day off of school for the next three months untill the day school starts back up.
Every time I ask myself if there's something I want to do over the summer, it goes something like this:
Voice #1: Hey! You should go to the park tonight with some friends and catch fireflies!
Voice #2: I can't, I have school tommorrow, and besides, I don't have friends.
Voice #1: Dude, it's summer.
Voice #2: SERIOUSLY?!?!
Voice #1: *sigh* Yes, it's summer. That means you can stay up as late as you want.
Voice #2: What am I supposed to do about the friends thing?
Voice #1:...
Voice #2: Um, hello? Are you there?
Voice #1: You know, I'll get back to you on that one. Maybe. Just scroll the Facebook newsfeed untill something happens.
And now you know what the conversations between my voices sound like. And what my summers are like.
School's worked me to the BONE. Knowing my luck (or lack of thereof) I honestly doubt I'll be able to accept the glorious fact that I'll have every day off of school for the next three months untill the day school starts back up.
Every time I ask myself if there's something I want to do over the summer, it goes something like this:
Voice #1: Hey! You should go to the park tonight with some friends and catch fireflies!
Voice #2: I can't, I have school tommorrow, and besides, I don't have friends.
Voice #1: Dude, it's summer.
Voice #2: SERIOUSLY?!?!
Voice #1: *sigh* Yes, it's summer. That means you can stay up as late as you want.
Voice #2: What am I supposed to do about the friends thing?
Voice #1:...
Voice #2: Um, hello? Are you there?
Voice #1: You know, I'll get back to you on that one. Maybe. Just scroll the Facebook newsfeed untill something happens.
And now you know what the conversations between my voices sound like. And what my summers are like.
I will never be relaxed or social
I think I have grown too used to school. I bet on the first monday (I feel this utterly forsaken day of the week is unworthy of my capitalization) of summer, I'll wake up early, eat breakfast, and walk to the bus stop. Then, after hours of waiting for a bus that will never come, I'll realize it's summer.
School's worked me to the BONE. Knowing my luck (or lack of thereof) I honestly doubt I'll be able to accept the glorious fact that I'll have every day off of school for the next three months untill the day school starts back up.
Every time I ask myself if there's something I want to do over the summer, it goes something like this:
Voice #1: Hey! You should go to the park tonight with some friends and catch fireflies!
Voice #2: I can't, I have school tommorrow, and besides, I don't have friends.
Voice #1: Dude, it's summer.
Voice #2: SERIOUSLY?!?!
Voice #1: *sigh* Yes, it's summer. That means you can stay up as late as you want.
Voice #2: What am I supposed to do about the friends thing?
Voice #1:...
Voice #2: Um, hello? Are you there?
Voice #1: You know, I'll get back to you on that one. Maybe. Just scroll the Facebook newsfeed untill something happens.
And now you know what the conversations between my voices sound like. And what my summers are like.
School's worked me to the BONE. Knowing my luck (or lack of thereof) I honestly doubt I'll be able to accept the glorious fact that I'll have every day off of school for the next three months untill the day school starts back up.
Every time I ask myself if there's something I want to do over the summer, it goes something like this:
Voice #1: Hey! You should go to the park tonight with some friends and catch fireflies!
Voice #2: I can't, I have school tommorrow, and besides, I don't have friends.
Voice #1: Dude, it's summer.
Voice #2: SERIOUSLY?!?!
Voice #1: *sigh* Yes, it's summer. That means you can stay up as late as you want.
Voice #2: What am I supposed to do about the friends thing?
Voice #1:...
Voice #2: Um, hello? Are you there?
Voice #1: You know, I'll get back to you on that one. Maybe. Just scroll the Facebook newsfeed untill something happens.
And now you know what the conversations between my voices sound like. And what my summers are like.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Back to the Future has made me PARANOID!
Ever since I saw Back to the Future, I've been constantly on the lookout for my future children who may or may not go to my school because they got stuck in a terrible accident involving a crazy old scientist, a DeLorean, a flux capacitor, and some stolen uranium.
Oh, don't you DARE sit there and pretend you don't do this, too.
The key things I look for in a possible Marty McFly are in the list following this sentence:
1. Green eyes. I has green eyes, and it's the least common eye color in the WORLD, so my kid would probably have 'em, too.
2. A slightly (ok, more than slightly) awkward nature, like the one of myself.
3. A strange sense of humor. Is explanation really required?
4. Person takes a particular intrest/no intrest whatsoever in me.
5. Person is a Harry Potter fan (Some people read their children nursery rhymes to bed, I will read Beedle the Bard, or just slightly less gory Harry Potter scenes)
6. Is constantly suggesting I go out with a random dude.
I don't think there's much else to say. Are there any other freaks out there, or is it just me?
Oh, don't you DARE sit there and pretend you don't do this, too.
The key things I look for in a possible Marty McFly are in the list following this sentence:
1. Green eyes. I has green eyes, and it's the least common eye color in the WORLD, so my kid would probably have 'em, too.
2. A slightly (ok, more than slightly) awkward nature, like the one of myself.
3. A strange sense of humor. Is explanation really required?
4. Person takes a particular intrest/no intrest whatsoever in me.
5. Person is a Harry Potter fan (Some people read their children nursery rhymes to bed, I will read Beedle the Bard, or just slightly less gory Harry Potter scenes)
6. Is constantly suggesting I go out with a random dude.
I don't think there's much else to say. Are there any other freaks out there, or is it just me?
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Animal Bracelets are Sentimentally Conformist
There are some serious issues concerning those animal bracelets everyone wears. They're pretty cool. I mean, you have a bracelet that turns into a little animal when you take it off of your wrist, like a little animagus. The thing is, most people wear them to have that little squiggle around their wrist, and not because they actually like them. Now, behind all of mine, there is sentiment.
MY WISHLIST
THE STAG: My patronus, as well as Harry Potter's patronus.
THE DOG/WOLF: Well, I have a dog (she is sitting on my lap as I type), and it's Sirius's animagus.
THE LION: For courage and Gryffindor
THE BEAR: For certain football teams that are awesome.
THE DINOSAUR: For not forgetting to be awesome.
THE OWL (God, I hope they make them): For wisdom.
THE UNICORN: Just because.
MY WISHLIST
THE STAG: My patronus, as well as Harry Potter's patronus.
THE DOG/WOLF: Well, I have a dog (she is sitting on my lap as I type), and it's Sirius's animagus.
THE LION: For courage and Gryffindor
THE BEAR: For certain football teams that are awesome.
THE DINOSAUR: For not forgetting to be awesome.
THE OWL (God, I hope they make them): For wisdom.
THE UNICORN: Just because.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Being forced to do things is crappy.
So, I have a report due on monday. I simply do NOT feel like doing it. I mean, I skipped a few chapters in the book we're reading, so how can I possibly be expected to do this? I suppose this is going to have to be like the time I had to read and do a report on Hatchet all on one night.
Now, I don't know if I hated Hatchet just because being forced to read a book in one night is bad enough, or because it was really just that boring. There was absolutely no human interreaction, and there was't really a plot.
While I'm sure it's probably a bit of both, there's just a certain amount of pure suckage that comes with being forced to read an old dried up book with yellowed up and torn pages that the school system is too cheap/lazy to replace because they'd rather blow their funding on the Varsity Football team. Chances are, the book has some sort of medal on the front cover named after a dead person you honestly don't really care about.
Maybe today's kids just don't like reading books with plots, or maybe we just have a prejudice towards books our English teachers assign. I'm sure that if I read some of these books by my own choice, I would've liked them. Like Shiloh. I actually geniunely liked that book, and I even read ahead. Sure, I don't remember a thing about the book, and if you asked me what project I did for it, I'd stare blankly at you for a few minutes untill I realize I have no idea whatsoever about what I did, so I'd just lie and say something like "I made a board game".
And you know what, I bet if Harry Potter was required reading (it probably would be if it wasn't for the magic), I'd be forced to read it and hate it, too. That's how strong the power of suggestion is.
So, I think it would be better if we were given a list of books we could read that were approved by kids that didn't sound boring and had cool things like ninjas and pirates and unicorns and velociraptors, but still a really good plot and a hidden meaning, it would be cool. Kinda like a those Manwhich sandwhiches. It makes you fool your kids into thinking they're eating a sloppy joe, but it really has a full serving of vegetables. I am not being paid to say that.
Oh, and, before I forget, do you ever have those moments where you accidentally make eye contact with someone and smile, but you accidentally smile bigger than you intended to, and now it's just awkward? Me, neither.
Now, I don't know if I hated Hatchet just because being forced to read a book in one night is bad enough, or because it was really just that boring. There was absolutely no human interreaction, and there was't really a plot.
While I'm sure it's probably a bit of both, there's just a certain amount of pure suckage that comes with being forced to read an old dried up book with yellowed up and torn pages that the school system is too cheap/lazy to replace because they'd rather blow their funding on the Varsity Football team. Chances are, the book has some sort of medal on the front cover named after a dead person you honestly don't really care about.
Maybe today's kids just don't like reading books with plots, or maybe we just have a prejudice towards books our English teachers assign. I'm sure that if I read some of these books by my own choice, I would've liked them. Like Shiloh. I actually geniunely liked that book, and I even read ahead. Sure, I don't remember a thing about the book, and if you asked me what project I did for it, I'd stare blankly at you for a few minutes untill I realize I have no idea whatsoever about what I did, so I'd just lie and say something like "I made a board game".
And you know what, I bet if Harry Potter was required reading (it probably would be if it wasn't for the magic), I'd be forced to read it and hate it, too. That's how strong the power of suggestion is.
So, I think it would be better if we were given a list of books we could read that were approved by kids that didn't sound boring and had cool things like ninjas and pirates and unicorns and velociraptors, but still a really good plot and a hidden meaning, it would be cool. Kinda like a those Manwhich sandwhiches. It makes you fool your kids into thinking they're eating a sloppy joe, but it really has a full serving of vegetables. I am not being paid to say that.
Oh, and, before I forget, do you ever have those moments where you accidentally make eye contact with someone and smile, but you accidentally smile bigger than you intended to, and now it's just awkward? Me, neither.
Friday, May 21, 2010
An overthought and rather trippy description of my day
Today, I went to school. The whole morning was basically just one big, flying, stinky blur (the whole school smelled of douchebag... Wait, it always does that. Ooopsie.). I remember taking a test in science, and choosing D for the answers I wasn't completely sure of (*cough*all of them*cough*), as D is for Douchebag, and fate must have been hinting me to answer D to every other question on my science test by making the whole school smell like Abercrombie threw up on it.... Again.
Does that make any sense? Doubtful...
In Social Studies, I don't remember much. Just watching a movie with a bunch of stuffy old dudes in wigs talking. George Washington is officially awesome. Total Gryffindor.
In gym class, we ran around an eliptical-ish-ly shaped death trap, and then played Quidditch. Huh. You call it Mat-Ball, I call it Quidditch. Puh-tay-toe, Puh-taw-toe.
All I really remember about lunch is trying to figure out ways to scare the fifth graders who were touring the school into peeing their pants/skirt/both (don't ask). Lunch just hasn't been much fun lately. There's been a slight problem in the order of the seating, as Izzy and Tela haven't been able to sit with us, which sucks, as they are awesome.
Then I went to Home Ec. Unfortunatley, I'm in the same kitchen as the two biggest meatheads in school. Safe to say, it involved me staring off into the distance while recieving instructions about how to measure things and having a 1980's-esque dream sequence involving lightsabers and pie being lit on fire in the middle of outer space. This is a frequent occurance.
Then in math, I shirked my homework and too k a quiz I know nothing about. I'd rather not talk about it.
In English, we read and signed yearbooks.
Then I walked home, sopping wet from the rain.
Does that make any sense? Doubtful...
In Social Studies, I don't remember much. Just watching a movie with a bunch of stuffy old dudes in wigs talking. George Washington is officially awesome. Total Gryffindor.
In gym class, we ran around an eliptical-ish-ly shaped death trap, and then played Quidditch. Huh. You call it Mat-Ball, I call it Quidditch. Puh-tay-toe, Puh-taw-toe.
All I really remember about lunch is trying to figure out ways to scare the fifth graders who were touring the school into peeing their pants/skirt/both (don't ask). Lunch just hasn't been much fun lately. There's been a slight problem in the order of the seating, as Izzy and Tela haven't been able to sit with us, which sucks, as they are awesome.
Then I went to Home Ec. Unfortunatley, I'm in the same kitchen as the two biggest meatheads in school. Safe to say, it involved me staring off into the distance while recieving instructions about how to measure things and having a 1980's-esque dream sequence involving lightsabers and pie being lit on fire in the middle of outer space. This is a frequent occurance.
Then in math, I shirked my homework and too k a quiz I know nothing about. I'd rather not talk about it.
In English, we read and signed yearbooks.
Then I walked home, sopping wet from the rain.
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