OK.
I think.
I think Morty has died.
I'm not quite sure.
If spiders don't move for a while, does that mean they're dead?
He's been in the same spot on the ceiling for about a week now. I always thought that they curled up when the died. Or maybe that was only when someone squashed them...
Well, I guess I'll clean him up.
Yeah, that's all I have to say.
Que sad montage of friendship.
It Could Be Better
Monday, 22 April 2013
Saturday, 20 April 2013
Bike = Satan
OK.
"Satan (Hebrew: הַשָּׂטָן ha-Satan, "the opposer,") is a character appearing in the texts of the Abrahamic religions, who personifies evil and temptation, and is known as the deceiver that leads humanity astray. The term is often applied to an angel who fell out of favor with God, seducing humanity into the ways of sin, and who now rules over the fallen world."
Hmmm... I realize that many of you probably love biking (or exercise. See my rant about that here :) http://letsusjustseehowitgoes.blogspot.co.nz/2012/12/why-is-exercise-so-fucking-terrible.html) but I hate it. HATE it. There is a reason. I don't just go around hating on things without a proper reason.
I must've been around 8 or so when I was staying at my uncle, aunt and cousins house (who are crazy, I might add. They all weigh about 100 pounds, exercise for hours everyday, live in the middle of the woods and eat nothing but food fallen off of trees and when I say fallen, I mean literally fallen. Apparently, if you pick a piece of fruit or whatever off of a tree, you are hurting its feelings... Moving on from that). Since they just loved to sweat to their hearts content, we were brought outside so we could as well.
The choice was to go on a 2 hour run through the woods with my cousins (tempting) or bike around the driveway (not so bad). So after I went on the two hour run... just kidding.
I was given a bike with no brakes without knowledge. We were all biking around the huge circular driveway when we decided to go in for a yummy lunch, a delicious and filling bean and pepper salad. Don't be fooled by the salad part. It was just beans and peppers. No seasoning. Nothing.
I was the first to head in which required me biking down the steep path to their house. I was zooming along, feeling OK when I saw a sharp turn up ahead. I swerved around and made it! Yay!
However, right after the turn was a metal shed covered with rust and broken dreams. My life flashed before me, as there was nowhere to go.
I furiously squeezed the brakes but to no avail. I closed my eyes and waited for the blow.
After the impact, I saw the bike lying on the concrete next to me, its tire spinning furiously. I lifted my arms to my face which was still intact but streaming with blood. The arms I lifted were too, covered with blood and dirt, especially my wrists.
Everyone got me inside and tried to clean me up. They weren't much help though since they weighed probably as much as me (I was 8).
I was left with a gash above my eyebrow, a cut on my chest, and multiple scars on my arms and hands.
Even now, I have those scars. They have faded a bit.
I also have a fear of riding bikes and even walking down hills. If I'm hiking or something, and I'm walking downhill, I get scared, and it's embarrassing.
I wish it were different, but it's not. You'd be surprised at how much it does affect me. Being scared of hills! I live in the hilliest place. It's ridiculous.
I hate the feeling of being on a bike, the balancing of the two wheels just feels unnatural and unsteady. I don't feel safe.
It sucks, what else can I say but...
...It Could Be Better
"Satan (Hebrew: הַשָּׂטָן ha-Satan, "the opposer,") is a character appearing in the texts of the Abrahamic religions, who personifies evil and temptation, and is known as the deceiver that leads humanity astray. The term is often applied to an angel who fell out of favor with God, seducing humanity into the ways of sin, and who now rules over the fallen world."
Hmmm... I realize that many of you probably love biking (or exercise. See my rant about that here :) http://letsusjustseehowitgoes.blogspot.co.nz/2012/12/why-is-exercise-so-fucking-terrible.html) but I hate it. HATE it. There is a reason. I don't just go around hating on things without a proper reason.
I must've been around 8 or so when I was staying at my uncle, aunt and cousins house (who are crazy, I might add. They all weigh about 100 pounds, exercise for hours everyday, live in the middle of the woods and eat nothing but food fallen off of trees and when I say fallen, I mean literally fallen. Apparently, if you pick a piece of fruit or whatever off of a tree, you are hurting its feelings... Moving on from that). Since they just loved to sweat to their hearts content, we were brought outside so we could as well.
The choice was to go on a 2 hour run through the woods with my cousins (tempting) or bike around the driveway (not so bad). So after I went on the two hour run... just kidding.
I was given a bike with no brakes without knowledge. We were all biking around the huge circular driveway when we decided to go in for a yummy lunch, a delicious and filling bean and pepper salad. Don't be fooled by the salad part. It was just beans and peppers. No seasoning. Nothing.
I was the first to head in which required me biking down the steep path to their house. I was zooming along, feeling OK when I saw a sharp turn up ahead. I swerved around and made it! Yay!
However, right after the turn was a metal shed covered with rust and broken dreams. My life flashed before me, as there was nowhere to go.
I furiously squeezed the brakes but to no avail. I closed my eyes and waited for the blow.
After the impact, I saw the bike lying on the concrete next to me, its tire spinning furiously. I lifted my arms to my face which was still intact but streaming with blood. The arms I lifted were too, covered with blood and dirt, especially my wrists.
Everyone got me inside and tried to clean me up. They weren't much help though since they weighed probably as much as me (I was 8).
I was left with a gash above my eyebrow, a cut on my chest, and multiple scars on my arms and hands.
Even now, I have those scars. They have faded a bit.
I also have a fear of riding bikes and even walking down hills. If I'm hiking or something, and I'm walking downhill, I get scared, and it's embarrassing.
I wish it were different, but it's not. You'd be surprised at how much it does affect me. Being scared of hills! I live in the hilliest place. It's ridiculous.
I hate the feeling of being on a bike, the balancing of the two wheels just feels unnatural and unsteady. I don't feel safe.
It sucks, what else can I say but...
...It Could Be Better
Friday, 19 April 2013
Memories
OK.
My memory is very selective. I used to think that it just kind of sucked, really, but I remember things from when I was probably around four but not a couple years ago... Hmmm. Is everyone's memory like this?
Anyway, the selected memories that I do have and must be acceptable for my brain to store them just never leave my head. I feel like I will always remember them. I can't quite figure out if this is good or bad. I mean, they aren't terrible memories, just so insignificant to everyone else but me that I find them useless information. Why can't I recall the day my family and I went to that relatives house but I can recall the first day of kindergarten in which everyone was secretly laughing at my New Zealand accent and I got stung by a bee? I bet my memories are a bit morphed too. You know when you go back to your old childhood town or you see a movie you haven't seen in decades and the picture is just different to what you considered it to be in your head. I think that happens a lot to me.
I used to live in a small town near Christchurch, New Zealand, and my family and I went back there recently and it looked nothing like what I had remembered. It doesn't help that some bitches tore down my beautiful home and created three in its place.
A lot of my selected memories happened there. Like my first ever crush, Peter. He was super small and carried around a blanket at school everywhere he went. Or when I went to my friend Ellie-Rose's house and took a piece of paper from her printer and got yelled at by her mother. I wonder if the house I see in my head is even remotely close to what was actually there in front of me.
I feel very nostalgic now.
I could list off all the memories I have somehow considered important enough to remember but I don't want to bore you with my super interesting life...
I do wonder though, why I recall things that have no real meaning but I just cannot for the life of me recall normal memories that others can bring up with the snap of their fingers.
I can't help but think I'm defective in some sense. Like the gene elves who grant everyone with eye colour and coordination skills (missed that mark too) came to this option while serving me and said, "Uh... Nah."
It Could Be Better
My memory is very selective. I used to think that it just kind of sucked, really, but I remember things from when I was probably around four but not a couple years ago... Hmmm. Is everyone's memory like this?
Anyway, the selected memories that I do have and must be acceptable for my brain to store them just never leave my head. I feel like I will always remember them. I can't quite figure out if this is good or bad. I mean, they aren't terrible memories, just so insignificant to everyone else but me that I find them useless information. Why can't I recall the day my family and I went to that relatives house but I can recall the first day of kindergarten in which everyone was secretly laughing at my New Zealand accent and I got stung by a bee? I bet my memories are a bit morphed too. You know when you go back to your old childhood town or you see a movie you haven't seen in decades and the picture is just different to what you considered it to be in your head. I think that happens a lot to me.
I used to live in a small town near Christchurch, New Zealand, and my family and I went back there recently and it looked nothing like what I had remembered. It doesn't help that some bitches tore down my beautiful home and created three in its place.
A lot of my selected memories happened there. Like my first ever crush, Peter. He was super small and carried around a blanket at school everywhere he went. Or when I went to my friend Ellie-Rose's house and took a piece of paper from her printer and got yelled at by her mother. I wonder if the house I see in my head is even remotely close to what was actually there in front of me.
I feel very nostalgic now.
I could list off all the memories I have somehow considered important enough to remember but I don't want to bore you with my super interesting life...
I do wonder though, why I recall things that have no real meaning but I just cannot for the life of me recall normal memories that others can bring up with the snap of their fingers.
I can't help but think I'm defective in some sense. Like the gene elves who grant everyone with eye colour and coordination skills (missed that mark too) came to this option while serving me and said, "Uh... Nah."
 |
| You can never unsee this. I am so sorry. Yeah, not really. |
It Could Be Better
Monday, 1 April 2013
Morty.
OK.
Just to creep you out, I feel like I should tell you something a little strange.
I have a spider in my room. He is tiny. His name is Morty and he just won't leave.
Don't get me wrong, I leave my door open for him but he won't go. He walks around my ceiling. That is all he does.
Do spiders eat? If they need to, for survival, he must be bionic or something because he has been here for about a month. I know for sure he hasn't chowed down on anything in my room. Or has he...?
I mean, he seems happy enough. He's never told me otherwise. You would think that if he was, he would leave and make a better life for himself. He must like me :) There was this other spider around the day I found Morty. He was gone in the morning. Men.
Morty is getting bigger everyday. I must have meet him when he was a baby. Maybe he got lost or separated from his mother. Maybe he fled an abusive home situation. I don't know what the story is but I know that I'd never hurt him. He would never hurt me.
I don't want to come off as some bug miracle savior tree hugger type. Don't get the wrong idea. I kill bugs all the time.
Morty's different.
The first time I saw him, I was about to turn off my light to go to sleep. He was on the ceiling. Just strolling around. Maybe he had been there for months, years and I had just noticed him. I do find that hard to believe. He has such presence.
He could be 100 for all I know. He seemed to be going around in circles. Spiders tend to do that...
Anyway, I was too tired to get up and squash him like I would've normally have done so I just switched off the light to go to bed. The next night, there he was, in a different corner. He walks really fast though so don't think it took him all day to walk across the room. Oh no. He's a champ. He could run laps around me. Not that that is extremely hard to do in the first place but you get the idea.
Ever since then, I just couldn't kill him. I've given him an identity. I would feel like I was killing a friend.
He doesn't scare me like other spiders. There's this thing about him that makes me feel comfortable. With most spiders, I would be afraid that they would repel from the ceiling (I'm talking about real spy, ninja shit) and crawl into my brain during the night but not Morty. He's trustworthy. That's hard to find in a guy.
I kind of wish he had a better lifestyle. I mean, don't get me wrong, walking around upside down all day sounds fun and all, I just wish he had some kind of house to chillax in. Maybe a family. Some kids (or spawn, eggs, egg sack? I'm not really sure how that biology stuff works. I should really look that up).
Anyway, I don't know what'll happen to him. Maybe one day he'll walk out my door and I'll never see him again. Maybe I will but I won't even recognize him. Who knows what'll happen? Life's an adventure and you'll never know what one you'll have next.
It Could Be Better
Just to creep you out, I feel like I should tell you something a little strange.
I have a spider in my room. He is tiny. His name is Morty and he just won't leave.
Don't get me wrong, I leave my door open for him but he won't go. He walks around my ceiling. That is all he does.
Do spiders eat? If they need to, for survival, he must be bionic or something because he has been here for about a month. I know for sure he hasn't chowed down on anything in my room. Or has he...?
I mean, he seems happy enough. He's never told me otherwise. You would think that if he was, he would leave and make a better life for himself. He must like me :) There was this other spider around the day I found Morty. He was gone in the morning. Men.
Morty is getting bigger everyday. I must have meet him when he was a baby. Maybe he got lost or separated from his mother. Maybe he fled an abusive home situation. I don't know what the story is but I know that I'd never hurt him. He would never hurt me.
I don't want to come off as some bug miracle savior tree hugger type. Don't get the wrong idea. I kill bugs all the time.
Morty's different.
The first time I saw him, I was about to turn off my light to go to sleep. He was on the ceiling. Just strolling around. Maybe he had been there for months, years and I had just noticed him. I do find that hard to believe. He has such presence.
He could be 100 for all I know. He seemed to be going around in circles. Spiders tend to do that...
Anyway, I was too tired to get up and squash him like I would've normally have done so I just switched off the light to go to bed. The next night, there he was, in a different corner. He walks really fast though so don't think it took him all day to walk across the room. Oh no. He's a champ. He could run laps around me. Not that that is extremely hard to do in the first place but you get the idea.
Ever since then, I just couldn't kill him. I've given him an identity. I would feel like I was killing a friend.
He doesn't scare me like other spiders. There's this thing about him that makes me feel comfortable. With most spiders, I would be afraid that they would repel from the ceiling (I'm talking about real spy, ninja shit) and crawl into my brain during the night but not Morty. He's trustworthy. That's hard to find in a guy.
I kind of wish he had a better lifestyle. I mean, don't get me wrong, walking around upside down all day sounds fun and all, I just wish he had some kind of house to chillax in. Maybe a family. Some kids (or spawn, eggs, egg sack? I'm not really sure how that biology stuff works. I should really look that up).
Anyway, I don't know what'll happen to him. Maybe one day he'll walk out my door and I'll never see him again. Maybe I will but I won't even recognize him. Who knows what'll happen? Life's an adventure and you'll never know what one you'll have next.
It Could Be Better
Saturday, 30 March 2013
Party Time.
OK.
Whether you choose to believe me or not, I had a party last night.
No no no. Not just a party but a Party.
To be completely honest with you all, I was so fucking nervous. I mean, if it went horribly lame, I would be branded the loser who had the lame party. First World Problems, I know, but I'm just an Average Joe so more bad publicity would make me even less noticeable (or more, but not in the good way).
So first of all, I will tell you that it went alright. I think almost everyone showed up who said they would and the others told me later why they couldn't. Everyone told me they had a great time and it wasn't awkward at any moment.
There were however, some weird moments, some asshole-ish moments and some gross moments that I will tell you right now, serenaded by the party shouts from across the street. Like, seriously, there have been so many frat boy yells, I'm surprised noise control hasn't shown up.
It Could Be Better
Whether you choose to believe me or not, I had a party last night.
No no no. Not just a party but a Party.
To be completely honest with you all, I was so fucking nervous. I mean, if it went horribly lame, I would be branded the loser who had the lame party. First World Problems, I know, but I'm just an Average Joe so more bad publicity would make me even less noticeable (or more, but not in the good way).
So first of all, I will tell you that it went alright. I think almost everyone showed up who said they would and the others told me later why they couldn't. Everyone told me they had a great time and it wasn't awkward at any moment.
There were however, some weird moments, some asshole-ish moments and some gross moments that I will tell you right now, serenaded by the party shouts from across the street. Like, seriously, there have been so many frat boy yells, I'm surprised noise control hasn't shown up.
- Have I mentioned I have a dog. Well, I do. And like any dog, she poops outside in my yard where I didn't realize people would go. Well, they did and stepped in a poo without knowledge and walked around my deck in high heels so that tiny poo circles were spread around my deck. I had to break out the hose and water blast those bad boys which were extremely hard to get rid of, by the way, from the pressure of the heel. Awesome time that was.
- I clearly told everyone that it was a bring your OWN drink party and about 5 people turned up expecting me to have provided alcohol for more than 40 people. I don't think so buddy. So because of their sheer stupidity, they stole other people's drinks and my vanilla essence. What!?! I guess they thought that they could get "wasted" by drinking it. Idiots. One of them even asked if an unopened bottle of Fanta on the counter was "already mixed..." Whatever, at least I was born with a brain. One point for me.
- I had my closest friends stay over and I let them put their belongings in my room upstairs. I put up a sign at the bottom of the stairs saying "no go zone bitches." This did not stop people from going upstairs and having sex in the bathroom (or something like that. I didn't really ask for details) and stealing money from my friends' wallets. I consider this equal to a robbery. They trespassed into a place which they did not own, and were not aloud in and stole from me. Let's just say I know who I am not inviting next time.
- So we were dancing and my friend fell. She ended up dislocating her knee and then snapping it back into place when she stood up. It started swelling and it probably hurt quite a bit but I'm not entirely sure because she was so drunk... Anyway, we ended up calling an ambulance and they came and told us that she would have to be on crutches for two weeks but because she snapped it back early on, it was not that bad.
It Could Be Better
Saturday, 23 March 2013
Hey World. How you doin'? That's good. Oh, me? Yeah... not so great.
OK.
Sorry world for not posting for almost three weeks! Bad. Bad. Bad. *Slaps wrist*
I have excuses though! I'm not just a lazy person. I'm not saying that I'm not a lazy person, that's just not all I am.
Like in my last post, I mentioned my stress levels rising. Let Us Just say that they have risen further. I know leaving no time for blogging isn't great because I made a stupid deal with myself that I would often (to make me feel like I can stick to something. And I have. I mean, I'm here aren't I?). I am prone to doing that. Just this week I made a bet with my friend, who I happened to tell about this blog so technically, I am not anonymous anymore. Awkward, I know. I tell some twisted shit on here. Anyway, we said that whoever got with a guy first, ... WAIT! We didn't have a prize! Dammit. Or maybe we did... (my memory suuucks).
Tangent, sorry.
So there's my excuse. One of them anyway.
Life is hard. I haven't lived for a huge amount of time but from what I have so far, my verdict: Fucking hard.
It Could Be Better
Sorry world for not posting for almost three weeks! Bad. Bad. Bad. *Slaps wrist*
I have excuses though! I'm not just a lazy person. I'm not saying that I'm not a lazy person, that's just not all I am.
Like in my last post, I mentioned my stress levels rising. Let Us Just say that they have risen further. I know leaving no time for blogging isn't great because I made a stupid deal with myself that I would often (to make me feel like I can stick to something. And I have. I mean, I'm here aren't I?). I am prone to doing that. Just this week I made a bet with my friend, who I happened to tell about this blog so technically, I am not anonymous anymore. Awkward, I know. I tell some twisted shit on here. Anyway, we said that whoever got with a guy first, ... WAIT! We didn't have a prize! Dammit. Or maybe we did... (my memory suuucks).
Tangent, sorry.
So there's my excuse. One of them anyway.
Life is hard. I haven't lived for a huge amount of time but from what I have so far, my verdict: Fucking hard.
 |
| Check out this guy. Creepfest... |
Wednesday, 6 March 2013
WWASCD. Done. Life Sorted.
OK.
First off, FUCK!
Man. I've been wanting to say that all week.
I feel so fucking stressed, like I'm losing my hair (funny, since there's not much to begin with).
Anyway, I have so much to worry about. To think about. Garrrr! I have like, 5 assignments due at the same time. I feel like the person who organised that schedule must have been aggressively stupid, or may have thought, "Hey. Wouldn't it be super funny to watch all of these worthless kids squirm by making all of these important hand in dates at the same time. Man, I love my job." Whoever invented work was a reeeal a-hole.
Like my scarily accurate catch phrase, "Why Can't We Just Live Like Sophisticated Cavemen," why do we even need work in the first place.
If you are ever stuck in life, just say to yourself, "What would a Sophisticated Caveman do?" Works every time. It's kind of scary actually.
"Aw man, I just missed my bus." WWASCD. Walk, you lazy bastard.
"Aw man, my cake didn't rise." WWASCD. Eat it anyway. It's cake. What does it matter?
"Aw man, I didn't get a clear photo of that dolphin." WWASCD. Well did it get a clear photo of you?
I mean, right.
(The awkward moment when I didn't actually make this myself and found it on Google images... Who does that?)
It Could Be Better
First off, FUCK!
Man. I've been wanting to say that all week.
I feel so fucking stressed, like I'm losing my hair (funny, since there's not much to begin with).
Anyway, I have so much to worry about. To think about. Garrrr! I have like, 5 assignments due at the same time. I feel like the person who organised that schedule must have been aggressively stupid, or may have thought, "Hey. Wouldn't it be super funny to watch all of these worthless kids squirm by making all of these important hand in dates at the same time. Man, I love my job." Whoever invented work was a reeeal a-hole.
Like my scarily accurate catch phrase, "Why Can't We Just Live Like Sophisticated Cavemen," why do we even need work in the first place.
If you are ever stuck in life, just say to yourself, "What would a Sophisticated Caveman do?" Works every time. It's kind of scary actually.
"Aw man, I just missed my bus." WWASCD. Walk, you lazy bastard.
"Aw man, my cake didn't rise." WWASCD. Eat it anyway. It's cake. What does it matter?
"Aw man, I didn't get a clear photo of that dolphin." WWASCD. Well did it get a clear photo of you?
I mean, right.
(The awkward moment when I didn't actually make this myself and found it on Google images... Who does that?)
It Could Be Better
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