Doctor Who

Okay, I've started watching Doctor Who. I just finished episode eight season 1 and sobbed uncontrollably for like, the entire fourth quarter of the episode. It was so fucking sad I swear to god. And, in episode six, I cried during that too. That one wasn't really intended to be sad but I totally cried. It was where the last dalek dies, and all it wants is to feel the sun. God, I'm totally crying right now just typing that sentence. I really don't cry over T.V. often. The last time was probably... maybe a little during Criminal Minds one time, but I really cried during a couple episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Last summer I watched every single episode and these three were the most upsetting. In order from least to greatest. The one where Buffy's mom dies, the one where Oz and Willow break up forever, and the one before the one where Buffy's mom dies, in which a robot is programmed to love Warren, and dies.
I seriously cried so fucking hard at the end of the episode I was worried my parents would wake up. It was a fucking sobfest. Seriously. So sad. It was weird because the character who died, I didn't have any attachment to her at all. She was just there for that one episode, and she wasn't even a person. She was a robot. I think that almost made it more sad.
Sorry for not posting in a while, my life has been exceptionally uneventful.
I think my tears got acne medication in my eye. It burns slightly.
I'm going to NYC on Thursday! YAY! Never been before. Should be fun, despite how irritating my parents can be. They don't really mean to be, it's just sometimes they need to CALM THE FUCK DOWN. Go with the motherfucking flow. Honestly, it's like my mother's got to plan every single second of our vacation, but if it were just me all I would do in advance is the plane and hotel. Part of the fun of being on vacation is you can do whatever the hell you want.
Oh wellll. It's four in the morning! That's the fun of being on vacation.

Zombie bites.

I had a strange dream last night. It was shot (my dreams are like movies) like an episode of BlackBox TV. All I can remember are zombies. Zombies and the feeling of raw terror unlike anything I've ever experienced in real life. At the end of the dream, a female zombie bit me, on my shoulder. I touched the jagged, deep bite, my eyes widened in horror at the 'camera', I could feel pain, and then I woke up, chest heaving, covered in sweat.
I spent most of the morning thinking about where my subconsious could possibly have come up with that idea, when I remembered the game Boxhead, which I described in an earlier post. What a curious dream.
Today was fine. Our school AIG teacher, for the first time in about two months, came to see our geometry class of five. I think she may have forgotten about us, because yesterday I borrowed a textbook from her. I told her that the English teacher has been making me read Holocaust books, and I've also been reading Lolita and Catcher in the Rye. At this, she asked me, if, 'Lolita and Catcher in the Rye are Holocaust books?' Tell me, Mrs. AIG teacher, did you attend college? You did? Huh. I wouldn't have guessed that.
Really, though? You haven't even heard of Catcher in the goddamn Rye? Ever? You're an AIG teacher, for the love of god. Jesus fucking christ.
We took a test on the Holocaust book, 'I Have Lived A Thousand Years' (which we shall, from this point on, refer to as IHLATY. I find the title to be cumbersome.) today. I remembered more than I thought I might, though I finished quite early. I pulled out my book to read, and who should appear by my side but my English teacher herself? Goody.
Basically, she spends the rest of the class telling me what she didn't like about my answers. (Although she did, curiously, let me change some of them) There's this thing about her, where, at the moment when you're talking to her, you know that she's full of shit but you can't quite come up with the words to point that out to her, so you end up just nodding and saying 'Okay'. Therefore, she walks away thinking that she has won, which is deeply frustrating. She also seems to want to make eye contact, constantly. It's somewhat unsettling and I end up looking for something to stare at, like a book or a piece of paper, when I talk to her.
She told me that she wasn't going to give me credit for my answer to the test question, 'Now that you've learned about the Holocaust, what do you consider to be your unbearable burden?' The italics and bold are hers, not mine. So my answer was, basically, that I don't have an unbearable burden, because I have never experienced something as extraordinary and terrible as the author of this book.
She tells me that that's not what she was looking for, so of course I'm pissed, but somehow end up just nodding and saying 'Okay.' What the fuck did she want me to put for that goddamn question? FUUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKKK. FUCKFUCKFUCK. I don't know... everything about her just really pisses me off. I fantasize about writing an anonymous note on the last day of school that simply says, 'Fuck you.'
That would be so fucking great. I couldn't do it though. I care too much about my future.
There used to be these two girls in my P.E. class that would just sit. All class period, just sit on the floor. The teachers never seemed to say anything, except for my teacher's awkward attempt at conversation one time. So I wondered, what would I do if I just didn't give a fuck? It's certainly a question to ponder.
EDIT- I just counted how many times I used the word 'fuck' in the last three posts, including this one. 28.

I've been dreaming

I have insomnia. I sleep very deeply but I take at least an hour to go to sleep. Is that normal? I don't think it is. Lately I've been dreaming. Usually I don't dream, but these past few weeks I have every night. My dreams, I think, are stranger than most people's. Or maybe, they're not, but people simplify their dreams when they tell them to me. I don't think so, though. The only recurring theme in my dreams that I can think of is (well, fear is too broad, but fear) having to care for something? Like I had a dream where I had these cats that were about as big as my thumb and I nearly went insane trying to take care of them 24/7. I have difficulty remembering my dreams. When I went to summer camp where I took a Psychology class last year, our teacher told us about lucid dreaming, which is when, in your dream, you're aware that you are dreaming, and this allows you to control the dream. That had never happened to me before I heard about it, I think, but it did a few months ago. Strange, that. Very strange.
We took a computers test. I hate my tech teacher. He's really just a really bad teacher, objectively. Like, he sucks at explaining things. For example, portrait and landscape? Yeah. He takes, like, ten minutes to give an example that no one understood. ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS TURN THE PAPER SIDEWAYS. That's landscape. Turn it back, that's portrait. Really. It's easy. Also, fucking EVERYTHING is an effort grade. I understand effort grades, and they can be good, USED PROPERLY. Tests, interestingly, ARE NOT MEANT TO BE AN EFFORT GRADE. AT ALL. I got a 100 on this really pretty hard test, I didn't miss any questions, but EVERYONE will get a 100 as long as they tried their best. FUUUUUUUUUUU
But, really. What the fuck? All this is going to teach kids is that they don't have to study or even pay attention to get an A in your class. You stupid fuck.
I have this thing where I can't listen to music with words if I'm writing or reading. It really bothers me. I'm a really good multitasker and I can block really obnoxious shit out to focus on one thing but I really cannot listen to music and read or write. I often end up typing/writing down the song lyrics accidentally. Hilarity ensues.
Today was a good day. I think I have a small crush on an ex-best-friend's crush. Is that bad? I should feel bad but I really don't give a damn! HA!

Dandelions.

My English teacher does not know what a dandelion looks like. She told me she didn't like this book she was reading because of 'little inconsistencies.' When I asked her what inconsistencies, she said that the author described dandelions as being yellow but she's pretty sure that they're those flowers with the white puffs.
SIGH.
I proceeded to explain to her that while, yes, those flowers with the white puffs ARE dandelions, so too are little, scruffy yellow flowers. I then briefly explained the reproductive habits of dandelions. The expression on her face was somewhat... of disbelief? I'm really, really concerned that she does not know what a dandelion looks like, especially living in the state that we do. Walking the 30 yards from the bus stop to my home today, I counted ten directly in my path, and dozens more within my sightline. My dad speculated that she's an alien.
She's kind of passive-aggressively making me read a bunch of Holocaust books, because I finished the depressing one early. Three of them, actually. She gave them to me yesterday, I finished one today, and also Catcher in the Rye. The one I read today was a graphic novel called Maus (pronounced Mouse), and I was surprised by how much I liked it. It was sad without being depressing and awful, and the characters were great and had a lot of depth. It was about the author's father, and what was great about it was the way he wove the present, him interviewing his father and he and his father's life, with his father's story. It was excellent.
The other two look much worse. 'The Boy Who Dared' which I vaguely recall considering reading in 3rd, 4th, or fifth grade, and 'Alicia' which looks depressing. Our whole class is reading the 'censored' version of 'I Have Lived a Thousand Years' which I first thought was stupid but now I see why; I didn't even like the book or the characters but I almost cried (in a bad way) at how awful the stories were several times, and that's not something I do a lot. So Mrs. Erman felt the need to read us a scene from the original, which was basically just how some Nazis disemboweled this woman's baby because she refused to shoot it, and the rest of her family. HOORAY.
It's just... ugh. I know the Holocaust was FUCKING TERRIBLE, however, I would really rather not read about the disembowelment of someone's goddamn baby. I just really fucking don't. That's not something that betters me in any way, I didn't learn anything from it, it didn't 'enrich my learning experience', it was purely upsetting.
I really wish I had more people that I feel like I can hold an extended, uninterrupted, enjoyable, intellectual conversation with. I think that would be more interesting and 'enriching' than doing stupid fucking assignments and having REALLY FUCKING STUPID class discussions about the books we read. Right now I feel like there's only one person I can hold an extended intelligent conversation with, and that's my dad. My dad is someone who I respect a lot and I also feel really comfortable with. I think my dad is the person I go to talk to about 'smart' stuff, and my mom about 'girl' stuff. Those two categories pretty much cover everything I ever talk about. EVER. Not quite, but mostly.
I really really love my parents. I think, objectively, of all of the parents I know, that they are really the best. Looking back on my life, I think all the decisions they made were really the best ones for me, and I feel so blessed to be in a family like this one. Sorry for the cheese.
I think that's mostly all that mattered to me today. I'm ripping Philip DeFranco's outro. WHATCHU GONNA DO, PHIL? Just kidding. It's a good outro, I'm using it today. I like him, even though I often disagree.

Dr. Kittycat House

My cat has a limp and uses prescription painkillers. She's grumpy. I think she's like a feline House, except an idiot.
Today was fine. In Geometry, which I take online in the library with four other students, we played this kickass computer game. We played it because the blockers at our school are pretty strict, and although I and another boy know how to get around those, we prefer not to take our chances. It's called Boxhead, and it's a zombie-shooter game. For some reason, your character and all the zombies look like lego people. Probably just laziness. Although there's no way to actually win, as far as we know (class periods are an hour so you have to quit after that), but our goal is generally to use barrels to block all of the zombie entrances. I don't play that much, but when I do the guys are always surprised and maybe a little horrified with my grimly thorough murder of all the little enemies. I love that game.
I've taken to eating waffles without syrup, just butter. Frozen waffles, the kind you heat up in a toaster. They're excellent. The best ones are the buttermilk ones from Eggo, because they're a little bit sugary. The chocolate chip ones are a rip off because you get around three chocolate chips per waffle. It's much better when you just add your own, one in each... waffle slot? Waffle square? Waffle grid square? Something like that.
In English we're reading this book about the Holocaust. 'I Have Lived A Thousand Years'. It's depressing as fuck but it's not that good, so it's just depressing without having any redeeming value. It's pretty awful. I have the idiot English class because, it's complicated, but mostly, they only sort the math classes by level, so during 5th period, all the smart kids, are in the smart math class, so there are only idiots left in all the other 5th period classes. So, idiot English class. I'm literally the only fucking person who can read out loud competently. Including my teacher, who is fucking stupid. We've been reading out loud since Friday and it kind of makes me want to slit my wrists. Kidding, but really it's fucking terrible. I do give her some credit though, since we have the stupid English class and even my stupid English teacher knows it, she let me go to the workroom and read silently by myself. THERE IS A GOD! Not really, but I was happy. I finished it today in one class period. God, so fucking depressing.
I bought this awesome tomato print cardigan from Urban Outfitters online the other day and I wore it to school. I actually received way more compliments than I thought I would because the people at my school tend to, shall we say, ridicule the people who dress differently from them, and so everyone dresses the same and it's awful. To give you an idea, Uggs or Sperries for shoes, sweatpants, Hollister jeans or too short shorts for pants, and plaid shirts or Hollister t-shirts for shirts. Or a sweat shirt. You can probably see what kind of school mine is.
So I was a little nervous to wear it, which is dumb, but I was, and everyone liked it. I was happy. The sweater makes me look like a guidance counselor/art teacher, but in a good way. If I were a public school teacher I think I would kill myself. People are just so goddamn stupid. It's fucking amazing how stupid people are. I think the teachers at our school are sort of in denial about how fucking stupid their students are, as a whole, so that they don't have to go home and jump out a window. Some days, though, I think they cry themselves to sleep. I don't really blame them, it's really fucking sad.
Recently, we took nine weeks assessments. I thought I might fail the Science one, because my Science teacher is lazy as fuck and never teaches us anything, but I actually got the highest score in the school... an 87. So, there's that. My best friend got the highest score on the reading one, and I was a little jealous. Mostly happy, but a little jealous. 90 percent happy, I think.
Tube tops are disgusting. They make you look like a gigantic whore even if you're not. I actually remember when I was like, 10, and I bought these tube tops from old navy in 4 different colors. They made me feel really sexy, even though I didn't know that word at the time. I'm not sure that's the right word for how I felt, but it's close enough. It's funny how easily I can remember articles of clothing I used to own. I used to have this orange dress when I was two, I fucking loved that dress. Apparently I went through a phase where I would only wear orange things. Orange was my favorite color until I turned six, and then it became purple and pink. During my tomboy phase (3-5 grade), it became just purple, and now I think it's pink. I really love all colors with pretty few exceptions. It's funny how I associate old clothes with memories. For example, a shirt I used to really like, purple with black peacock feather print, I never wear anymore because that's what I wore on my first real date with my ex-boyfriend. It's funny how that happens.

to see her dreams so startlingly naked, it's difficult to take it.

Today was fine. My best friend was sick, so of course carpool was awkward and Social Studies was boring. There's this weird thing in the back of my mind that always happens where I'm sort of annoyed when my friends get sick, even though it's irrational and selfish. I wonder if it's just me or if others sometimes feel this way too?
My nails are cherry red. I painted them for the first time in months because I was reading Lolita and the narrator mentions Lo's cherry red toe nail polish. So I painted my nails. I avoid painting my nails, generally, because it takes such a very long time to dry and they chip so easily. Also I'm bad at it and almost always manage to fuck up. Happily, I only fucked up a little and was able to wait for them to dry. It's not that I'm an impatient person, it's just annoying to not be able to do ANYTHING during those twenty minutes. And I often overestimate how dry the polish is, and then I do something and I smear the polish and get it on whatever I was touching.
The positive part of painting my nails, though, is how sexy my hands feel afterwards. I also don't bite them when they're painted. They're only chipped a little around the edges today, which I think lends a a sort of devil-may-care quality. Although I could very well just look sloppy.
Lolita was actually not as sexually graphic as I imagined it would be, despite its claim to fame as a 'pornographic' novel. It did not really describe sex at all, although it did go into great detail on the appearance of female characters, particularly Lolita. I guess I can see how an adult male reading this might be made uncomfortable and kind of feel like a pedo. I think I am at the optimal demographic for not feeling like a perv by reading this novel, if that makes any sense. In a way, I am Lolita.
Or so I would like you to believe. Or so I would like to believe.
My second best friend's boyfriend got staples in his head this weekend because they were on a field trip with the band to Carowinds and then it started to hail and the bus got dents in it and a cymbal fell on my second best friend's boyfriend's head. Another friend, my second best friend's best friend, texted my best friend (my desire to not use names on this blog is becoming ever more complicated) with the somewhat dramatic, '[my second best friend's boyfriend] split his head open'
which led us to believe that he had cracked his skull and was at this moment comatose or bleeding out on the floor of a filthy activity bus. The staples, while pretty painful looking, are not life threatening.
My social studies teacher, who is my favorite teacher, and decidedly the best teacher at my shitty school, always pronounces the days of the week with a 'dee' at the end, instead of 'day'. She pronounces day correctly, but days of the week are always mondee toosdee wensdee thursdee fridee. It's quite odd.
I'm going to high school next year. I was, originally, not going to reveal my age on this blog but I came to the conclusion that it is very difficult to discuss my self without discussing my age, or at least my year of schooling.
I'm going to high school next year, and I am 80 percent excited and 20 percent nervous/apprehensive. I think high school will be better than middle school, and if it isn't I'm enrolling in the school of Science and Math or dying my hair, changing my name to Stella or Lola or Andromeda, for short, Andy, and moving to Los Angeles and becoming a porn star. Not really, but maybe. Not the porn part, though. Maybe an actress... or a musician. I've always wanted to be in a band even though I suck ass at playing musical instruments.
I wonder what color I would dye my hair if I were to do so. I think probably hot pink, or bright red. A friend of mine dyes her hair black and the ends a different color every three weeks. It had been green (TURQUOISE! she'd insist) and this week it's dark red. I envy her, for more reasons than her hair.

Have you ever thought about... like... why rainbows are called rainbows?

On Saturday, my best friend's older sister had prom. Her dress was the nicest. Prom dresses, I've noticed, have a tendency to be quite trashy. You have these awful patterns, and then you pour glitter and sequins on top. It's terrible. Our school social is coming up, in May. I need a dress. I need a boy.
We went out to a local pizza place, and then Target. Outside the pizza place, on main street, a homeless guy came up to us. First, I was scared. He said he needed 75 cents so he could sit for a while in McDonalds. That made me sad. I should have given him a dollar, but I didn't. He might have stolen my wallet. Later, inside, my friend told me that she hates homeless people. I told her that she doesn't really hate homeless people, she hates dealing with them. She conceded. It made me feel a little worse.
The pizza was good. It rained heavily, and the ceiling above the people next to us was leaking. They didn't mind, though, because they were incredibly drunk. 'Have you ever thought about... like... why rainbows are called rainbows?'
The waitress was hot.
Then we went to Target. There was almost no one there. I bought a tank top in grey with pink ish floral print. I could probably buy this particular tank top in every color, in fact, I have it in five different ones. My best friend once told me that you should have no more than two shirts that are the same, but I think that once you find a style you like, stick to it.
It was a good day.

D:

Last night, I had a strange and vivid dream. I had these intense pains in my stomach, and my organs were, like, coming out of my vagina. And lots of blood. And then, I gave birth to a baby, but it was really small, like, the size of an Ipod. (I'm using mine for reference, it's a fourth generation, not a current one) But it drowned. And then I woke up. An unsettling beginning to an otherwise uneventful day.
It occurred to me in Science today that one of my classmates is almost exactly like a beached elephant seal when he laughs.
We watched a hilariously late 80s/early 90s educational film in Social Studies, about the whiskey tax. The best part was, I think, when this stupid ginger who's hair looks like pubes gets run over by a mail truck, and then the mailman gets out, and his face is JUST EXACTLY LIKE the texting smiley face, D:
I MEAN EXACTLY.
Also, report cards came out. All A's, except for P.E., which I have a 92 in... I have no idea why because I never sat out and I always wore P.E. clothes. Maybe I can get my mother to bitch to the school...? I will probably just email him.
SIGH.

He is not for epiphanies. He is for surfaces. Or maybe that's me.

Today was good.
In keyboarding (that's not the proper name for the class, but I don't know what is), I told our teacher that no one uses mainframes anymore, he should say server instead. He frowned.
Then he used the class as some sort of platform for his conspiracy theories (actually, conspiracy theory is too strong of a word... maybe, personal convictions instead?) and was telling everyone how if you search something 'inappropriate' the government will put you on a list that will monitor your searches. Then he went into weird, baseless speculation about how one agent probably has about a thousand people that they monitor, and so I raised my hand and told him that he should clarify that by 'inappropriate' he means, dangerous and illegal, like bomb making, and that if you search for porn on a computer you would probably not be monitored by a federal agent. And then he said I should stand up and share that with the class, and I smiled, and I did.
I think he asked me to stand up and share as some sort of weird intimidation technique, but I was glad that it didn't work. Later while I was typing he comes up to me and was like, 'What do your parents do?' and then I told him, and then he said 'You like to speak your mind, don't you?' and I smiled and went back to typing.
I'm not sure if he was amused, or angry, or maybe some of both. Either way, I was pleased.
Additionally, in English (my school calls it Language Arts but I think English makes me sound more interesting so I try to use that instead), we were given the assignment 'What does it mean to be an American?' and, 'Why do schools say the pledge of Allegiance daily?'
I was thrilled because I have stopped saying the pledge of allegiance; after I thought about it I decided that I don't really agree with America's core principals and I really would rather not pledge allegiance to it. Since I'm a neurotic bitch who likes to argue with people, I looked up if it's constitutional for a school to force you to say the pledge of allegiance. Turns out it isn't, so I printed out the supreme court ruling and put it in my binder. Unfortunately no one has asked me why I don't say it, which makes me somewhat sad.
Anyways, we did the assignment and I shared mine, in which I said that being an American means being someone who lives or has lived in America and supports their government and principals, and that the pledge of allegiance is repeated in order to drill a point into the skulls of children. I was surprised to find that the idiots in my class actually agreed with me, except for the redneck ginger who I sit next to.
One thing I've found is that I recently can't stand the smell of my room. I've got to open a window, constantly. It's not that my room smells bad, really. Just sort of stale. It smells like too much. It smells like dirty clothes. It smells like cat hair.
Sometimes, after it's clean, it smells like lemon. That's actually the bathroom, but they're next to each other so it mixes. I like my room when it smells like that. My favorite smell is that of my house's laundry closet. I'm not really sure why we have one. It contains beach towels and sheets, but I also keep sheets in my dresser, so I don't know why we don't all do that. Then again, I don't have any idea what we would use that closet for, if not linens. It's possible I only feel that way, though, because linens are all it's ever had. There's really no way to describe that smell except for laundry and clean. It's amazing. I once told my mother that and she tells me that she hates that smell, she always has to wash the sheets again after she takes them out of there so they stop smelling that way.
I hate the smell of dirty clothes. I hate it. I also hate the smell of my hands, after I come home from school and haven't washed them in eight hours. It's not really strong, but it smells, actually, it feels, like grime. It's the grossest feeling.
I think I may have obsessive-compulsive. I've got the organizational aspect, and, recently, the germophobic aspect. I read a book about obsessive compulsive and it kind of freaked me out because it says that, once you satisfy one of OCD's demands, then it will keep asking more and more of you. I didn't really like the book, but I think that scares me because I've only been particularly germophobic in the past few months. Before that, I wasn't really at all. I suppose we'll see.
I have very mixed feelings about shaving. It takes too long but there's something sort of satisfying about doing it well, and there's something decidedly satisfied about the feeling of your skin afterwards. I recently shaved my pubic area and I can't decide if I like it or not. I think, definitely, if you want to maintain that look, you'll have to shave at least every other day. It just seems like a lot of commitment, but I guess I wouldn't really have to since I'm not sexually active or anything. I'm also somewhat confused, about how people say a triangle, or like, a strip of pubic hair? What the fuck do they mean by that? I'm not really sure. I think they just mean, like, above the labia, a strip there. I spent a couple of minutes trying to decide which direction a triangle done in that fashion would be facing. I think I'll go look it up and hope I don't get any results that are too obscene. I did, and but I also found a diagram. Turns out, the triangle will face in a way that it points to your labia. I think that makes the most sense.
I can't believe I just spent an entire paragraph waxing (ha!) poetic about pubic hair.

I think I love you more than the Japanese love tentacle porn.

My new favorite song is Ulysses by Franz Ferdinand. Such great lyrics.
My new keyboarding teacher looks like a stoner. My schizophrenic uncle pays more attention to his appearance than he does.
Additionally, he's teaching us that the three types of computers are supercomputers, mainframes, and PCs. Maybe in 1978.
I have a new online math teacher because my old one never responded to messages... or emails... or calls... I think I may have accidentally gotten him fired. OOPS. That's what you get for not doing your fucking job, asshole.
What to do about a former friend who still thinks that you're close? Question of the ages. Today she said my best friend's parents probably think she's a lesbian because she's never had a boyfriend.
There are approximately nine levels of bitchiness in that statement. What the fuck would motivate someone to say something like that about someone they call a friend? And to their face? What the fuck?
I feel like an asshole, though, because this friend used to cut herself and she had so many problems. But on the other hand, I tried SO hard to help her and she just wouldn't. This was last year. So, after a year, I decided to stop making myself miserable and just not pay attention to her shit.
FUCK.
That's not the whole story but I don't want this to become a rant.
Today was an okay day. I had an orthodontist appointment. The rubber bands are noticeably asymmetrical. As in, only on one side of my mouth. Goddammit.
Then, I took a math quarterly assessment. I think I fucked up. For reference, when I say fuck up, I mean I did worse than I could have. I have a tendency for hyperbole.
It's sort of fucked up, though, because I'm not actually taking the standard math for the grade I'm in. I'm a year or two ahead. So I have to take the assessment for the math I took last year, which means I have no goddamn idea what the fuck I'm doing half the time. Fortunately, most of the questions were pretty much, 'What is the square root of 58?'
And we could use calculators.
I recently noticed that people have a really annoying tendency to change their opinion in order to agree with me. For example, talking about Ender's Game.
Someone: God, I totally hated Ender's Game.
Me: I actually didn't think it was so bad.
Someone: I mean, it wasn't like, that bad. It was okay.
This causes me to wonder if girls do this with me specifically, or people in general. I'm not sure, they're equally likely.
My goddamn acne face cream medication stuff got on my favorite fucking shirt and bleached it. How the fuck does that happen?
Piece of shit.
And now to politics!
Glenn Beck makes valid points about how full of shit Donald Trump is. I agreed with him. What a crazy world we live in today.
I notice that when I type, I always use the caps lock key instead of the shift key. I tried to change but for some reason I learned to type this way and I've been doing it for several years and I figure there's really no point in changing now.
I really like how the word fuck is recognized by the spell checker, but favorite and math aren't.