Sunday, February 8, 2009
Change of Pace...
Procrastination is a beautiful thing...I have a writing assignment that I haven't even thought about yet and studying for my sociology midterm is probably a brilliant idea. But what am I actually doing? Reading about who won what at the Grammy's and trying to figure out why I'm feeling vaguely paraniod. Although, I do feel absolutely amazing. Instead of sticking to my usual sluggish, couch-potato routine, I decided to shake things up a little and force my muscles to move. The end result? Two hundred sit-ups (my abs are screaming), fifty push-ups (I'm surprised I can move my arms), a twenty minute walk around the most random area possible (accompanied by some very interesting looks), and fifteen minutes worth of sprinting around my street like a madman (my legs are still shaking). I am aware of every single muscle in my body and the power behind them when I was running was nothing short of intoxicating. I haven't felt this free and alive for years...who needs sex when you can run? :P
Moo.
Okay, time to breathe. Intoxication has worn off and my head is now throbbing mercilessly. Joy. Sleep isn't coming, so I'm blogging. And since I'm blogging (I hate using that as a verb), I may as well say something useful. Or entertaining, at least. Actually, how about useful and entertaining? Best of both worlds. I recieved some very interesting messages on my Facebook account that made me realise that dignity is a thing of the past. People don't understand how to be gracious and dignified, nevermind respectful. Some guy told me to show him some sugar and a few other vulgar phrases that I don't care to repeat and I was somewhat flabbergasted. Is that what my generation has come to? Resorting to crude remarks and innuendoes to gain social status? I honestly don't understand it. I know only two men from my age bracket that understand the values of chivalry and respect, which is frightening to think about. My generation has been brought up as a bunch of spider monkeys with no moral code whatsoever. Anyway, I'm tired and my brain isn't functioning so ranting is done for tonight...
Epic Portions
Everyone seated at the small square table could feel the tension rising in the air. The battle of the century was about to unfold before their innocent, naive eyes, and they all knew it. A glare across the table and the battle begun. The clashing of plastic cocktail swords rang through the vinegar-ridden air and tiny droplets of orange juice splashed off of their blades with each strike. I was gaining the advantage, my opponent was quickly losing confidence when the unthinkable happened. It only took one over-powerful strike and the sickening sound of breaking plastic echoed through the anxious crowd that had assembled to watch history being made. I watched with baited breath as my faithful comrade, my only weapon, fell disgraced and defeated to its final resting placed on the pristine white paper napkin. I looked up in time to see the last of the prize disappear through my opponent’s jeering teeth. The French fry was gone.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
The Sticker Standards
This world is so crazy and messed up that people rarely get the recognition they deserve for the little things they do that make our personal worlds more bearable. So, my friend and I developed the Sticker Standards which help us to tell people about the awesome things they do. I figured this system should be spread, so here are the stickers (they're hypothetical, by the way):
Red: for being evil in the good sense.
Green: helping someone mellow out or relax, especially if they were really stressing.
Blue: loyalty to a friend, partner, family member, etc. even though it was really hard.
Purple: helping someone even though it could backfire and end up hurting the helper. A bravery sticker, if you will.
White: awesome-ness in general.
Pink: making someone feel loved.
Orange: being the "light at the end of the tunnel" or really cheering someone up.
Rainbow: being open-minded towards all sexual orientations.
Gold: an utterly amazing act, like rescuing someone from a burning building or electing a homosexual woman as Prime Minister (good on you, Iceland).
Silver: making someone feel really special or important, or both.
Sparkly: letting your talents shine without being afraid of what people think.
Random Fuzzy: being so effed up but so damn awesome because of it.
Black: can only be given to one person at a time...trust me, you'll know if someone deserves your black sticker. :D (and no, it's not like the black dot used by pirates)
Red: for being evil in the good sense.
Green: helping someone mellow out or relax, especially if they were really stressing.
Blue: loyalty to a friend, partner, family member, etc. even though it was really hard.
Purple: helping someone even though it could backfire and end up hurting the helper. A bravery sticker, if you will.
White: awesome-ness in general.
Pink: making someone feel loved.
Orange: being the "light at the end of the tunnel" or really cheering someone up.
Rainbow: being open-minded towards all sexual orientations.
Gold: an utterly amazing act, like rescuing someone from a burning building or electing a homosexual woman as Prime Minister (good on you, Iceland).
Silver: making someone feel really special or important, or both.
Sparkly: letting your talents shine without being afraid of what people think.
Random Fuzzy: being so effed up but so damn awesome because of it.
Black: can only be given to one person at a time...trust me, you'll know if someone deserves your black sticker. :D (and no, it's not like the black dot used by pirates)
Platinum: unofficially saving someone's life. Trust me, you'll know if it ever happens to you.
Polka-dot: helping someone have fun.
Well, there they are folks. Use them wisely. And often. :D
Oh, and Ellen DeGeneres and Janeece Edroff get gold stickers just because they're that damn amazing. :D
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Chapter One
Fairy tale love is a dangerous thing. Why? Because it allows innocent hearts to be broken by the promise of unconditional love, which doesn't exist. It always starts with the handsome, self-righteous young nobleman visiting his wealthy, crotchety grandfather. The heavy wooden door is opene by the stuffy, hook-nosed butler who shows him into the gaudily decorated living room drenched in the aroma of stale potpourri. he allows the room a disgusted glace and his dull amber eyes fall upon a small sickly woman cramped into the marble fireplace, painstakingly sweeping the ash from the walls and floor. He lifts his hand and opens his mouth to order her out of the room when she lifts her blackened hand to brush a tangled lock of honey blonde hair off of her cheek, leaving a disfiguring streak of black across her petal-white skin. He watches as her small chest heaves with the effort of drawing in the tainted air. He finds himself longing to wipe the soot from her cheek, but painfully restrains himself. Instead he settles for hungrily taking in every inch of her body; from the tattered grey cloth attempting to hide her protruding ribs, to her bruised knees spread wide on the slate heath to keep her pathetic body from collapsing. He takes a hesitant step forward, inadvertantly scuffing the burgundy persian rug with the toe of his shoe. Her body goes rigid as she realises she is no longer alone, she slowly turns and her eyes lock his with a disgusted glare. She slowly stands up and he notices that she is much taller than he had expected, almost as tall as himself. Her torn excuse for a dress hung uselessly from her bony shoulders and clung mercilessly to her smooth, slim legs. He drinks up this image of her and finds thoughts running through his mind that would make the most experienced man blush.
Fairy tale love is a dangerous thing. Why? Because it allows innocent hearts to be broken by the promise of unconditional love, which doesn't exist. It always starts with the handsome, self-righteous young nobleman visiting his wealthy, crotchety grandfather. The heavy wooden door is opene by the stuffy, hook-nosed butler who shows him into the gaudily decorated living room drenched in the aroma of stale potpourri. he allows the room a disgusted glace and his dull amber eyes fall upon a small sickly woman cramped into the marble fireplace, painstakingly sweeping the ash from the walls and floor. He lifts his hand and opens his mouth to order her out of the room when she lifts her blackened hand to brush a tangled lock of honey blonde hair off of her cheek, leaving a disfiguring streak of black across her petal-white skin. He watches as her small chest heaves with the effort of drawing in the tainted air. He finds himself longing to wipe the soot from her cheek, but painfully restrains himself. Instead he settles for hungrily taking in every inch of her body; from the tattered grey cloth attempting to hide her protruding ribs, to her bruised knees spread wide on the slate heath to keep her pathetic body from collapsing. He takes a hesitant step forward, inadvertantly scuffing the burgundy persian rug with the toe of his shoe. Her body goes rigid as she realises she is no longer alone, she slowly turns and her eyes lock his with a disgusted glare. She slowly stands up and he notices that she is much taller than he had expected, almost as tall as himself. Her torn excuse for a dress hung uselessly from her bony shoulders and clung mercilessly to her smooth, slim legs. He drinks up this image of her and finds thoughts running through his mind that would make the most experienced man blush.
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