I'm Writing A Story!

So currently I've been very busy. I'm in an intense 3 week psychology class that's 4 hours long, 4 days a week (in the early morn). Although it's only 4 hours a day, due to the fact that I'm sitting on my butt 95% of the time, it feels like 10 hours. It's very difficult to maintain composure while sitting in class, for my stomach has gotten into the habit of whining at me very loudly because it's not getting what it wants, when it wants it (it being food). It's as if my stomach is a small child whining about wanting me to buy it a toy in the store, but I forgot my purse, and therefore cannot buy that toy at the moment. When I get home, however, I will be able to get my purse and thus, the child will get their toy. But the child doesn't comprehend the fact that waiting will eventually satisfy its undying need for that toy, and continues to pester me and everyone else around it with its whining.

Yes, I did just compare my stomach's growling to a child's whining.

On top of that, as if that isn't annoyingly distracting enough, my butt decides that it's going to fall asleep within two and a half hours of class time. I am sitting, trying to calm my annoying stomach, and then my butt says, "Hey! Guess what!? Fuck you, I'm going to turn into jell-o now and you can't do a thing about it... Bitch." Well do you know what, Butt? See if I do anything nice for you anymore! See if I go out of my way to get you a cushioned seat once I get my bicycle! See if I... See if I... Yeah I don't really know where this is going... But it feels awkward.

Segueing into the next thing I want to announce: I'm in the process of writing a book. It's a "children's" book. Now I put children's in quotations because it's not quite appropriate for children, for it's slightly violent. However, there will be illustrations and I will try my best to complete it and make it as interesting as possible. It will be short, but it will be sweet. I'm not going to give away too much information on it, but I'm just going to say this:

"Oh yes, there will be zombies."

Flavors Above

Do you ever wonder what seemingly unreachable objects might taste like? For instance, have you ever looked at a cloud and thought, "I wonder if it has a flavor... If it did, maybe it'd taste like sugar or milk... Maybe?" I know I have. Sometimes when I look at the sky I wonder what the moon would taste like, or even the sun. Of course I know that the moon would probably taste like rocks and dust, and the sun would incinerate your body before you were even close enough to sample its flavor, which would most likely be fire... If fire can indeed be a flavor. However, in my mind, the sun and moon are allowed to have their own delicious flavors, and we would be able to taste them accordingly.

The other night, I was beyond tired, and when I am beyond tired my brain decides that it wants to wander in strange and unusual places. Hence the topic of this blog. I was talking to a friend around 2:30am, which was really 3:30am in my true home, Michigan. We were both not in our right minds, for again, I was beyond tired which in turn makes me very loopy, and my friend was drunk and tired. Considering the circumstances, I felt that we were in an equal state of being, and therefore felt it completely appropriate to bring up this concerning topic. What would the moon and sun taste like, if they were to have a flavor? My friend came to the conclusion that the sun would taste like lemonade. This is a very acceptable conclusion, for the sun does make you think of summer, and what better drink to represent summer than lemonade? I completely agree with this statement. For the moon, he said that it would most likely have a minty flavor. Again, this makes complete sense to me, for at night it's usually crisp and cool, and what better way to describe "crisp and cool" than "mint"? I think it's perfect. If the sun and moon were to have their own flavors, the sun would taste like lemonade and the moon would taste like mint.

However, after these satisfying answers were presented to me, I started to think... If the moon is minty, exactly what kind of mint would it taste like? Would the moon be spearmint or would it be winterfresh? Maybe the moon would taste like peppermint... What if the range of mint would change throughout the seasons, so in the winter it'd be ice blue mint, and in the spring it'd be spearmint? This is very unsettling, for I would really like some closure on this topic. Furthermore, the sun would in fact taste like lemonade if it were to have a flavor, but would it be regular lemonade or would it be strawberry lemonade? Perhaps it is neither, and would be raspberry lemonade? Maybe it's even half and half, iced tea and lemonade! But then would the iced tea half be sweetened or unsweetened? This is definitely something to consider. All of these things are very important, considering the fact that we are giving the sun and the moon more distinct identities. We can't just leave them with vague identities, for then there is no closure as to what they actually are!


Though the sun and the moon are not fully developed in their flavor-identities, I have decided that the stars would have a fruity-minty flavor. You know the interesting fruity-minty gum you can buy in the check-out isle at usually any grocery store? Berry-mint or tropical-mint and such? That is what the stars would taste like. It doesn't matter if the stars are not distinct in their minty-fruity flavors, for there are so many stars, that in can vary from star to star.

If the sky were to have a flavor, it would definitely depend on how cloudy or clear it appears. If the sky were complete gloomy and white, it would probably taste like milk or plain mochi. However, if it were to be clear blue, it would definitely taste like blueberry lemonade. The cloudier it is, the more it would taste like a smoothie, and eventually a blueberry milkshake. Do you see where I'm coming from? I feel like I can accept the flavors of the stars and the sky, but I still have two big problems. The sun and the moon need closure. This is where you guys come in. If the sun tastes like lemonade, and the moon is minty, can you expand on this and give them a proper identity? I would deeply appreciate the help.

We can do this! It's up to us to fight this identity crisis! I believe in you guys!

Vigilante Superninja!

The other day I was out taking care of some business with my mom. I needed to finalize some registration forms for my summer classes, turn in a job application to a sketchy movie rental store, and do some grocery shopping. Now I did these things with my mother because I cannot drive. How old am I, you ask? Why I am over nineteen years old. Why can't I drive? Because Driver's Ed. is incredibly expensive in Chicago, and when you live in the city, it's more beneficial to use public transportation ("the L") than to be a part of the chaos that is driving. If you are thinking that this rationalization I just made is an excuse for my failing at life, then you are most likely correct, my friend. :)

Anyways! So as mom and I were driving around, we heard a strange crashing noise quickly followed by bouncing. We looked up just in time to realize that the car in front of us took off the entire side mirror, wires and all, of the car parked on the side of the road, and sped on. Now what happened next, I'm going to tell you in two different ways:

1) The way it really happened.

2) The way it should have happened.

As we were driving, we were in a strange state of shock and confusion. "Did that person honestly do that without stopping? Did we really witness that?" I turned to my mom and said, "Let's chase them down, I want their license plate number!" She looked at me, half intrigued and half doubting, but I think I won her over when I said, "We can be superheroes. Justice will be served!" because as soon as I said that she sped up. We were in a chase. People were honking at us, and when we looked at them, they looked as though they were honking in encouragement, so we hastily continued. We could tell that the lady (a.k.a. the criminal!) was getting nervous. She kept anxiously looking back, but we persevered! Finally, we got close enough so that I could read her license plate number. I really shouldn't be giving out random license plate numbers on the internet, but I'm going to give it to you anyways, because she was a criminal and that's what happens when you mess with the Law! Your license plate number is exploited online!

I wrote a note in black sharpie saying, "If you want justice for your mirror, the lady's license plate # is 'KUTSUN 1'" and we drove back to leave it on the victim's windshield under their wipers. When we arrived at our destination, the car was missing! I went to the house it was parked in front of, and it didn't belong to the owner of the house. I left the note with the lady that answered the door and she said that if she saw the car again, she would give him the note for me. Apparently, the man was sitting in the car when it happened!!! He followed behind us and was chasing the criminal down as well!

Now this is how it should have happened...

... We began to chase her down. We were swerving in between the lanes, epically gaining on her criminal ass. A semi-truck came out of nowhere and cut us off. I was set on serving up a big plate of Justice, and me being the ninja I am, climbed out of the window and onto the roof. We were going about 90 mph. I tumbled down and balanced on the windshield. When we got close enough to the semi-truck, I jumped from the hood of our car to the ladder hanging on the rear end of the semi-truck. I climbed that ladder and swiftly ran to the front of the truck, waiting for just the right moment. The lady was swerving from side to side in an attempt to lose us, but it was to no avail. At the right moment I leapt from the truck to the criminal's vehicle. I clung to the roof. She tried as hard as she could to break me from her get-away car, but I held on. I was determined. I kicked in the passenger window, and swung myself into the car. She was very scared and angry, for she knew that she had already lost the battle. I grabbed her shoulder and hit a pressure point, causing her to fall limp in her seat. The car swerved, but I quickly gained control of the vehicle and drove it to safety. I called the police and waited patiently. When they arrived, they found nothing but a note explaining in detail all that had happened. They took her into custody and Justice was served. When police tried to find the person who stopped the vehicle, there were no witnesses.

Why did nobody see me leaping from car to car? Why did nobody see me flee the scene once it was under control? I'll tell you why.


Because I'm a vigilante superninja.

THE END.

Break Me Out!

I said I was going to follow a schedule of "Tuesday, Thursday, Sunday", but seeing that I already accidentally broke the schedule by uploading on a Wednesday, I said to myself, "hey, fuck it! I'll post a blog whenever I damn well please!" So here I am, posting on a Saturday. This is more of a venting blog, so if you're not into hearing the downside of everything in the strangest and vaguest details, then I would suggest googling "medieval torture methods" or something entertaining along those lines. If you are interested, however, then you're in the right place. So, "Be still!"

I am home for the summer and I completely regret this forced decision. Though I had no control over the fact that I'm to be in a different state, ripped from my friends and all that is good, I am regretful. Does that make sense? It's the strangest and worst feeling I've experienced. Let me put this into some sort of perspective:

You're on a train and you know that in approximately two hours, that the train is going to drive off of a cliff into a one-hundred-thousand foot hole. The fact that you're going to be trapped in that hole is inevitable, but you cannot accept that. You will not. So you have that aching feeling of what's going to happen in the near future welling up in your throat until, finally, you are ripped from your comfort zone and tossed into oblivion. You reach the bottom and feel claustrophobic because everything is familiar, yet unfamiliar, and no one is there to listen to or comfort you. No one is telling you that everything will be alright. No one is even there to distract you from the fact that you just fell one-hundred-thousand feet into complete isolation. You are basically in jail. You try to come up with ways to escape, but it's just too high up, and the walls are much too smooth to climb. You constantly think of what you could have done to avoid this hell. "Maybe I could have jumped off of the train?" but you quickly realize that that would be suicidal, for the tracks were running through a sea of lava and acid. You think, "what if I flew?" but realized that only insects, bats, and birds can fly, and scold yourself for coming up with such foolish ideas. What a stupid, stupid person you are!

As you sit in your oversized jail cell, you can't help but think of all the things you've been pried from. You can't help but feel that things have been forcefully messed up. Although you rationalize that you'll only be in this cell for fifteen weeks, you still feel that your life before those fifteen weeks began is slowly being hit by a semi-truck going about 128 mph. *When I say "slowly" I mean that the horrid event is happening at about a "frame-by-frame" rate. You can feel it happening in such a way, and if you could see it happening, that is what it would look like. It seems like you can do something to interfere, because it is happening so slowly, but the end result is just as damaging as if it were happening at a normal rate. Whilst thinking about this awful near future, it begins to rain. You notice that it's always gloomy in jail.


As you're thinking about the fact that your former life is now about to have a one-on-one collision with a rampant semi-truck, you feel helpless. You have no control. Again, the walls are much too high and much too smooth for you to climb out! Occasionally, your friends will peek over the edge of the cliff from which you fell, and smile down at you. This gives you hope. But usually, the friends you truly miss will peek over the edge, and stare into the distance. You realize that you are too far down for them to see you. When you call their name, they'll briefly respond, but quickly move on. You constantly stare up, helplessly, hoping that they will once call your name, but they never do. You then look at your arm and realize that you're invisible. "Oh dear!" you say, "how will they ever notice that I'm down here if I can barely see myself?! What an awful place this is!" Though you know you are invisible - or rather, transparent (you are not completely gone, you are just very difficult to see), you continue to stare up to the top, occasionally seeing your friends sitting at the ledge, seeming to be completely ignorant of your existence. You have no idea what to do. You have almost nothing to distract you and cause time to go by faster, so you sit and cry. You feel like you are being strangled by an invisible python. You want to pull it off and somehow fly out of this jail, but it's no use, your hands have turned into melting candles and if you put them near your neck to free yourself from the python you have two problems:

1) your hands are slippery because they consist of melting wax, and your fingers have melted, causing your hands to be gripless blobs.

2) if you put your newly transformed hands anywhere near your face, the flames will burn your eyes.

It's a lose-lose situation. What can you do? You constantly think about how things used to be before you fell into this jail cell, which only makes you more depressed. You're sick of crying about how things have been crumbling within the last week and a half, but cannot stop yourself. You have fifteen weeks. You have no advice. You sit and continue to sulk. Suddenly! You see a strange, flashing light in the distance. It appears to be a robot (you guys reading are the robot). You're intrigued. You go up to the robot and it has a sign attached to it. "FOR POSSIBLE ADVICE, PRESS THE FLASHING BUTTON." You press the flashing button and wait.... Wait.... Wait.... As you wait, you will go through a constant cycle of crying, spacing out, talking sense into yourself, crying, spacing out, talking sense into yourself, etc.

What happens with the robot?

The Rogue Squirrels & Cinco de Mayo!

So I'm going to get right to the point.
Squirrels in Chicago are not squirrels: they are scrats.
I have come to the conclusion that our "squirrels" are squirrel-rat hybrids. They are very underweight, grayish-brown, have rat-like tails (that aren't bushy and squirrel-like), and usually have mange. These squirrels sometimes have bleach stains on their fur, and you will usually see them running around peoples yards with tortillas or chicken wings in their mouths. In the summer it's especially frightening, for the squirrels tend to publicly rape each other (as opposed to privately raping each other?). Now don't get me wrong, I know that nature isn't always the prettiest thing when animals need to reproduce, but seeing a squirrel being ripped off of a tree, violently falling to the ground, screaming, clawing, and attempting to get away while the other squirrel is having at her is slightly disturbing. No?

These squirrels are the usual urban fauna. However, what's unusual are the squirrels in my backyard. My dad calls them "The Rogue Squirrels". These squirrels move in a pack of about five to seven. They are very thin, and they are very feral. My dad walked outside in the backyard one day with a nice cup of coffee to enjoy the fresh, summer air, when he noticed about 6 squirrels romping around in the grass around him. He also noticed that they were inching toward him, staring into his soul! He thought, "what the...??" and before he could assess the oddity of the situation, The Rogue Squirrels began screeching in an attempt to deter him from their leisure time of raiding our fence and garden. Have you ever seen on tv or in a movie, how when someone walks into a dark, roach infested room and turns on a light, the roaches scatter in every which way? The disorientation and franticness? Well that is how these squirrels move on a daily basis. But only these squirrels!
The Rogue Squirrels.

Upon observing their behavior, I discovered the origin of this dangerous pack. The house next door has been abandoned and is thus owned by the bank, and the garage in the house's backyard is in awful condition. The holes in the sides of the garage just under the roof are (I'm assuming) the breeding place for The Rogue Squirrels, for you frequently see them scurrying in and out of these giant holes as if that garage were their home. I don't even want to know what else lives in that garage!



Here is one of The Rogue Squirrels sitting on the garage. Ohh what a feral beast he is! You can tell he's definitely up to shenanigans. He knows that when you're not looking, a child will go missing. Who would suspect an anorexic, meth-squirrel to be a kidnapping fiend? Exactly my point. This pack is damn witty. Which is why they stay together in their pack of wittiness. Just look at all of them, staring down at you from their high tree! Smug bastards.


^ Four of The Rogue Squirrels being smug bastards. The others were in The Holy Garage of Soot and Poo. Definitely.

Now I'm going to segue into something not so rogue, but definitely dangerous(ly delicious!). Today was Cinco de Mayo. I have two delightful recipes to share with you.

1) If you want to make a really fresh, clean salsa with a bite to it, try making mango salsa! What you will need are two to three mangos, two cucumbers, a few tomatoes, and a few jalapeño peppers. Dice those all up, squeeze fresh lime over it and add some diced cilantro and you're good to go!

2) Another great recipe is vegetarian sopes! What you will need to do is fry up the sopes, and the toppings you should add are seasoned black beans, chopped lettuce, diced onion, salsa verde, fresh, crumbled white queso (it's a mexican white cheese that comes in a packaged disk. You crumble it yourself. It's fantastic!) and top it off with cilantro and freshly squeezed lime. I strongly recommend these recipes! :)

Inanimate Objects Hate Me!

If you've stumbled upon my blog, you may be wondering, "why are there so few posts, and why is this person's first post about inanimate objects and their channeled hatred?" Well, my friend, that is a question I could answer. However, I do not feel like going into details about it. Thus! I am going to explain to you why inanimate objects have an undying hate of my being...

It was the 19th of April, 2010... It was a somewhat normal day. The anticipation of the fact that I would be going home for the summer in approximately one week, however, was weighing on my shoulders. I was very upset about this, and definitely not looking forward to it at all. My life seemed like it was just falling into place, so to have it temporarily ripped from beneath my feet was not so pleasant of a "near future" to think about. However, I knew that this hell of a summer was coming, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. So I decided that I would make myself look decent, go see a movie with a friend, and then hopefully learn some math. I thought that this day was going to be a rather comfortable day. Oh how wrong I was... It began in the bathroom. I grabbed my razor and decided to quickly shave my legs (yes, I just mentioned shaving my legs on a public blog. We have to get over this speed bump, though. Be thankful I do in fact shave my legs, because that's one less tarantula-girl out there!). I must have gotten distracted or something, because within three strokes or so, I heard an unfamiliar noise. It sounded something like "sssssfffffffppt!". Imagine the sound of someone scratching a smooth sheet that is secured tightly on a mattress. Now replace that sheet with my leg and the scratching with an angry razor. Oh yes. The deed was done.

I looked down in disbelief and noticed a white strip on the side of my lower calf, about 2 inches long. I looked at my razor and saw a strip of mangled skin in the blades. I looked back down at my leg and sure enough... Blood was everywhere! Have you ever seen Saw? Well that's basically what it looked like in my bathroom. It was a mess! In a panic, I quickly grabbed a wad of toilet paper - the only thing in my reach. I didn't have any band-aids big enough to cover my unintentional self-inflicted wound, so I did what my instincts told me to do. I ran to Facebook. I quickly updated my status saying that I needed "a really big band-aid, quickly!" Thankfully, within a few minutes, my good friend, Kyle, came running to the rescue with surgical gloves, gauze, and saline solution. It's good to have friends studying medicine. I would post a picture of the aftermath, but I'd rather not. All I can tell you is that I'm either going to have a nasty scar with a really lame story, or a nasty scar with a really awesome fake story.

The second incident was the 28th of April. The last night at school before I left. It was a great night. It consisted of fighting, Nerf guns, foam swords, Brandy-floats, The Labyrinth, McDonalds, and early morning shenanigans. It was about 3:00AM when I got into my room. I had packed everything up that morning, so everything was scattered around my room in boxes. I was feeling very strong for some reason. I'm guessing it had to do with the tall Brandy-float I had earlier that evening whilst watching The Labyrinth. It probably had something to do with the fact that there was Pepsi in that Brandy-float, and I have a low tolerance to stimulants such as caffeine, because I apparently fail at life. Combined with my over-tiredness, I decided that it was a great idea to move the microwave out of the way, and onto the tallest shelf in my room. That was not a great idea. I did not drop the microwave - no! I did, however, slice my thumb open somewhere along the line of moving that microwave and attempting to single handedly move my fridge. I was in no state to acknowledge this fault, and concluded my actions to be successful. It was only until later that day that I realized my thumb was not so successful in the operation.

The third and final incident was yesterday, the 3rd of May. I wanted to move my dresser downstairs into my little sister's room because, due to the fact that my life has increased while I have been living at school, there are currently two lives vomited in my small bedroom. The situation is somewhat like an undeveloped conjoined twin. My first life is the undeveloped one. It's still alive, but it's not completely there, and its existence is a burden to my other, more complete life that's trying to succeed. Sacrifices must be made, and one was destined to be eliminated. I ambitiously cleaned out my room, putting items into boxes to sell, recycle, and give to Good Will. I finished emptying my dresser and went downstairs to empty out my sister's old dresser, so that it could be put into the garage, thus allowing her to obtain a more appropriate dresser for her "oh so mature age" of five years. When I attempted to lift the dresser with my dad, he suggested that I tried lifting from the bottom. I quickly realized that that was a very, very bad idea. After about ten seconds, the edge of the dresser began cutting into my fingers. I awkwardly set it down, and ran to the stairs to sit, clutching my left hand in pain. When I looked down, I noticed that three of my fingers were cut internally. My second attempt to move the dresser was not nearly as unsuccessful, but close, for the dresser decided that it wanted to kick my foot out of angst, causing the destruction of my left toenail. Beautiful.

I simply do not understand why these inanimate objects hate me so. Razor, you are supposed to be my friend. I never misuse you, and yet, you betray me. How am I ever supposed to reestablish my trust in you? Microwave, why did you cut me in my tipsy, tired state? I thought that I was She-Hulk, and you let me down. I am very disappointed in you. And Dresser, I understand that you do not want to go in the garage. It must be frustrating to be replaced by an older, less attractive dresser, but you can't go around internally slicing people's hands and kicking people's feet as they're walking backwards with you. You definitely won't get far in life that way. It's time to grow up.

My relationship with inanimate objects seems to be abusive. I am the victim here. But I have identified this problem and am doing something about it! I will not stand for this abuse any longer! These inanimate jerks have created my never ending suspicion that they are all out to get me. They are lurking behind every corner. Sometimes they are standing directly in front of me, watching me sit there, totally unaware that I'm about to get owned. This makes me uneasy and angry.

But what doesn't make me angry is the fact that my dog is being a sleepy cutie by my bedroom door. Here is a picture of what made me happy today:

Behind those demonic, glowing eyes is pure... Well she is sort of a demonic bitch, but she is a pretty damn cute dog and I love her to death! And with that said, I'm going to bed. Adieu!