WHY CAN'T I STOP WATCHING INUYASHA!? I have forgone all other activities today, and I DON'T KNOW WHY! It's not an awful show and it has a great sentimentality for me, but holy crap, I just can't seem to stop watching it. I've seen several of these weird, long winded fighting anime, and this follows the pattern quite well, but something about it has just kept me watching LONG after I would have stopped watching any other show.
I've been totally neglecting my blog this week. Sorry about that! I'll pop back with a decent real post later on.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
I'm a dancin' foo'.
So, evidently, I dance. I went to a wedding lat night, and was continually against dancing. It wasn't my style, my feet hurt, blah blah blah. I had a thousand reasons to say no, and only one reason to say yes. The problem was, I didn't count on just how compelling that one reason would be: alcohol.
There was an open bar, as is traditional, or so I've been told. So, as the evening wore on, I went through three whiskey sours. That's not actually that much, especially spread out over an entire quite long evening, however, I wasn't eating, and I could swear in court that the last two weren't so much "whiskey sours" as they were "whiskey whiskeys."
On the up side, I loosened up considerably. This led to me being downright unable to tear myself away from the dance floor. I discovered a heretofore unknown talent for slow dancing. I discoed, rather successfully in my opinion, and to top it all off, I did the twist and the Carlton to almost every song with the appropriate beat.
The downside is that while under the influence of alcohol, I forgot that I was wearing size 11 shoes, and I am a 13 1/2 wide. As a result, I am now hobbled. My feet are barely usable. Still, it was worth it. I look snazzy in a suit.
There was an open bar, as is traditional, or so I've been told. So, as the evening wore on, I went through three whiskey sours. That's not actually that much, especially spread out over an entire quite long evening, however, I wasn't eating, and I could swear in court that the last two weren't so much "whiskey sours" as they were "whiskey whiskeys."
On the up side, I loosened up considerably. This led to me being downright unable to tear myself away from the dance floor. I discovered a heretofore unknown talent for slow dancing. I discoed, rather successfully in my opinion, and to top it all off, I did the twist and the Carlton to almost every song with the appropriate beat.
The downside is that while under the influence of alcohol, I forgot that I was wearing size 11 shoes, and I am a 13 1/2 wide. As a result, I am now hobbled. My feet are barely usable. Still, it was worth it. I look snazzy in a suit.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
What Happened Next
Well, the next part of the tale of my move home is a petty gross one. A few weeks after moving home, also known as yesterday, I decided to stop by the apartment on a whim to pick up a few things from my roommate. As we went through the things in my room, it became clear that something awful had happened. Essentially everything I owned that had been left behind had a thick, disgusting carpet of mold growing on it.
How my roommate didn't notice any sort of smell or anything, I'll never understand, but almost everything was beyond salvage. Nearly every paperback book I own was destroyed, as well as a dozen or so important childhood keepsakes. A stuffed dog I've had since I was born looked like a rotting piece of meat.
What happened, as far as we can tell, is that the constant storms of the past few months cause water to seep in a constant stream into the corner of the room. Since I wasn't around for most of that time, simply, no one noticed. We're trying to save what we can, but most appears beyond saving. This kinda stinks. I'll try and post something funny or interesting later on, but for now... meh.
How my roommate didn't notice any sort of smell or anything, I'll never understand, but almost everything was beyond salvage. Nearly every paperback book I own was destroyed, as well as a dozen or so important childhood keepsakes. A stuffed dog I've had since I was born looked like a rotting piece of meat.
What happened, as far as we can tell, is that the constant storms of the past few months cause water to seep in a constant stream into the corner of the room. Since I wasn't around for most of that time, simply, no one noticed. We're trying to save what we can, but most appears beyond saving. This kinda stinks. I'll try and post something funny or interesting later on, but for now... meh.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Blah blah blah.
I don't know what I'm blogging about, right now. I just know that I'm blogging! Steadfastly and doggedly moving forward in the face of utter confusion. The last couple of days are a weird haze of dizziness and hyperactivity brought on by new medication. My memory is so shot that it's become a source of amusement. I just had to retype the word source seven times because I couldn't get my brain to spell it. One of these days, I'll publish a blog without any corrections or editing, so that you can see how jacked up my stream of consciousness can be.
Anyways, what I was saying originally was that yesterday, I was so loopy that I forgot whether or not I had eaten several tacos. I dread tomorrow, as I'm simply not sure I'll be able to hold my brain together. If I can't, I'll be sure to update you guys on all the crazy land brain farts that pop through my wonky brain.
Anyways, what I was saying originally was that yesterday, I was so loopy that I forgot whether or not I had eaten several tacos. I dread tomorrow, as I'm simply not sure I'll be able to hold my brain together. If I can't, I'll be sure to update you guys on all the crazy land brain farts that pop through my wonky brain.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Pop Music
So, I'm a little flummoxed. I listen to 89X, and basically nothing else. Pop music is by no means my thing, and it never has been, but I never really had a problem with it. Nice, upbeat dance music, R&B, I get it. Fun, right? Well, in the past few years, where I've been ignoring pop music, it has gotten awful.
There's not a single song on the charts that you can even claim came from a BAND. It's all R&B and solo pop stars, like Lady Gaga. Now, I do actually like the odd song here and there. I even like some that could be considered rap, which goes against everything I know about myself. However, for every song I actually enjoy, there are two dozen insipid, barely listenable songs that either sample other songs to death or flat out steal the beats and lyrics. Those who don't steal them are formulaic and empty. It hurts to even listen to.
You can call me old fashioned or whatever, but I like a song with MUSIC. Like, something that's made with instruments, and a band. I don't dislike the computer generated music in its entirety, but when they've literally taken over the entire Top 100, I get sad. Come on, guys... don't you miss rock? I just don't think that the alternative station should be the only place I can listen to rock.
There's not a single song on the charts that you can even claim came from a BAND. It's all R&B and solo pop stars, like Lady Gaga. Now, I do actually like the odd song here and there. I even like some that could be considered rap, which goes against everything I know about myself. However, for every song I actually enjoy, there are two dozen insipid, barely listenable songs that either sample other songs to death or flat out steal the beats and lyrics. Those who don't steal them are formulaic and empty. It hurts to even listen to.
You can call me old fashioned or whatever, but I like a song with MUSIC. Like, something that's made with instruments, and a band. I don't dislike the computer generated music in its entirety, but when they've literally taken over the entire Top 100, I get sad. Come on, guys... don't you miss rock? I just don't think that the alternative station should be the only place I can listen to rock.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
A Wonderful Way to Wake Up
Well, this morning was a weird one. I woke up to find Catherine's neighbor knocking on a window. She was yelling to her daughter to open the window. I became immediately confused, as the conversation seemed to be about a bird and a cell phone. I then heard some panicked screaming, and a door shut. Shortly after, the doorbell rang. Sighing, I dragged myself out of bed. Last night, I had the worst headache I've had since my hospital trip, so I was half convinced that I was hallucinating the whole thing. With a dirty shirt on, I stumbled downstairs.
What I found was an interesting sight indeed. The neighbor was in an absolute panic, and when she saw me, she ran up to me immediately. She quickly guided me into he apartment, and there, in a corner, was a terrified sparrow. Chuckling, and certain this would be easy to deal with, I took two steps toward the small bird. It became a pterodactyl. The screeching, panicked skybeast began flinging itself into every wall and mirror it could, in a desperate attempt to get away from me.
Shielding my face, I went straight after it, convinced that my experience with a cockatiel my mother owns made me qualified to get him. After chasing him around for a good five minutes, I had the bright idea to get a hand towel and attempt to net the poor bird. It worked to an extent, but every time I got him, it became difficult to pick him up without hurting him. Finally, Catherine arrived, and helped me. We got him stuck between a mirror and the wall, and then, like some kind of bird whisperer, she easily picked him up. Releasing him outside, we bid farewell to the little guy.
It was a strange morning, but it taught me something important. Catherine, unlike most girls, is not utterly terrified of tiny birds. Good to know.
What I found was an interesting sight indeed. The neighbor was in an absolute panic, and when she saw me, she ran up to me immediately. She quickly guided me into he apartment, and there, in a corner, was a terrified sparrow. Chuckling, and certain this would be easy to deal with, I took two steps toward the small bird. It became a pterodactyl. The screeching, panicked skybeast began flinging itself into every wall and mirror it could, in a desperate attempt to get away from me.
Shielding my face, I went straight after it, convinced that my experience with a cockatiel my mother owns made me qualified to get him. After chasing him around for a good five minutes, I had the bright idea to get a hand towel and attempt to net the poor bird. It worked to an extent, but every time I got him, it became difficult to pick him up without hurting him. Finally, Catherine arrived, and helped me. We got him stuck between a mirror and the wall, and then, like some kind of bird whisperer, she easily picked him up. Releasing him outside, we bid farewell to the little guy.
It was a strange morning, but it taught me something important. Catherine, unlike most girls, is not utterly terrified of tiny birds. Good to know.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Just a quick one...
So, I hear that some guy got stabbed in the eye at comic con, and all I can think is that he must have been an over-zealous Nick Fury fan. Like, "SHIT DUDE! They're selling Nick Fury eyepatches! Quick, STAB ME IN THE EYE!" And the other guy wouldn't do it, so he ran around starting fights with people, until one just stabbed him. Honestly, I don't know how I'd deal with losing an eye. There's just so many options. Eyepatch, glass eye, open socket to horrify children. Its just such a variable injury!
I really shouldn't joke about it I guess. I'm not particularly good at sharp things, and it's kind of amazing that I haven't managed to stab myself in the face yet. Like, I decided to teach myself how to use a sword. I went and got a cheap crappy one from a booth at the trade center, and I set about it. I'm all wobbly and stuff, so everyone EVERYWHERE told me I'd cut myself immediately. I was of course insistent that I would be just fine. It was a matter of days before I cut myself, proving absolutely everyone but me right Some people just shouldn't be around sharp objects. I'm one of them. Blah, I'm rambling now. The moral of the story is that I'm an idiot.
I really shouldn't joke about it I guess. I'm not particularly good at sharp things, and it's kind of amazing that I haven't managed to stab myself in the face yet. Like, I decided to teach myself how to use a sword. I went and got a cheap crappy one from a booth at the trade center, and I set about it. I'm all wobbly and stuff, so everyone EVERYWHERE told me I'd cut myself immediately. I was of course insistent that I would be just fine. It was a matter of days before I cut myself, proving absolutely everyone but me right Some people just shouldn't be around sharp objects. I'm one of them. Blah, I'm rambling now. The moral of the story is that I'm an idiot.
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