Moving on up...

Okay, so this blog is basically defunct, I know. Sorry, sorry. But if you want any information on where to find me now - you know, if anyone checks a year and a half later - let me know by commenting. I have several, but I think I outgrew this one's purpose. I'm not that funny or humorous at the moment. Life's too twisty. Maybe it'll come back eventually.

And the Asshole goes on...

So, yesterday, Asshole called. I was asleep, purposely avoided the phone, and ignored the message until 13 hours later. Now, you have to admit, that's some serious restraint. But mostly 'cause I'm beating my head against the wall over the 11th Doctor choice. Anyway, so I listened.

"Hi this [Asshole] just calling to wish you a Happy New Year."

What the fuck? I blocked him from my other journal entirely. He's not on my list and I banned him. I just want him to go. away.

I'm gonna have to get shitkickery. I don't want to. I really don't. I don't like being the best bitch this side of Sunnydale for no good reason. I might be Queen Jessica, cousin to Queen Cordelia, but damn. Even I need a break.

Well, shit. That hurts my heart.

Yeah, see this is why Asshole is called Asshole.

He pursues me for almost 2 months. Meets me. Suddenly I'm not his cuppa. Because hey, I'm fat and don't look like an an anime character brought to life. Or that's what I'm assuming since he never said a damn thing about it. Look, asshole. If I can overlook the fact you play D&D like it's the end of your world, you can adjust. You had no problem telling me how every way you wanted to fuck me before you meet me now didcha?

Disappears for a fucking month. No note, no letting me know. Turns out, he was in Berkley/San Fran to see family. Okay, whatever. We weren't even dating, much less a relationship.

Calls me when he gets back. First time in like 6 weeks. Oookay. I talk to him. Stupid, stupid me. Since I haven't heard from him since.

Finally updates his blog about his vacation. Learn that he had another girl in his bed for 5 days recently. Didn't make a move. Supposedly. Which, I actually kinda believe because he's a chicken shit. And then he apparently went on a date with someone else. Please note that when I kept saying I'd go on a date with him, even point blank, he ignored it. Before he met me. And still tried to hook up with me. I'm not a piece of ass and I'm not for sale.

Fuck it. I'm tired of this shit.

I'm gonna be celibate forever. It doesn't hurt nearly as much as that kind of disregard.

Some days just hurt

I've been reading a ton of urban fantasy/paranormal romance. Like, Amazon owes me some money or something for all the business I do. (Please, publishing houses, make more shifter books. I don't care about vampires half as much as I do the dual-natured. Primarily because I think every single person is dual-natured, with animal tendencies in us when the need arises. Otherwise, statements like "She's like a mama bear protecting her cubs with that kid" wouldn't exist.) However, it's made me realize a couple things about myself.

One: I can't settle.
The main things I've seen in all the shifter books is the alpha male. Occasionally an alpha female shows up, but mostly not so much. It's made me realize that I couldn't settle for some weak-willed guy. But I don't want that domineering man, either. Pretty sure I'll end up alone because there's no happy medium for me. I won't be submissive, in way shape or form. I grew up living under people's thumbs. I'm finally out on my own now. Living my life, and submitting to someone's demands or will? It would break me. I'm broken inside, in so many ways. I'm not the most emotionally stable person around. I'd drive a man insane, utterly. That combined with dominance is a bit of a problem. I'll follow, if it's something I have no interest in. Meaning if someone in a class group wants to give out orders, that's fine. I'll stake my claim on the topic I want and then just do whatever. But I don't follow when I feel like the person in charge sucks at it. I've been known to take control if that's the case. Or do all the work and gently tell my teachers what's going on later. No point in burning bridges unless you have to.

Two: Magnetism isn't everything
I'm pretty magnetic when it comes to attracting attention. Ironic, really, since I'm 5'1, so beyond past the ideal weight, and not your typical fantasy material. But I'm still magnetic. My godmom calls it this magnetic force. No matter where I am - be grocery, restaurant, or school - people always talk to me. I don't understand it, and I usually forget about it, but lately, I've noticed it happening more. It's not necessarily a bad thing. It keeps me from becoming insanely surly and rude. I'm naturally a light, happyish person, and my personality is coming out more since I moved out of my godmom's, but it's not that damned different from most people. The thing is, no matter how magnetic I apparently am, I still can't seem to keep anyone around for long. Or I'll have a guy (ahem, let's call him asshole, shall we?) that comes in and out of my life, whenever he feels like it. I won't hear from him for a month, and then I'll get two calls a week. It's very random. I had to pin down a location to meet the idiot. Whoever said Emory graduates were smart lied like a two century old rug. I'm socially awkward past the flirt stage (natural flirt, for the record, since I'm never aware of actually doing it on purpose). I don't know, maybe it's chase. Fuck if I know. But I can't keep anyone interested. Or. If they are, I'm a friend and nothing more.

Three: I don't trust
Pretty simple, really. I don't trust. Or rather, I superficially trust. I'm an open book, for the most part, but I keep a lot of inner self back. I have to. It's just...mandatory. Most people never look past the bright to see the dark, and I honestly like it that way. I don't want people to be able read my moods so easily. That only leads to disaster and pain. True me, I'm well acquainted with the concept. I stopped blindly giving trust by the time I was 16 and my mom carelessly told me that she had to convinced from everyone under the sun to not abort my ass. And made me understand why I'd been punished all my life for something I had no control over. For the record, I apparently made her not go out and get coked out and drunk. I want to trust people, but I doubt it'll happen, not fully. I'm more inclined to wait for the other shoe. Childhood habits never go fully away. They're ingrained, part of your behavior pattern. I learned a long time ago that eventually everyone will screw you over. But it doesn't mean I don't need people around me. Not like a party - I hate that kind of crush - but just someone that gives a damn about me, even if it'll end badly. I need that contact. It keeps me relatively balanced. I don't need to talk to people all the time, or much of anything else, just occasionally. Keeps the darkness at bay, for awhile. I don't mean depression or anything, but more...like, a darkness that seeps in from time to time, if I'm contemplating too much. I prefer to forget my childhood and teenage years when I can. (You try being 18 and facing a very probable mental breakdown, after stopping the first one around six months earlier. According to my mom, however, I had an absolutely spectacular childhood and only created the drama; I wasn't reacting and then surviving it, at all.) It hurts my heart less.

I had a longer list, seriously. Like, more than Heigl's character in 27 Dresses, but my head started hurting way too much. It's kind of like...self-preservation. Needless to say, I'm just one gigantic contradiction. Add that to the list, would you?

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

After a lot of soul searching - isn't that what twentysomethings are known for? - I decided on my career path. I'll be 45 before I get it all done, but I will get it done. I've gone through a lot of choices in the past, latching onto something I think will help or give me a decent living...but nothing really made me go "Oh, THAT! Yes, THAT is what I want!" Well, except for being a vet, but seriously, me and math are enemies. Science is a bitch, too.

I was perusing college sites, trying to find something, and I stumbled across the best fit for me, ever. It's got all the elements I love, and it's something I've accidentally been internalizing forever without realizing it.

My choice? Classicist, focusing on Roman History, preferably the reign of Emperors. The crazy mothers like Caligulia and Nero. The ones that are so twisted (hey, that sounds vaguely familiar) that they are remembered for their atrocities. Now I don't like things like crazy people killing people for random fun, but how can you not find a man that makes his horse a Senator fascinating?

I've always excelled at history, at studying the past in order to understand the present and future. To know the roads that mankind's walked and how and why it died out. I love it, so much. I could read books on it for days. God knows the History Channel's in my top five, no doubt about it. Especially the ones on the looking into ancient times.

I plan on getting my PhD in the area. I'll have to find a good college for that. I'd go to Emory, but seriously, just emailing the head of the department, asking how I should begin, like what I'll need to know later on to succeed in that specific area, I got brushed off. Bitch, please. It costs an arm and a leg and ain't the only pony in the world. I'll figure the rest after I get my Masters. I figure I'll spend a couple years in Italy, so maybe I'll study past that. Either way, it's the perfect field for me. Until then, it might have to be something like Ga State University.

Either way, it'll be a long while until I get to that stage. But I'm finally focused. Everything just lined up. And god it feels good to finally start in a direction. Now, to work on my religious beliefs. That'll take just as long, I think. Because as hard to believe as it is, I'm quite opinionated and find fault with most of them. And combine different ones, too. Bit of a problem, that.

Confused

I don't just mean in a particular sense. More like a pretty much constant state of awareness. I don't know why, and I'm half afraid to find out. But the other half really, really wants to know what I'm so mixed up about. One of my LJ friends posted a meme about describing yourself in twelve words or less. I came up with some, but mostly, I tend to keep my better words close to the vest. I'm the most open secretive person ever. I've gotten to be quite good at it. Pretend you're a completely open book, and no one digs under the surface. Great plan for group domination if I do say so myself.

Still wish I knew more about what makes me a little turned left when the rest of the world is going right. Make one less thing on my to do list.

Politics and Gender: The Blown Up Recipe

Ironic, really, that I've never noticed the misogynist slant of the media until a woman ran for President. Personally, as a woman, I don't believe anything that comes from EITHER candidates mouth. I did vote for Clinton, though. Because, silly me, at least I'm realistic enough to believe that Obama is too green, too fevered, too ambitious to actually do any good. Do I think Hillary would best? Absolutely not. Do I think she'd better than her opponent? Absolutely. This will be my third election to vote in, and I've missed *one* primary. I've made all the other ones. Even the crappy local ones. And I have to go across the county to do it since I'm registered at my father's house.

I'm not new to this idea of voting. I did not fall off the turnip truck. But for some reason, it seems like the media will pick up and slam a woman harder than a man, no matter if it's a presidency primary or a schoolteacher.

For once, outside speaking about Bush's rule, I'm ashamed to be American. Because if you're a female, you better prepared to be scrutinized down to the number of dogh airs on your suit, and if you're male, well you're lauded. At least in this race. More's the pity, too.

Instead of looking for things to attack because nothing else is available, how about you find something REAL to complain about? Something that's not over words, but actions?

Hey, America, here's an idea: grow the fuck up, get over your goddamn iPods, and figure out a way to repair what's messed up for everyone in the next four years. And, please, for the love of God, stop fanpoodling! This is not the cute boy next to you in chemistry, or the hottie from the latest string of movies. It is not that light-hearted. Look, assholes, I hate to say this, but it needs to be said: the next four years depends on more than "he looks good in a suit!" or "she's got that cool school marm thing going on." Seriously. Just shut the fuck up, and start paying attention.

Comments off this post because I try my damnest to avoid politics in this blog. Mostly because it's a hot button issue and I'm not going to argue, since compromises never arises from discussion of it. But I'm so damn tired of reading everything being against one candidate because she's female. And before you ask, just click on most articles and read them, and see that any action she takes is being held against some god-like standard, while he's gotten more people spouting off about him because he's young. Guess what, everyone was young once and youth rarely leads to extensive helpful experience.

I've never thought of myself as some disadvantaged. I've been raised not to. After all, I'm not in a racial minority. Except looking around, it's been depressing as hell to notice that for all the strives my foremothers have made, I'm still not quite equal. And sometimes I wonder if I ever will be. History sure as shit is showing it's unlikely. After all, how often has Aristotle been quoted about women, and how often has it been implemented? Too many to count. And that's a crying shame. Aristotle's the man that created some of the very foundations we still use today. So how far have we really come in giving the other 50% the rights they deserve in the same way the other 50% does by luck?

(The quote, for those that are unaware goes like this: "A woman is, at it were, an infertile male. She is female in fact on account of a kind of inadequacy." There is also one on marriage that again places the wife in a very low position. "The association between husband and wife is clearly an aristocracy. The man rules by virtue of merit, and in the sphere that is his by right; but he hands over to his wife such matters as are suitable for her.")

Random fact of the day

Before I was diagnosed with diabetes, I was scared shitless of thunderstorms. I don't mean little rainy ones, but like the rolling thunder and lightning strikes half a mile way types. And I will curl under the covers in my bed, with a book, pretending it's not happening to this day. That's my version of what I did when little, and used to hide in the closet. In our old trailer, I had built a specific place in all my junk to protect me from the scary stuff, and I could give a sliver of light from the opening sliding closet door to read with. Every house had a safe place in the closet for me, no matter how cluttered or disorganized it was. This is the first place to my knowledge that doesn't have one.

I also slept in closets when scared or really upset until I was about 20-21. If I was panicking, or felt like I needed to be protected, I would sleep in them, no matter the size. Tubs, too. What's funny is usually don't like tight spaces, but sometimes they made me feel better.

I kind of which I still did that. I miss feeling safe.

And I'm still half-scared of the dark. I always have a low reading lamp type deal on at night. Even at 26.

This Ain't Mayberry

Why is it that romance novels, the cheesy Harlequin kind that I adore for so many brain-light reasons, make me think about who and what I am?

I was reading one of them, that I have to take back to the library later in the afternoon, and I started to analyze myself. Which is not unusual, by the way. The only rule I truly have about myself is this: don't lie or sugarcoat about myself. I don't. I've seen that done all around me, because of the people around me, and it doesn't end pretty. That's probably why I'm harsher on myself than anyone I've ever known has been or could be.

Anyway, I'm babbling. So, I got to thinking about it and I realized that I'm another paradox, or whatever you call a person. Ya see, I'm a optimistic realist. Yeah, think about that for a minute. Here's the breakdown, though: I know I can't singlehandedly change the world. It's just not possible and never will be. Because the world is made up of far too many fractions, societies, geographical regions. You name it and it'll end up as a problem. But I can change the world around me. So I'm pretty damn cynical about those in charge of changing the world, mostly because they're only human like the rest of us, so they're looking out for them because no one else will. It is the law of the land. Forget that other crap. It's look out for your own ass, or no one else will. Hey, I had to learn something growing up, didn't I?

But the thing is, I think I can change and make my world better. It might take a couple decades, or most of my life, but it is possible. My world, the one that is cool enough to center around me, is changeable. That's the optimistic part. My life may royally suck 99% of the time, but that one percent exists and I can use it change some of the other, make it suck a little less. That's another thing I learned growing up.

I'm telling you, I was the wisest ten-year-old anyone had ever seen. Which is scary when you consider it. I didn't have much of a childhood. I had moments, but it wasn't exactly the Cleavers. Actually, scratch that. Those people scared me. It was more like Roseanne meets Jeff Foxworthy meets Grace Under Pressure meets Married with Children. Tell me that's not a weird group. So, I'm saying that I started out with the wisdom I've seen 40 something year olds lack because it becomes ingrained to absorb and internalize common occurrences, and the only people that survive learn from all experiences. Which explains my crazy ass weirdness. Also why I forget that I'm 26 and regress to somewhere around 16 at times. Sometimes I wish I could take back some of those experiences that I skipped over because I had to be the little adult that could.

I just thought it was funny to realize I'm the only optimistic realist I know. The world, the all encompassing one, is a grey block of junk, but I can at least put a little color and light into mine. And for me, it works out well.

I hate you Winter! Hateeeeee!

I'm sick. I hate being sick. Why? Because I turn in a whiny bitch that would make Kanye cry in shame. Yeah. Exactly. And I had not one, but two tests today. I blew off studying for the math. But the sociology. Oh, the soc. Dude, if you're gonna write a review, you might wanna PUT IT ALL ON THERE. I'm just saying. Good lord. Half the test was on research methods and he took a grand total of 15 minutes to cover that in class.

Oh, class. Okay, we've been in school roughly 3 weeks. Since the 7th. And out of the six or so classes: we've had the first day where you don't learn anything, two days of a movie, and one day of review. Now, that would sound like a lot of class time. But that leaves a whooping two days of discussion of an entire chapter. And they're not done not back to back, but in between the other things. Yeah, exactly.

Dear teachers,

The electronic age is not your babysitter. Okay? Got it? Good. If I'm paying, or the Pell Grant's paying, an assload of money for me to attend, I would actually like to learn something.

No love,
Your irritated student.

My religions teacher is same damn way. I have major education rant coming up when I'm not hacking up a lung and kidney while discharging snot at an alarming rate.

Now I'm going off to bed. I'm tired, damn it. And my eyes hurt. And I can't take a damn thing over counter because I can't have antihistamines, and Mucinex DM puts me out for at least 12 hours. Oh, yeah. This is gonna be a fun battle. I also can't take cough medicine. Gag reflex. I took phenobarbital as a child, and I physically can't swallow liquid medicine anymore. The aftertaste would be something like mixing Robotussin and tequila. Yeah, imagine that for a kid 11 months to 6 years. It was fantastic, lemme tell you.

*whimpers*

I'm going to crawl in my hole and die now. Night everyone.

Randomness was her name-o!

6 RANDOM FACTS ABOUT ME
1. I put alcohol in almost everything I cook, especially white wine.
2. I learned to swim when I was 1 and jumped into the deep end of a pool.
3. My first cat was a cowkitty named Jerry. Growing up, I thought Jerry was the name of cat instead of Tom.
4. I adore reading urban fantasy, which more often than not ends up shelved in romance because of publishers desire to sell even when it's the wrong genre . And no, that doesn't include the Anita Blake series. I like more plot, less porn please.
5. Growing up, I had a huge crush on JTT. JTT being Jonathon Taylor Thomas. Aka Randy from Home Improvement.
6. I collect anything with dragons, unicorns, bottle-nose dolphins and orcas on it. I always wear a dragon silver ring, in an effort to protect myself. Fire always facing out to the world.

Jessie's Rules of Driving

I have a slightly severe case of road rage. Hey, I admit it. I cuss a blue streak, all the time, even when I probably should clamp my mouth shut. I invent words for when I drive. I can't help it. I drive in Atlanta. Yeah. Atlanta. And all the outlaying areas, since that's where I live. And let me tell you, I've decided there should be rules in order to not tempt me to go run someone off the road.

Rule 1: Don't go 15 miles under the speed limit in the passing lane.
See, this confuses people, I think. I've decided about 90% of the drivers do not actually understand the passing lane is for passing. It is not in fact for making a second slow lane. Hell, when the granny driver next to you on Wednesday (Old People Day) is faster, you have problems. If you have to go slow, move over to the nice lane that's creeping along like a slug. Can't miss it. It's the one blowing past you. And if you're afraid of going too fast, there are these nifty inventions call speed signs that tell you what the minimum limit is.

Rule 2: If lost, don't cut across three lanes of traffic during rush hour.
Seriously, don't. No, really. Because your ass will end up like a feet up armadillo. This is why accidents happen, people. Well, that and Rule 1. You see, if you miss your turn, it is just as easy to go to the next street or exit and turn around that way. Yes, it's a bit of a pain. But hey, at least you won't be singing off-tune with an angelic choir, okay?

Rule 3: Don't attempt Spaghetti Junction if you're not from here.
Again, it's a really bad idea. You see, that place makes the natives crazy. And some of us are born and bred (okay, not a lot, but a few), and we get lost. If we get lost, there's a high chance that you'll be doomed. Read those signs that tell you how the traffic levels are. Because they will come in handy. And if you're like me, you can take back ways home, and can avoid people like you.

Rule 4: If you have to use a phone, pull the hell over.
See, I can be flexible with this rule. If you can drive with one hand, more power to you. But if you're doing Rule 1, then those us attempting to not get hit because we have to slam on the brakes every two minutes reserve the right to knock you into next week. With a metal bat. I'm sure it's fascinating discussing who's wearing what, where you're supposed to be for your job, why your grandmother puts ketchup in spaghetti, but I really could give a fuck less. I'm more concerned with not banging up a nice car because you think it's cute. I drive with my phone. And I talk for all of about a minute, and then I get off. Because hey, I like not being upside down from someone speeding up behind me and not being able to stop fast enough.

Rule 5: Don't think you can navigate Atlanta roads, especially the 75/85 exchange.
Look, it's like Rules 2 & 3. Seriously. Except it's ten times worse because of the location. Right at 14th street, the crazy shit happens. As soon as you see the Varsity sign, you know you're gonna be in trouble. So stay in the middle lane. It'll branch off and you can go either 75 or 85 North. It's a lot easier. Trust me. Crossing something like six lanes of traffic because you're on the wrong side isn't cute. And, again, you can easily turn around and follow the little green signs.

Rule 6: Don't cut people off.
Seriously, just be aware of the cars around you. It's not difficult. You're surrounded by a couple tons of car on all sides. Use your mirrors. Don't cut someone off unless you want to die. Especially if you're anywhere near what was Techwood. In fact, if you're not from Techwood and you're close by, just drive away. Seriously. Trust me. It's Techwood.

Rule 7: The roads are insane. Embrace it.
We have some whacked out streets. Just ask Peachtree, which changes names a couple times, within about a mile. Oh, and about that. Yeah, you know, it's best to ask a local about the road names. Because I can think of two major roads that do that, besides Peachtree. One being Roswell, which becomes something before it's Piedmont. And there's a ton of side Peachtree roads and streets. Make sure you know which one you're talking about. Because West Peachtree is not the main Peachtree. They are two different streets. For one thing, West Peachtree only goes one way.

Rule 8: Pay attention the road!
If you are in a SUV or minivan, have at least four loud kids in the back, on the phone and smoking a cigarette, you shouldn't allowed on the road at all. Because you need at least one hand on the wheel. Seriously, it's not a hard concept.

Rule 9: Rules can change at my whim.
I reserve the right to change and edit these rules, depending on the mind-numbing stupid I see daily. And I will, trust me.

Fly Away

Well, this won't come as a shock to anyone who has spoken more than two words to me before, but I'm a cynical romantic at heart. Ah, I know. They're kinda opposites. Actually, there's no kinda about it. But I am very much someone that wants others to be happy (unless you're stupid enough to land on my 'choke on shit and die' list). I don't mean happy in general. I mean bone-deep, beyond content, looking at the world and feeling like they can do anything...with someone by their side to help when the tumbles and scrapped knees appear. What can I say? Mush McMushy on the inside. But that's not to say everyone needs someone. Just that it's nice to have the chance to share and not bottle stuff up because no one else is around to hear it. After all, friends do have lives that don't revolve around you.

But there's the cynic part. Where I don't think personally I'll find it. I know I've probably discussed this before, but hell if I'll look through the posts to find it. But the thing is that I still cry when I see certain movies, like that Leprechaun one. I also cry at the episode where Will on Fresh Prince meets his father, who ends up tossing him aside for other reasons. I've subtitled the episode "To Hell With Him" after that ending scene. I'm a complete and utter sap. Seriously. Though, I laughed my ass off at Beaches, Terms of Endearment and Titantic (Dear Rose & Jack, you're both dumbasses).

So I get this great big gooey crying fest going on every time I happen to run across certain movies and scenes. I've stayed up the past two nights to see the Leprechaun movie. Which is odd, because I really need to be asleep before 6am, but I can't seem to stop myself. Sometimes you just need that crying fest. And the chance to just enjoy the sappy. And I could quote the scenes to you. It's one of the reasons I can't hate Sci Fi entirely. They give me good mini series to watch (seriously, did anyone else watch Tin Man?).

It's no wonder that I enjoy fandoms, because I can read and enjoy the stories (while ocassionaly scoff at the really bad fic). Kinda like planting myself. Hey, at least I don't write Sue inserts anymore. I consider this progress. But the really good writers can make you feel that you're in the scenes, watching them unfold. The same thing with movies. A really good mushy scene is more than really bad dialogue. It's the emotions. Which is probably why I cheer on Frank Sinatra's character in Young At Heart, even though he's an ass.

Hey I'm not totally shallow girl here. I mean, hot boys (and a few girls) are nice. Really nice. But it's not everything. It doesn't make me connect with the characters, and want them to have a happily ever after. Does make bad movies more enjoyable, I have to admit. If only Jessica Alba didn't look like a bad peroxide job half the time, I might finally put her in that category. Well, her acting isn't what's keeping me interested. Ahem, sorry. Tangent rant.

And now that I'm done babbling, I'll be going to bed. Vacation and Christmas posts coming up in the next couple days. We're finally catching up with everything after Wrinkles. All I'll have left is one load of clothes to dry. We had like six.

Boobs! I got boobs for sale!

I had to get resized. I went from a 40D a couple years ago to a 44DD today. The lady thought I might be a DDD; luckily I wasn't. You know, I'll give at least one D's worth to someone that needs 'em. Seriously. Any takers? I was a B by the time I was 12, at the end of 5th grade. A D by 7th grade, and DDs by 10th-11th grade. I totally skipped training bras.

Flip That Switch

So, I know I complain a lot on here. And it does bother me somewhat that y'all might think I'm not a sunny side up person. I'm actually pretty upbeat. I just use this blog as a way to let myself be able to feel unhappy and not have to deal with the emotional repercussions my family makes me feel ashamed of. It's a nice release.

I named this blog after Noelle, aka Ninja Kitty, because she is the light of my life. Seriously, when the rest of the world can go suck it, she gives me the chance to enjoy the sunbeams. She curls up with me while I sleep. Takes my pillows before I go to sleep. Generally is never far enough away that she can't tell every step I take. She doesn't like being held, but will tolerate it for about 30 seconds before starting to squall. But it's a nice warm, cozy feeling.

And, here's the thing that really, really gets me: she needs me. I have a maternal streak a couple oceans wide. It's a natural thing, and most of my friends end up at some point saying, "I don't need a second mother." And like a mother, I totally ignore them. Hey, I'm not changing my personality. Take it or leave it. I take care of my own. It's a natural thing that I don't try to force on people, but it's a given with me.

She doesn't care that I can't parse a sentence, that inequality graphs and notations are the bane of my existence, that I have some serious road rage, or that I'm not always the brightest bulb in the lot. She just loves me. That's an amazing feeling, and one I'm not really acquainted with. Usually people only like me for as long as they can use me up. I know, and I still let them. That's all right, though. Not that they do it, but if I'm aware, then it's on me. But having that kind of love at my fingertips has actually kept me from going off on a lot of people.

As for the upbeat thing. Man, sometimes I can make Pollyanna look like a downer. It's that whole "hey, I've lived through hell so the rest of life must be a cakewalk." I never said I was bright, did I? But it makes it easier for me to handle the bad spots. I find the oddest situations funny. Like I can start laughing over something totally stupid and I'll keep laughing until I can't breathe. Like when I tickle my godmom's feet and she wiggles around like a 4-year-old, or I'm on the phone with one of my best friends and we'll start discussing how damn stupid some fans are, like making My Little Pony characters of characters (note: I have, in fact, seen Stargate ones, along with hearing about Dr. Who) and how the sanity train musta never left those stations. Or I'll get tickled over the dumbest knock-knock joke, especially when my baby brother was younger and would tell them.

I'm not totally upbeat, as you've noticed, but I do try and keep some perspective. Hence the fairly twisted attitude. I might wanna choke a bitch, but I'll do it with a small on my face.

Blow Out Those Candles For Me, Bitches!

I have to post my Dragon*Con experience in a couple days. Was gonna do it sooner...but if you don't mind, I'll hold off since I'm (a) not sick anymore, (b) not bogged down with school work, and (c) in the mood for the first time in about a dozen or more years to celebrate my birthday. That's right kids. I was born on September 12th, 1981. Making me the ripe old age of 26, going on 52.

I had planned a nice, thought-provoking post, but you know, just not in the mood for it. I know what I go through every birthday (seriously, my birthday? Like a homing beckon for disaster.) and quite frankly, I'm tired of drama, drama, drama. So, I'm gonna go to math class, enjoy my fun time, be thankful for the easy A I get for showing up to class for that freebie quiz, and just...exist. We're going out to eat on Saturday. Hyatt Regency's awesome food, thank you very much. I'm hankering for some shrimp fettuccine, with sweet chili spices. Yummy!

Also, everyone go tell Pug Mom happy birthday. She's part of the elite club of the September 12th baby. Y'all are all just jealous you're not of the few, the proud, the awesomely in-fucking-sane.

Bad Moon Rising

Since Augs was feeling down, I decided to tell a tale on myself....from high school. Yes, the place that always makes you feel stupider than dog shit and twice as unimportant.

Now, I had a friend named Patricia, who in an interesting turn of fate had the same name as that friend that decided her best friend wasn't as important anymore. She says, "Hey, the guy you're dating? Hit on me." That is one thing that will turn me into a screeching harpy. Hello, look at my family for reasons why. So, I'm of course gonna believe her, cause she's one of my best friends. Anyway, I confront him on our next date (which, for the record, was really only like our third/fourth, but you know high school dating). Long short, we break up. I'm upset and stuff, right?

Well, we have a business class, either keyboarding or more indepth of learning MS Office, can't remember which. I decide on the final day, where we actually took finals, to dress up in a dress, tights, and heels. Of course, I'm not a skinny mini, so I wear those girdle things. You know, the ones your grandma wears. Yeah, those. So I wear that with a dress. And I hate dresses, so much. Cause, dude, that requires tights/hose and those are bitch to deal with.

So I'm done with the final, and I need to go tinkle. I get a pass, go the 100 feet to the girls', do my thing and come back. I sit in my seat and when the bell brings, I'm ready to go. I've done the whole "Dude, you totally fucked up" thing girls do. As I'm walking to next period, and halfway there, some girl runs up and goes "You're dress is in your panties."

Oh, yes. Folks. I was showing my granny panties to the world! I was so embarrassed, I wanted to die. And I wanted to choke some females that hadn't told me. Not so great on a 10th grade ego, you know? I pull it down, right there, not caring because hello, I'm showing the world what I'm wearing, and I'm just so mortified. Because of all the work of finding a dress that I looked good in, was all jazzed up about making him pay...and all for nothing. I ended up looking like a fool. That's not very good with me. I don't suffer personal foolery well. Like, at all. So I'm hoping the day ends soon because it's like three days before break and I really, really don't wanna be remembered as Showgirl Wonder.

And the kicker? I found out in the end that he didn't make a pass at her. She was just lying cause she was jealous. I was not pleased when I found that out. I think if I'd been in a more pissed off state of mind I'd have smacked the girl all the way to Kalamazoo, as in the Michigan city, y'all. Of course, he did end up dropping out of high school the next year, but still! Damn it, that was my fellar. Bitch.

Summer Storms

So, in case anyone missed it: I'm afraid of thunderstorms. Like, I hate them. Not as much as I used to, but still hate them. This morning about 7:45 thunder shook the house, and woke me up from sleep. Disoriented, I managed to unplug my computer and DSL, then unhooked my godmom's laptop.

Why do I hate thunderstorms? Hell House. You have random bolts come all wily-nilly in your house and tell me you wouldn't freak the fuck out. And I had that happen from kindergarten until freshman year of high school. Yeah, and lightning? Blew out all the outlets in the house. Like, Mama had to replace all the televisions, have the wires checked out. Thank god for beachfront insurance policies.

I did fall back asleep, though. I'd only been asleep like 4 hours, so I needed more. Plus, I'm way lazy when that sleepy. I just ignore everything else.

Welcome to summer storms in Atlanta.

Boring, Miss Boring.

Just so you know, I have no intentions on leaving the intrawebs because of HP7. Heck, I couldn't finish the 6th, so what the hell would I read the 7th for? Apparently I will be driving all over god's creation on errands tomorrow though. For the record, I don't mind anyone sane, but lord, the batshit Potter fen scare the crap out of me. Just ask the NYT.

Oh, and we so fired the real estate agent. And now she's emailing, after telling my mom she wasn't serious, even though Mom got a bank letter for the loan and everything. And she wants to help, blahblahblah. That was of course after she basically called my mom a liar. There's a winner for you! Oh, and she doesn't think she did anything wrong, so she doesn't know what our problem is. No, seriously, she put that in email.

Jenny's still around. *shudders* Saw her at the grocery the other day, and yesterday she knocked on door. We pretended to not hear. We're smooth like that.

Okay, that's all. I'll post something more interesting than paint drying someday soon. Maybe. If I remember.

Oh, hey, added like 14 hours later...I found this on another blog and well, I liked it. So I made my own. Pretty much me in a nutshell. Though, when I was younger, I was more of a INFJ/INTJ.

Eight Facts

I was tagged by Misty Dawn, so here's mine.

Here's the rules:
1) Each player must post these rules first.
2) Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3) Tagged people post their eight things and these rules.
4) End your post by 'tagging' eight new people to play.
5) Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog for these instructions.

Here We Go...

1. I'm scared to death of sleeping in the dark. I always sleep with either the TV on mute, or a night light so my rooms not completely dark. I got in the habit after living in the haunted house from hell. You hear boots tapping on the floor above you and a pirate ghost wanting you gone, sitting on the side of your bed at night, and tell me you wouldn't freak out either.

2. I was almost named Misty Morning. Yeah, my dad didn't go for it either. It would have been ironic since I've never been a morning person. The most interesting things happen at night, damn it.

3. In kindergarten, I nearly broke a guy's finger for kissing me, or trying. He didn't succeed so well. Especially after he kissed my best friend not 10 minutes earlier. He kept trying until the teachers learned to keep us apart. Wasn't my fault that he had cooties.

4. I compare myself to a weird Faith/Cordelia/Lilah hybrid. Whedon characters for those not in the know. I'm screwed up like Faith, got the bitch-meets-mother Cordy attitude, the no nonsense, practical outlook from Lilah. I'm also a strong woman, which each of those have in spades.

5. I have very little self-esteem and confidence, but a wealth of self-worth. It's strange, I know. I may not think highly of myself, but I know I'm worth than being the mud on someone's shoe. I'm worth more than most people I know because of who I am. I just necessarily think I'm special, as in a rare find. It's an odd problem, believe me. I don't hold myself as a particular brilliant or funny person either. I consider myself average.

6. I don't believe in true love. Love, sure. But true love? Crock of shit in my opinion. Love changes, alters. Rarely have I seen that stand the test of times. In fact, I never have. At nearly 26, I've been in love once and it's not something I care to repeat. I was in love with him, while he thought of me as a friend. So, yes. Bah to that. Part of me is still in love with me, stupid heart that I have. Damn loyal bones. I'll stick to being a loner. For me, the two things are intertwined. But unfortunately most people in love that I've met turned on serious blinders to the other person's fault...and that can't be healthy. Cynical should be my middle name, I swear.

7. I'm happiest with a good book, romance or scifi/fantasy being genres of choice. I generally don't like people. Can't trust them not to fuck you over. My experience anyway. However, that doesn't mean I don't mind being around people I enjoy. I have friends I see, or talk to, and they make me laugh and forget my life. True friends. Ones that have the same interests and don't mind mocking that we're geeks about it. Those I can handle for long periods, but not general people. Being a people person doesn't mean you necessarily enjoy the masses.

8. I was on phenobarbital from 11 months to six-years-old for seizures. Before I was a year, I had a seizure that stopped me from breathing. Recent studies (as in less than ten years ago) show that pheno can lower a kid's IQ and make cognitive skills less developed. Yay. Go '80s doctors handing out pheno like it was candy.


Tagging anyone who wants to do it.