You know, there is really nothing that breaks a bout of writer's block better than a good anecdote about a humorous medical issue. If you check when I post these things, you will probably note that it's around four in the morning, and now be insanely curious as to where this is going. Considering my last... jewel of a post, this one actually has structure!
A little bit. (If you actually had hope about that, then it's a good time for me to crush it right now. You're welcome.)
Now it's history time! For the ultimate experience please read this to Johann Strauss' Blue Danube. Trust me.
When I was little, I had a blood fountain spurting out of my nose in the colder days more than rabbits reproduce. The first one I remember was when I was three, so I admit I was terrified. I woke up at some horrid hour in the morning, and I felt really wet. I put my three year old paws on the collar of my purple Pocahontas night dress, and ran my hands up my face discovering that was wet too. Figuring I was just overheated, I got out of bed and walked to the bathroom to press a cool towel against my face. Upon flipping the light on, I realized I was a bloody mess of a child, and I did the one thing that seemed natural at the time. Scream.
There was blood everywhere. I'm sure there was blood in my hair even.(Referring back to the belief that it was sweat. Silly kid, sweat is for people who exert themselves!)
As the blood still poured from my nose, and I screamed bloody murder (Lame pun. Ignore as you please), my parents came rushing in to discover their child coated in a layer of running blood that soaked through my nightgown, now with the aid of tears. I'm surprised that they didn't faint from the gruesome sight, and I applaud them for being as heroic as they were. I don't really remember much, except that they were on the phone with the hospital for advice or something, and that I had a headache, blood running down my throat, blood soaking through layers and layers of tissues, and blood spattered liberally across the bucket that I was leaning in front of. My little kid heart was broken under the trauma of this experience... Now it is a fond memory, and I hope it brings you the same amount of joy as it does for me.
(Switch to the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy by Tchaikovsky if the Blue Danube ran out )
From that delightful experience my next bloody noses, though just as severe, slowly got less terrifying, and now are even a source of amusement for me now. Of course my technique for dealing with the little buggers has certainly improved, and as a gift to you I will divulge my secrets.
I've heard people say that you should tilt your head back so that you won't have any blood running down your face. This almost makes me giggle; actually tilting your head back. While it does decrease the crime scene, all of that blood flows down your throat, and you will get sick to your stomach from the flow. I know tilting your head forward will in fact let it spill to the floor, but let's be honest: Dying of exsanguination is much prettier than dying of vomiting blood.
But that may just be my opinion.
Anyways, just let it go on the floor. If you get bored you can paint with it I guess.
I deal with these things in a classy and sophisticated way.
The way to truly best the beast is to make games up while you're draining! What I like doing in leaning over a sink, turning the faucet on, and letting the blood drip into the sink, thus creating a wonderful spatter-like effect, and providing entertainment in the attempt to either find the point of the flow of water that makes the spatters even more prominent, or the point that decreases the amount of evidence. (Pro tip: The place that will grant you the wish of not having to clean much up is where the water is flowing smoothly. You'll know it when you see it.)
I have a little plastic cup which I use as another method of rinsing the blood away as it comes. The game is simple: The clearer the sink and water is, the better you're doing. Now as you bleed to death, the flow will be staunched, but there'll be this massive blood clot hanging from your nose. You don't want to walk to school with Flubber rocking to the beat of your footsteps, so you blow your nose. This effectively gets rid of your new friend, but it might start the blood flow again. Just repeat these steps until your nose has been rid of the blood, clots, and possible brain chunks.(That depends on the severity. The scale goes from 1 to Mount Vesuvius.)
(Also, if the Sugar Plum Fairy ran out, switch to Vivaldi's Four Seasons.)
Now it's clean up time! For all my experience, I could teach a class to criminals on how to not get caught. I'm not kidding, but I wouldn't actually teach a live class, for obvious reasons. My favorite tools are a duel sided sponge, and Clorox. Remember that blood is a prankster, and it will try to ruin your life by splattering across places you wouldn't have dreamed it could reach. My advice is to not only scrub down the immediate area, but also hit around a radius of four feet, but this also depends on how severe your bloody nose is. After you've rinsed, bleached, and repeated, just do it again. Remember, there's no such thing as too clean. Another thing you should do is clean everything that you used to clean your hemorrhage of terror. Put the sponge in the dishwasher, and set the cycle to sanitize. I like to also run over everything with a paper towel, and then burn it. (That may not be the safest thing for indoors, so go outside before setting fire to the beautiful tree that helped you rid your house of 99.9% of blood germs.)
So there you have it! My advice on how to deal with your bloody noses. I know they're irritating at first, but you will grow to love and respect them as I do after you have about... five or six massive ones where you almost have to go to the hospital, and then bazillions of medium ones.
Ah, almost forgot! You probably got your bloody nose from the dry air, so moisturize the inside of your nose with Mentholatum.
Good luck, and remember that it's not your fault, it's the weathers'.
Until we meet again~
( Alright, I posted this at five, but I started at four. I stayed up for an hour just to entertain you. I just wanted to let you know how hard I worked.)
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Patience, and other annoying things.
For this post, I figured it'd be pretty spiffy to have a red highlight behind my words.
...
I'm really not sure why, but I'm going to roll with it. Please roll with me, and together we can be a big freight train that bashes through irritating things.
Choo-choo.
Anyways, I should probably get to the main topic, which is patience. It really is a virtue, and it's also a virtur I'm lacking in. Whenever something happens, like I audition for something, or maybe say something *super* witty, I'm always struck with this incredible urge to know what the response is. RIGHT. AWAY.
It's not even a question of whether the next action is positive or negative, I just need to know. I once tried to be filled with good things like patience, kindness, and a sense of understanding for my fellow humans.
Needless to say, that train crashed into the mountain called Gandalf.
That train DID. NOT. PASS.
...
Loooooooooooooord of the Rings.
;)
I can't keep my train of thought today, but I've really got to get moving on this thing. I once tried to talk myself into deleting this, but apparently there've been over 160 people who've read this thing, so I feel obligated to see it to the end.
When I was planning this post (For five seconds... I normally just type what I'm thinking at that particular mom-
I see a fluffy kitty. And lime jelly.
Like I said, it all just spills out of my head)
I was planning this out, and thought maybe I'd try to come up with some tips, or a lengthy anecdote, or even a bar graph, but none of it seems to roll. The sick thing is that I haven't even finished this blurb of jumbled thoughts, and I'm already thinking of the reception.
Maybe I'll edit this on another day, but I wanted to let everyone who's read this that I'm trying my best.
I've even passed up petting this fluffy S.O.B about 8 times.
That's dedication multiplied by the speed of light and divided by cat hair.
If anyone wants to figure that one out, that'd be cool.
The next post will be about Focusing.
That one should be a gem.
...
I'm really not sure why, but I'm going to roll with it. Please roll with me, and together we can be a big freight train that bashes through irritating things.
Choo-choo.
Anyways, I should probably get to the main topic, which is patience. It really is a virtue, and it's also a virtur I'm lacking in. Whenever something happens, like I audition for something, or maybe say something *super* witty, I'm always struck with this incredible urge to know what the response is. RIGHT. AWAY.
It's not even a question of whether the next action is positive or negative, I just need to know. I once tried to be filled with good things like patience, kindness, and a sense of understanding for my fellow humans.
Needless to say, that train crashed into the mountain called Gandalf.
That train DID. NOT. PASS.
...
Loooooooooooooord of the Rings.
;)
I can't keep my train of thought today, but I've really got to get moving on this thing. I once tried to talk myself into deleting this, but apparently there've been over 160 people who've read this thing, so I feel obligated to see it to the end.
When I was planning this post (For five seconds... I normally just type what I'm thinking at that particular mom-
I see a fluffy kitty. And lime jelly.
Like I said, it all just spills out of my head)
I was planning this out, and thought maybe I'd try to come up with some tips, or a lengthy anecdote, or even a bar graph, but none of it seems to roll. The sick thing is that I haven't even finished this blurb of jumbled thoughts, and I'm already thinking of the reception.
Maybe I'll edit this on another day, but I wanted to let everyone who's read this that I'm trying my best.
I've even passed up petting this fluffy S.O.B about 8 times.
That's dedication multiplied by the speed of light and divided by cat hair.
If anyone wants to figure that one out, that'd be cool.
The next post will be about Focusing.
That one should be a gem.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Rebellion: 15 classy ways to free yourself from opression.
Disclaimer: I am a blogger, not a specialist. Not only am I devoid of a degree, I am devoid of a fully mature brain, muscles, a BAC below 2.5, a sense of humor, and discretion about things that may or may not be said (refer to the comment about blood alcohol content). If, by following my advice you experience the wonder of a black eye by an irritated individual, know that it isn't my fault.
(It's not my fault because I wrote this. I win.)
The post color of the day is a bright blue to give you courage. If it doesn't, then you obviously haven't looked at it hard enough.
Do you feel oppressed by parents who just seem to be ruining your life? Do they force you to do chores, get grades above an F, and not let you wear that hooker outfit for "Future Job" day? The mere mention of all of the above transgressions must make your blood boil! I mean, it's not like they were teens too! This is your life, and they shouldn't interfere with it! I mean, you definitely know what's best for you, and you also know for a fact that last possible love interest shouldn't have been glared at just because of his signs of rebellion! In fact, YOU should rebel too! But do it in a way that you come out on top no matter what! Piercing your face 'till you look like swiss cheese with the complimentary tattoos isn't going to cut it because piercings can be ripped out, and sanders will take care of those expensive ink doodles of a T-rex eating pizza. No, you need a devious plan that will show them who's in charge. You need what I offer.
I offer you 15 cutting edge methods to show those darn parents that you are right.
But know that these methods will do something much better than a dissertation about why you should be able to go to the prom with your new beau, "Hannibal the Cannibal". These will make them feel the world is out to get them, and they will assess their life choices with a microscope, and see where they went wrong.
1.) Squirt out all of their toothpaste and fill the tube with hemorrhoid ointment.
2.) Pepper their female and man panties.
3.) Randomly decide you want to learn The Song That Never Ends on the fife, and practice until you have it down cold.
4.) Mix guano in with their coffee grounds. (Makes for a shitty cup of coffee)
5.) Switch all of the cat figurines in the house with dog ones. (and vice versa)
6.) Strategically shave one of their faces into the family pets butt fluff.
7.) Re-stuff the pillows with a fluff and Scrapple mixture.
8.) Open her tampons, dust them with Cayenne pepper, and re-seal them. (Mom) Blend bleu cheese and water together and mix liberally into his hair gel. (Dad)
9.) Grease the bottoms of their shoes with duck fat.
10.) Replace the razor head of the nose trimmer with a braider tip.
11.) Remove all of the songs on their CD's and replace them with fart noises.
12.) Stuff the DVD player with strawberry strudel cake.
13.) Dump the beer out of the bottles, and refill with apple juice (0% for best reaction)
14.) Grind wasabi beans and add them to the exfoliating body wash.
15.) Let the cat lick their chapstick.
So go out and show them your fighting spirit!
(It's not my fault because I wrote this. I win.)
The post color of the day is a bright blue to give you courage. If it doesn't, then you obviously haven't looked at it hard enough.
Do you feel oppressed by parents who just seem to be ruining your life? Do they force you to do chores, get grades above an F, and not let you wear that hooker outfit for "Future Job" day? The mere mention of all of the above transgressions must make your blood boil! I mean, it's not like they were teens too! This is your life, and they shouldn't interfere with it! I mean, you definitely know what's best for you, and you also know for a fact that last possible love interest shouldn't have been glared at just because of his signs of rebellion! In fact, YOU should rebel too! But do it in a way that you come out on top no matter what! Piercing your face 'till you look like swiss cheese with the complimentary tattoos isn't going to cut it because piercings can be ripped out, and sanders will take care of those expensive ink doodles of a T-rex eating pizza. No, you need a devious plan that will show them who's in charge. You need what I offer.
I offer you 15 cutting edge methods to show those darn parents that you are right.
But know that these methods will do something much better than a dissertation about why you should be able to go to the prom with your new beau, "Hannibal the Cannibal". These will make them feel the world is out to get them, and they will assess their life choices with a microscope, and see where they went wrong.
1.) Squirt out all of their toothpaste and fill the tube with hemorrhoid ointment.
2.) Pepper their female and man panties.
3.) Randomly decide you want to learn The Song That Never Ends on the fife, and practice until you have it down cold.
4.) Mix guano in with their coffee grounds. (Makes for a shitty cup of coffee)
5.) Switch all of the cat figurines in the house with dog ones. (and vice versa)
6.) Strategically shave one of their faces into the family pets butt fluff.
7.) Re-stuff the pillows with a fluff and Scrapple mixture.
8.) Open her tampons, dust them with Cayenne pepper, and re-seal them. (Mom) Blend bleu cheese and water together and mix liberally into his hair gel. (Dad)
9.) Grease the bottoms of their shoes with duck fat.
10.) Replace the razor head of the nose trimmer with a braider tip.
11.) Remove all of the songs on their CD's and replace them with fart noises.
12.) Stuff the DVD player with strawberry strudel cake.
13.) Dump the beer out of the bottles, and refill with apple juice (0% for best reaction)
14.) Grind wasabi beans and add them to the exfoliating body wash.
15.) Let the cat lick their chapstick.
So go out and show them your fighting spirit!
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Procrastination: The Magical Death of a Teenager
This post has been sponsored by the tears of my classmates, which is why I've chosen a deeper blue. Feel the sadness in their hearts from this shade, and know that I've been working hard to achieve a certain level of misery in the classroom.
Back to the topic that wasn't really on hand and yet was on the same time... Procrastination. I find this to be one of the sweetest bitter deaths life has to offer. Now I say sweetly bitter because the bitter is simply masked by the sweet, and it is done very effectively. I figured that this topic would be appropriate considering... I haven't written anything all month.
Bummer, huh?
- The above sentence was meant to be read with a valley girl accent. Try again -
Not only does procrastination have malignant short term effects (Not doing homework, not brushing teeth, not getting out of bed, the big scary monster wearing leather pants in your nightmare saying he'll kill you tomorrow etc...), it has long term effects such as failing classes, your nightmares not being mare-ish, a very aggravated parental figure, smug little punks laughing at your supposed stupidity, and rickets.
Just kidding about the rickets.
Perhaps.
... This is about the fourth time I've gotten sidetracked while writing this, but I've put it off for long enough.
That right there is an example of willpower.
Doesn't it look weak?
That's because it is.
Trying to force yourself out of procrastination is like trying to convince a rabid rabbit to not feast on your flesh.
The lull of the computer as it whirs away... I'm pretty sure it has the same effect as beer does to a German. At least, it does for me. I'm not sure what your inhibitors are, but mine is the vortex known as the Internet.
Did you know I'm using this post about procrastination as a way to procrastinate?
Try and wrap your minds around that.
You failed, didn't you?
It's all right.
Before I run aground again, I'm going to wrap this choppy post up with a final note:
That was it.
I believe that was a troll.
But seriously, Procrastination effects millions of people on the internet everyday. If you feel a loved one may be ensnared in this trap, don't wait. It's best to forcibly wrench them from their inhibitor, jam their hands through pikes, and call for help. The longer they are under the effects of procrastination, the smaller their chances of survival are.
So be a somewhat crappy friend, and help them.
And then go finish that level of Skyrim, silly!
Those mountains aren't going to climb themselves.
Back to the topic that wasn't really on hand and yet was on the same time... Procrastination. I find this to be one of the sweetest bitter deaths life has to offer. Now I say sweetly bitter because the bitter is simply masked by the sweet, and it is done very effectively. I figured that this topic would be appropriate considering... I haven't written anything all month.
Bummer, huh?
- The above sentence was meant to be read with a valley girl accent. Try again -
Not only does procrastination have malignant short term effects (Not doing homework, not brushing teeth, not getting out of bed, the big scary monster wearing leather pants in your nightmare saying he'll kill you tomorrow etc...), it has long term effects such as failing classes, your nightmares not being mare-ish, a very aggravated parental figure, smug little punks laughing at your supposed stupidity, and rickets.
Just kidding about the rickets.
Perhaps.
... This is about the fourth time I've gotten sidetracked while writing this, but I've put it off for long enough.
That right there is an example of willpower.
Doesn't it look weak?
That's because it is.
Trying to force yourself out of procrastination is like trying to convince a rabid rabbit to not feast on your flesh.
The lull of the computer as it whirs away... I'm pretty sure it has the same effect as beer does to a German. At least, it does for me. I'm not sure what your inhibitors are, but mine is the vortex known as the Internet.
Did you know I'm using this post about procrastination as a way to procrastinate?
Try and wrap your minds around that.
You failed, didn't you?
It's all right.
Before I run aground again, I'm going to wrap this choppy post up with a final note:
That was it.
I believe that was a troll.
But seriously, Procrastination effects millions of people on the internet everyday. If you feel a loved one may be ensnared in this trap, don't wait. It's best to forcibly wrench them from their inhibitor, jam their hands through pikes, and call for help. The longer they are under the effects of procrastination, the smaller their chances of survival are.
So be a somewhat crappy friend, and help them.
And then go finish that level of Skyrim, silly!
Those mountains aren't going to climb themselves.
Monday, September 9, 2013
Attack of the school questionnaire! A 150 page document asking for the answers to stupid, invasive questions!
This post shall be written in yellow because, like first week formalities, yellow is obnoxious and tends to burn my retinas.
I've been back in school for almost two weeks, and oddly it seems like it's been ages. Being tossed around in a whirl of drugged up chimpanzees certainly has taken its toll on my energy levels, but I found myself settling into that routine faster than normal. When I think about what I was like in freshman year (Minus the obvious retching from my stupid, teenage ways... Even though I still am a stupid teenager... Moving on), I remember always being so infuriated with those apes, and all that other nonsense.
Now I just don't have the energy to care.
I suppose being completely burned out in more than one sense has been good in a very odd way, because it has decreased the venom flowing through my head.
Don't worry my dear readers, I'd never leave you desiring acidic commentaries.
I'm weak... I couldn't stand the yellow.
Back to my original topic, the one thing that has never failed to irritate me to no end is... The first day questions! I'm a naturally secretive person, and i like my business to be... My business.
Shocking idea, no?
I honestly don't understand why they make us talk to each other. It seems like the public school system is hell bent on trying to get me to interact with my peers. I've even asked this before (In a nicer way, I swear),and all I get are lame answers like "It's good for you!", or "So you can get to know everyone and make friends!"
If I wanted friends I'd make them. Perhaps this ritualistic spewing of the guts is for the more timid peop-
No, that can't be right. I guess someone like me honestly cannot fathom why we're forced to play nice for almost a week straight.
This comes off as rather whiny I realize, so I'll try to ease your minds by saying something stupid.
...
That was it.
Digging a little deeper into the concept of personal business, I'm surprised at how that isn't a popular theme today. Now I'm not going to generalize the entire human race on this one, because if I did I'd be the dumbest person on the planet, but it does seem like keeping things to yourself is a foreign concept to some people. I've always believed that my business is mine, and your business is yours, and if you want to share? Cool. If you don't want to share? Cool.
Blue.
I feel if that policy was adopted in everybody's mind this world would be a lot less annoying. There would be no more stupid news reels about somebody or others new hairstyle, or so and so's divorce to whats-their-face.
That would be pretty cool.
Back to school (Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo), here is my official belated welcome back to all those who are in the same boat as me, or have been.
Welcome back!
Now go do your homework.
I mean it.
Video games aren't homework.
...
Yeah.
I've been back in school for almost two weeks, and oddly it seems like it's been ages. Being tossed around in a whirl of drugged up chimpanzees certainly has taken its toll on my energy levels, but I found myself settling into that routine faster than normal. When I think about what I was like in freshman year (Minus the obvious retching from my stupid, teenage ways... Even though I still am a stupid teenager... Moving on), I remember always being so infuriated with those apes, and all that other nonsense.
Now I just don't have the energy to care.
I suppose being completely burned out in more than one sense has been good in a very odd way, because it has decreased the venom flowing through my head.
Don't worry my dear readers, I'd never leave you desiring acidic commentaries.
I'm weak... I couldn't stand the yellow.
Back to my original topic, the one thing that has never failed to irritate me to no end is... The first day questions! I'm a naturally secretive person, and i like my business to be... My business.
Shocking idea, no?
I honestly don't understand why they make us talk to each other. It seems like the public school system is hell bent on trying to get me to interact with my peers. I've even asked this before (In a nicer way, I swear),and all I get are lame answers like "It's good for you!", or "So you can get to know everyone and make friends!"
If I wanted friends I'd make them. Perhaps this ritualistic spewing of the guts is for the more timid peop-
No, that can't be right. I guess someone like me honestly cannot fathom why we're forced to play nice for almost a week straight.
This comes off as rather whiny I realize, so I'll try to ease your minds by saying something stupid.
...
That was it.
Digging a little deeper into the concept of personal business, I'm surprised at how that isn't a popular theme today. Now I'm not going to generalize the entire human race on this one, because if I did I'd be the dumbest person on the planet, but it does seem like keeping things to yourself is a foreign concept to some people. I've always believed that my business is mine, and your business is yours, and if you want to share? Cool. If you don't want to share? Cool.
Blue.
I feel if that policy was adopted in everybody's mind this world would be a lot less annoying. There would be no more stupid news reels about somebody or others new hairstyle, or so and so's divorce to whats-their-face.
That would be pretty cool.
Back to school (Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo), here is my official belated welcome back to all those who are in the same boat as me, or have been.
Welcome back!
Now go do your homework.
I mean it.
Video games aren't homework.
...
Yeah.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Cats: The theory of "Feline Expansion" and extra stuff
* Sorry for the late post, but I lost my password... And my username... That should pretty much explain
Yeah, I had to pick magenta.
I'm fortunate enough to be on of the co-owners of a delightful, thousand pound, yowling Maine Coon kitty named Arthur. Every morning at 5 this ball of fluffy wonder will find a way to sit on me, whether it's precariously perched on my shoulder/side, on my back, or my stomach, he will sit. And slowly but not subtly he'll move closer and closer to me, until I have a mouth/ear/head full of fur. At that point I'll open my eyes, naturally. This is a big mistake, because as soon as he knows that I'm awake he'll stare me down. If I don't move within two minutes of having established eye contact, I'll have a big paw pushed into my cheek. Of course I'll sit up to pet him, but once my head is in a somewhat vertical position, he'll start meowing. And when I say meowing I don't mean "Nyauuuuu~" I mean "ME-GET YOUR BUTT UP AND FEED ME YOU JERK- OWWWWWWWWWWWRWAR".
This probably seems louder because it's at 5:10, but you get the picture. After getting out of bed to preserve my sanity, I get to listen to bullets of cat-crying ricochet off the walls as I stumble down the hall to where we feed the cat. When trying to walk I must be aware of him weaving through my legs in anticipation, though it's not very effective considering that I woke up not even two minutes ago. This frenzy doesn't let up until I've filled Arthur's bowl and placed it on the floor for it to be devoured at warp speed.
Morning ritual aside, Arthur was the one who first opened my eyes to the theory of Feline Expansion. Basically, in a bed, the less space there is, the more space your cat will take up. Hold on, that sounds stupid... I'll just give a real life example
It was pretty late at night, and I was (Unsuccessfully) trying to sleep, and Arthur jumped on my bed and sat on my pillow. Being the generous human I am (Not really, but for the sake of this example please pardon the augment to my personality) I moved my head over so he could lay down. I made sure that there was a space between my head and his feline-ness. About five minutes later his body was plastered to the side of my face, so I moved over more. Within ten minutes my head was on the mattress, and he was taking up my pillow.
This is not the only encounter I've had with this phenomenon, though. My best friend has an adorably small feline that is composed mostly of fluffy black fur and razor sharp claws. Somehow this tiny little kitty can take up almost all of the space in the bed when she sleeps next to me. I'm almost sure that cats have flaps that they unfurl when they find a suitable resting place. These flaps could amplify the volume of the cat by almost 300%.
But this could also be my active imagination running away with the wind.
Yeah, I had to pick magenta.
I'm fortunate enough to be on of the co-owners of a delightful, thousand pound, yowling Maine Coon kitty named Arthur. Every morning at 5 this ball of fluffy wonder will find a way to sit on me, whether it's precariously perched on my shoulder/side, on my back, or my stomach, he will sit. And slowly but not subtly he'll move closer and closer to me, until I have a mouth/ear/head full of fur. At that point I'll open my eyes, naturally. This is a big mistake, because as soon as he knows that I'm awake he'll stare me down. If I don't move within two minutes of having established eye contact, I'll have a big paw pushed into my cheek. Of course I'll sit up to pet him, but once my head is in a somewhat vertical position, he'll start meowing. And when I say meowing I don't mean "Nyauuuuu~" I mean "ME-GET YOUR BUTT UP AND FEED ME YOU JERK- OWWWWWWWWWWWRWAR".
This probably seems louder because it's at 5:10, but you get the picture. After getting out of bed to preserve my sanity, I get to listen to bullets of cat-crying ricochet off the walls as I stumble down the hall to where we feed the cat. When trying to walk I must be aware of him weaving through my legs in anticipation, though it's not very effective considering that I woke up not even two minutes ago. This frenzy doesn't let up until I've filled Arthur's bowl and placed it on the floor for it to be devoured at warp speed.
Morning ritual aside, Arthur was the one who first opened my eyes to the theory of Feline Expansion. Basically, in a bed, the less space there is, the more space your cat will take up. Hold on, that sounds stupid... I'll just give a real life example
It was pretty late at night, and I was (Unsuccessfully) trying to sleep, and Arthur jumped on my bed and sat on my pillow. Being the generous human I am (Not really, but for the sake of this example please pardon the augment to my personality) I moved my head over so he could lay down. I made sure that there was a space between my head and his feline-ness. About five minutes later his body was plastered to the side of my face, so I moved over more. Within ten minutes my head was on the mattress, and he was taking up my pillow.
This is not the only encounter I've had with this phenomenon, though. My best friend has an adorably small feline that is composed mostly of fluffy black fur and razor sharp claws. Somehow this tiny little kitty can take up almost all of the space in the bed when she sleeps next to me. I'm almost sure that cats have flaps that they unfurl when they find a suitable resting place. These flaps could amplify the volume of the cat by almost 300%.
But this could also be my active imagination running away with the wind.
Monday, August 5, 2013
Bipolar: Facts, Fiction and Fun stuff
I'm thinking about having a monthly highlight on a mental disorder, but most likely I'll forget about it and never do it again.
But that's just life, isn't it?
- Not really. -
I thought I'd spew some cool sounding words, and string them into something that looks impressive before I get into all of the funny stuff. (Yes, funny stuff. Your eyes haven't deceived you. Of course, if the subject material isn't found witty, I'll pay for my crimes dearly )
(Interesting note: On Wikipedia, the little picture in the corner is the two drama masks representing comedy and tragedy. I find this hilarious )
Anywho, Bipolar is a mental illness classified as a mood disorder by a board of people wearing white coats. (Psychiatrists silly, not jugglers). The staple of this illness is mania, or intense euphoria, irritation, or other long-ish words (Not really, but you probably guessed, so these brackets were unnecessary). This illness was aptly named, "two poles" because your mood will yo-yo from the highest number on your number scale (Psychiatrists and Psychologists both love numbers. Yeah, you know who you are) to the lowest at an irritating pace. Some symptoms include slashed tires, a TP'd house, your car wrapped in tin foil and sardines, and black eyes. Of course, these spawn more from the stupid shit you do when you're experiencing a mood high, than actually from the high itself. (Black eyes come from your wife when you buy a second house on your way home from work). In all non-seriousness mania is pretty self explanatory (You can tell because it just sounds out of control, and here and there and here and there, and a number of Katy Perry songs... Stuff like that). After an exhilarating period of actually getting things done however, there's the not-so-fun part of Bipolar where you crash faster than a dolphin that just jumped out of the sea onto dry land because it was drunk. Ehhh... You get the idea.
Here's the fiction usually associated with Bipolar, in a convenient bullet list (Because I'm nice)
* Bipolar is just another name for mood swings (No you fools, you think mood swings get to have a cooler other name? No. No bone for you )
*Bipolar people suck (BIPOLAR PEOPLE ARE COOL YOU JERKS.) - This one has emotions swimming all around it. Ignore it, I just wanted to call everyone a jerk :P -
* Mania = happy (When I was semi-serious, I brushed over this. It can be happiness, but it can also be irritation. When the mania hits, some people actually feel frightened because they feel as if they're losing their grip on things. And that's due to the fact that they are. (Interpret my own personal bias at risk of your eyeballs popping out))
*If you have bipolar, you look like Dr. Jekyll ( Go away)
*There is a bipolar test ( If you answered mostly "A" I have some bad news... )
Before the fun stuff, I got my information from WebMD, Wikipedia, and various people who were diagnosed. Yeah. So if it sounded smart, it was one of those sources ;)
(If I got anything wrong, make sure to give me a chance to right this grievous error by telling me, but don't forget your proof. Unless you're one of three people. Then you can just box my ears and tell me what to fix.)
Now for the funny stuff! To sum Bipolar up in a pretty sentence for one of the people I talked to, it was
"I said I would make a hundred of WHAT?"
- That's probably in reference to the euphoria of being able to do things, and then crashing down -. Another way of putting it would be "Your mouth wrote a check that your ass doesn't want to pay", but... the first one is funnier. The bipolar people I know are insane, and cut Sexy Butter Indians out from the Land O'Lakes butter package. (Instructions on how to make your own will be at the end of this post) They may have many large instruments in their homes, and still will desire more. They paint massive oil paintings with a liiiiiiiiiittle brush, and use color pastels and gold leaf to make school craft projects. And if you forgot making giant three dimensional 12 point stars out of wrapping paper, you should do yo' research, dawg. To sum all of these people up in one word, it would be hilarious. Hilarious, because you CAN'T. (I dare you to try. DARE )
Sexy butter Indian instructions
step 1 Buy Land-O-Lakes butter. No substitutions or you will not get the desired results.
step 2 Eat the butter. You want to make sure there is no butter in the package
step 3 Using a pair of scissors (pinking shears are acceptable) carefully cut the Indian from the package
step 4 Using an exacto blade carefully cut along the sides and bottom of the butter carton the Indian is holding to make a sort of flap
step 5 Carefully fold the knees of the Indian so they are positioned behind the flap. This will take two folds so the knees face forward.
step 6 lift the flap and laugh hysterically
step 7 get help
*** Bonus, for the truly gifted: Keep one on hand at all times, so you can harass people in grocery stores by asking "Have you ever wondered what's behind the butter?" A German accent is required ***
But that's just life, isn't it?
- Not really. -
I thought I'd spew some cool sounding words, and string them into something that looks impressive before I get into all of the funny stuff. (Yes, funny stuff. Your eyes haven't deceived you. Of course, if the subject material isn't found witty, I'll pay for my crimes dearly )
(Interesting note: On Wikipedia, the little picture in the corner is the two drama masks representing comedy and tragedy. I find this hilarious )
Anywho, Bipolar is a mental illness classified as a mood disorder by a board of people wearing white coats. (Psychiatrists silly, not jugglers). The staple of this illness is mania, or intense euphoria, irritation, or other long-ish words (Not really, but you probably guessed, so these brackets were unnecessary). This illness was aptly named, "two poles" because your mood will yo-yo from the highest number on your number scale (Psychiatrists and Psychologists both love numbers. Yeah, you know who you are) to the lowest at an irritating pace. Some symptoms include slashed tires, a TP'd house, your car wrapped in tin foil and sardines, and black eyes. Of course, these spawn more from the stupid shit you do when you're experiencing a mood high, than actually from the high itself. (Black eyes come from your wife when you buy a second house on your way home from work). In all non-seriousness mania is pretty self explanatory (You can tell because it just sounds out of control, and here and there and here and there, and a number of Katy Perry songs... Stuff like that). After an exhilarating period of actually getting things done however, there's the not-so-fun part of Bipolar where you crash faster than a dolphin that just jumped out of the sea onto dry land because it was drunk. Ehhh... You get the idea.
Here's the fiction usually associated with Bipolar, in a convenient bullet list (Because I'm nice)
* Bipolar is just another name for mood swings (No you fools, you think mood swings get to have a cooler other name? No. No bone for you )
*Bipolar people suck (BIPOLAR PEOPLE ARE COOL YOU JERKS.) - This one has emotions swimming all around it. Ignore it, I just wanted to call everyone a jerk :P -
* Mania = happy (When I was semi-serious, I brushed over this. It can be happiness, but it can also be irritation. When the mania hits, some people actually feel frightened because they feel as if they're losing their grip on things. And that's due to the fact that they are. (Interpret my own personal bias at risk of your eyeballs popping out))
*If you have bipolar, you look like Dr. Jekyll ( Go away)
*There is a bipolar test ( If you answered mostly "A" I have some bad news... )
Before the fun stuff, I got my information from WebMD, Wikipedia, and various people who were diagnosed. Yeah. So if it sounded smart, it was one of those sources ;)
(If I got anything wrong, make sure to give me a chance to right this grievous error by telling me, but don't forget your proof. Unless you're one of three people. Then you can just box my ears and tell me what to fix.)
Now for the funny stuff! To sum Bipolar up in a pretty sentence for one of the people I talked to, it was
"I said I would make a hundred of WHAT?"
- That's probably in reference to the euphoria of being able to do things, and then crashing down -. Another way of putting it would be "Your mouth wrote a check that your ass doesn't want to pay", but... the first one is funnier. The bipolar people I know are insane, and cut Sexy Butter Indians out from the Land O'Lakes butter package. (Instructions on how to make your own will be at the end of this post) They may have many large instruments in their homes, and still will desire more. They paint massive oil paintings with a liiiiiiiiiittle brush, and use color pastels and gold leaf to make school craft projects. And if you forgot making giant three dimensional 12 point stars out of wrapping paper, you should do yo' research, dawg. To sum all of these people up in one word, it would be hilarious. Hilarious, because you CAN'T. (I dare you to try. DARE )
Sexy butter Indian instructions
step 1 Buy Land-O-Lakes butter. No substitutions or you will not get the desired results.
step 2 Eat the butter. You want to make sure there is no butter in the package
step 3 Using a pair of scissors (pinking shears are acceptable) carefully cut the Indian from the package
step 4 Using an exacto blade carefully cut along the sides and bottom of the butter carton the Indian is holding to make a sort of flap
step 5 Carefully fold the knees of the Indian so they are positioned behind the flap. This will take two folds so the knees face forward.
step 6 lift the flap and laugh hysterically
step 7 get help
*** Bonus, for the truly gifted: Keep one on hand at all times, so you can harass people in grocery stores by asking "Have you ever wondered what's behind the butter?" A German accent is required ***
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Reasons why I shouldn't be allowed within fifty miles of a computer
Well, isn't this dandy! In all honesty, when I first started composing this, I had no idea what I was going to say...
I still don't.
My mother cheerily pointed out that I was off to a great start.
This is one of the reasons why I shouldn't even be allowed near a computer. Seen as my pride demands that I have something semi-intelligible today, I'll start off with a supposedly amusing encounter with one of my doctors, which will ultimately give you a glimpse of my personality . (You have no idea how many injuries I receive, but I'll save the loquaciousness for a later post)
We have a relationship which involves shooting wisecracks at each other, while actually getting the diagnosing and stuff done. Since I'm a senior in high school, this means I get asked "What are you going to do when you get out of school?" about seven bajillion times per second. Yeah. The end result of that conversation was him saying I should be a brain surgeon, because they're geniuses and have terrible personalities, although I wouldn't be able to pith my patients, so maybe not.
I should've said I wanted to be a shrub pruner.
We also talked about how being easily distracted would prove troublesome if I was working around the frontal lobe.
Perhaps, in order to tie this post in with the title, a good reason I shouldn't be allowed on the computer is this blog in and of itself.
I fear soon that it will be degraded into a haven of cat videos, overzealous writing about mental disorders (A special on bipolar is in line for the next post), and me blathering incoherently about my obsession of the month.
But I'll stay with this idea until someone tells me to shut up.
Happy reading to all
I still don't.
My mother cheerily pointed out that I was off to a great start.
This is one of the reasons why I shouldn't even be allowed near a computer. Seen as my pride demands that I have something semi-intelligible today, I'll start off with a supposedly amusing encounter with one of my doctors, which will ultimately give you a glimpse of my personality . (You have no idea how many injuries I receive, but I'll save the loquaciousness for a later post)
We have a relationship which involves shooting wisecracks at each other, while actually getting the diagnosing and stuff done. Since I'm a senior in high school, this means I get asked "What are you going to do when you get out of school?" about seven bajillion times per second. Yeah. The end result of that conversation was him saying I should be a brain surgeon, because they're geniuses and have terrible personalities, although I wouldn't be able to pith my patients, so maybe not.
I should've said I wanted to be a shrub pruner.
We also talked about how being easily distracted would prove troublesome if I was working around the frontal lobe.
Perhaps, in order to tie this post in with the title, a good reason I shouldn't be allowed on the computer is this blog in and of itself.
I fear soon that it will be degraded into a haven of cat videos, overzealous writing about mental disorders (A special on bipolar is in line for the next post), and me blathering incoherently about my obsession of the month.
But I'll stay with this idea until someone tells me to shut up.
Happy reading to all
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