Reunited and it feels okay. I mean, soooo gooood.

I am a huge disappointment. Why? It's been over a week since I last updated, and it was a lame post about my even lamer school schedule. Where did I go so, so wrong?

I don't know what happened, there's truly no explanation; but every day, I've woken up and searched for inspiration, purposefully seeking out potentially hazardous scenarios to inject myself into just for a couple of laughs and a sub par blog entry. I feel like a whore. A very unsuccessful, unfunny whore.

Finally, I realized, posting something is better than nothing. I'm not some kind of absentee writer that phones in a post every now and then when I feel like. Or at least, I don't want to be. It's not what I intended for this endeavor. Thankfully, as I was doing complete and total mundane tasks not too long ago, a very handsome light bulb went off above my head, and a post idea was thrust to the forefront of my mind like some kind of pelvic convulsion.

Could it really be? Inspiration for a post? Yes, indeed, it was. I felt like ET discovering Reese's Pieces, slowly and methodically repeating the word 'idea' over and over to myself, rolling it around on my tongue like some kind of foreign but tasty intruder(I...dea? Ideeeeaaaa...i...deee...aaaa!). And no, this post is not the aforementioned inspiration, this is only a prelude, precursor, foreword, introduction...whatever. Pick a word. I don't care which one you like best.

Don't get your hopes up about it being the entry-to-end-all-entries. It would be safe to compare me to the Tin Man, rusty and frozen while time continues to move forward without me, only to later be greased up by a foreign girl and some guy with no brain. I have yet to decide who or what represent my saviors in this analogy, so for now we'll just call them "Dorothy" and "Scarecrow." The names came to me in a dream, induced by getting hit in the head by a windowpane in the middle of a tornado. Or maybe that was a movie.

I just realized all my paragraphs get progressively larger in this post. I mean, not anymore, since this one kind of ruined that trend, but up until now, it's an accurate observation.

So, in conclusion, I'll be working on my new post today and probably publish it tomorrow. I have some drawings to do and my tendency to nitpick every little aspect of them until they're perfect usually extends the time it takes to finish from what most would consider normal to ridiculous.

Functioning normally. Kind of. Not really.

Spring semester started today. This means numerous things: I have to wake up at a normal time two days a week, I'm responsible for actual work, and I'm a handful of units closer to never attending school again. After months and months of having nothing productive to do, it's a nice change from what became the norm for me, waking up at noon and hissing at the sight of a productive activity. 

Strangely, or perhaps not so strangely(I can never tell), I currently feel as if I have no body. I'm just a floating brain/head/consciousness, typing with my invisible and nonexistent hands through sheer force of will. Is this what waking up at 7:30 does to a person? Or is it just me? When you're not in school and you have no job, these questions aren't present in your life; your biggest worry is whether or not you have enough Lucky Charms to last the rest of the week.

But never fear, I'm in no real danger of work overload this term. Thanks to the forces of the universe conspiring against me, I managed to miss my registration date by a whopping three weeks, meaning I could only obtain seven units this semester. That's right, seven. Three classes. Music 101 and 102, knocking out my Arts & Humanities requirements, and Introduction to Yoga. I feel like complaining whatsoever about my class schedule this semester is worthy of getting my ass kicked, a punishment I might find myself partaking in if it were to happen. While I'm not sure if I can literally kick my own ass, as it's not something I've ever attempted to do, I'm positive I could provide some assistance to my righteous assailants in causing myself some form of bodily harm.

I attend class from 9:30-12:30  and then 7:30-9:00 on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so it's not as if I'm on campus somewhere north of 10 hours a day, multiple days a week, like many students are. But hey, I'm also not dumb enough to major in something that requires that many obtuse classes. The joke's on you, science and math majors! While you're making your cushy six-figure salary, I'll be enjoying an ample yearly sum of $55,000-$100,000 a year as an accountant. If that's what I choose to do, anyway. Have I mentioned that I have no idea what the hell I'm going to do once I graduate? Because I don't.

Accounting is one option I'm considering pretty seriously. It involves math, a subject I've grown to loathe, but most of it is practical math, something that I somehow manage to excel at. If you stick me in a Statistics or Calculus class, it would be no different than dropping me in the middle of rural China and asking me to communicate and survive. It makes no sense in my mind. But if you apply math to things like money and economics, it clicks. There's no rhyme or reason to this numerical madness, but like many things in my life, you have to be at least a tiny bit insane to understand my special form of cognition. 

My first music class, Music Appreciation, consists of two papers, two tests, and note taking. The papers have to be five pages long, which will take me a grand total of 45 minutes each to speed through(all the while earning an A, I can guarantee), and the tests are open note. My second class is titled Intro to World Music, and is almost identical to the first, with the exceptions being our papers have to be 2-3 pages long, we have 6-10 in-class/take-home quizzes, all of which are open note, and a final that is also open note. Somehow, if all classes could follow this structure, I think a whole lot more people would be interested in obtaining a college education. Unfortunately for me, music classes lend nothing of great value to my major or potential career options, aside from assisting in the destruction of my General Education requirements.

And so, this will be my life until the last week of April. I haven't attended my yoga class yet, but something tells me it's not going to be academically challenging in any way. In a perfect world, yoga would consist of little more than the Child pose, and the teacher would just let me sleep the whole time. Though I suppose that might be asking a little too much.

Left 4 Disappointment 2

I've been playing a lot of Left 4 Dead 2 lately. A lot. Purchasing this game in no way helped calm my preexisting addiction to all things zombie; since its arrival, my dependency on the living dead has only grown stronger. Like some kind of super villain or something.

I finally got around to installing my drawing program on my netbook, hence this drawing and my fucking awesome new banner.

I was playing earlier today(no surprise, to be honest), and my parents were conveniently not home. See, since my netbook can barely handle Minesweeper, I'm unable to play games on here; this means I'm using my parent's desktop to play L4D2. If you're not familiar with my gripes over the desktop, either because your memory is horrible and you should be ashamed or because you haven't been reading my blog very long(which is also horrible and worthy of shame), then let me rehash this topic.

It's roughly three, three and a half years old. It hardly has anything installed, something like 80% of its original memory is still intact. The processor is somewhat above average, I can't remember exactly what it is, but I know it's around 2.6ghz or so. There is no reason for this computer to run slowly. The reality of this situation? It behaves like we've had it for 10+ years. So you might see where my frustrations lie when I try to play my wonderfully modern zombie game.

The game runs, you see; the desktop meets at least the minimum requirements to play it. I checked before I bought it. The problem is that, for some inexplicable reason, the computer decided it would be fun one day to give us the middle finger and run as slowly as it damn well pleases.

So as I was saying before I got sidetracked, I was playing by myself with the volume turned up relatively high because, if you're not familiar with zombie games, it's fun to scare the shit out of yourself when a screaming zombie comes running around a corner and then you begin to wildly fire your gun in any direction. I transition from shrieks of terror to maniacal laughter on a very consistent basis, and I'm sure any person within earshot of my cackles is under the assumption that my family is housing some kind of disturbed mental patient.

Up until this point, I've somehow managed to avoid my parents discovering the sheer brutality within the game, such as when you start throwing your chainsaw around and blood and zombie limbs fly everywhere; I kind of screwed up today in that regard. My parents walked in the house to the sound of the dying screams of zombies, which sent my mother into a state of sheer panic. Before I have a chance to react, they're both standing in the doorway, mouths agape at the on-screen carnage, with my mom asking an eerily calm tone when I decided to become evil.


Now, I've never considered myself to be evil, and in my mind, ridding the world of flesh-craved zombies is anything but evil; I'm pretty sure the Boy Scouts of America give a badge for zombie extermination. And if they don't, they should, because it's nothing short of an exemplary public service. My parents will be happy one day when the world is thrust into a zombie apocalypse and the extensive time I spent sitting behind a screen, hacking at would-be zombies, is what saves our lives. 


I think behind his shock, my dad thought the game looked fun. He kind of stood there and watched me play for a little bit, asking questions about what gun I was using or what the bile jars do(makes one zombie the target of the others, just in case you were wondering), sometimes cringing when my axe(Uh, spellcheck is telling me that 'axe' is not a word. What the hell.) managed to behead the occasional unlucky zombie. Maybe I can convince him to play.


My mom, on the other hand, will continue to wonder where she went wrong with me; a question that started around the time I bit my sister in the stomach. My question to her is, since when is wanting to kill zombies a bad thing? I would understand if the game was called Puppies and Kitties: Total Destruction and consisted of murdering innocent baby animals. That's pretty sadistic. But zombies? Really? Maybe she's infected, and as a zombie, is against the slaughter of her kind.


I'll be keeping my eye on her.

Scrambled eggs.

I woke up at 7:30 this morning to my mother telling me that someone was kind enough to egg my car. How obnoxious. In my mind, the only people that egg cars are 12-year-olds with some kind of inferiority complex, whether that stems from bullying or being unloved by their goldfish. Regardless of the situation, it's still kind of a dick move.

Fortunately for me, whoever did it obviously isn't very smart, because egging someone's car when it's misty, rainy, and foggy outside won't really do a whole lot besides force me to actually wash my car. Typically, egging a car is something you want to do when it's hot and sunny outside, because the egg bakes into the paint and you literally cannot get it out. By the time I got out there to wash it off, most of it had been washed away and only a small patch remained. Ha, morons.

I never really partook in the destruction or defacement of other people's property. Sure, I TP'd a couple houses, but I don't really consider that to be a major offense. I've always thought it would be fun to fork someone's lawn though, because if someone did that to me, I would think it was hilarious; doing it to someone else can only bring more hilarity. I can picture the face(s) of my would-be victim(s), awaking to find their front yard full of...forks. 

Another thing that always seemed fun was filling the yard with dish soap, and then when it rained or the sprinklers turned on, the foam and bubbles would be everywhere. I don't even understand how anyone could be bothered by this, it's almost like snow; have a bubble fight, build a BubbleMan, bitch about shoveling the sidewalk! I might even do this to my own house. Well, probably not, I doubt my parents would be okay with just letting it go away on its own, and I don't want to be the guy outside cleaning up bubbles. I'll look like a schizophrenic.

By the way, person who egged my car, if you're reading this, I hope you feel bad. Not about making me wash my car, because as I alluded to earlier, I needed to do it sooner or later; no, that is not the issue. The problem I have with your ovum affront on my 14-year-old Acura CL with an already shitty paint job is that I got woken up at seven-fucking-thirty. I went to sleep at 2:30. This is not cool. Do you know what it's like to be standing in the middle of your street before 8 AM with a bucket and sponge, washing your car in penguin pants, a t-shirt, and slippers? No, you will never know that kind of humiliation.

I think the worst part of it was, I planned on having eggs for breakfast this morning. Instead, I had oatmeal. I hope you feel guilty.

Things that don't exist anymore, and I have no idea where they went.

You know when something is there, and then you forget about it, and one day it just disappears? And it might even still exist, but because you haven't paid any attention to it in forever, in your mind it's not around anymore and you ignore the fact that your egocentric logic makes absolutely no sense? That's basically how I live my life. I guess the title of this post is misleading, but it sounds better than "Things I forgot about for a really long time and kind of think they might not be around anymore, or they still are and nobody cares about them." Maybe it doesn't, I kind of like that one better. That's the new title, okay?

Netscape

Somewhere in the jumble of Internet Explorer, Safari, Firefox, Chrome, and the rest of the browsers out there, Netscape ceased to exist. I don't think that many people used it to begin with anyway, especially with a fugs icon consisting of the 1980s color scheme of teal, black, and white. Plus, I'm pretty sure the 'N' is Times New Roman, and that's as basic as it gets.

Emo kids

This one is kind of hard to prove, because I'm most likely totally wrong. Maybe because I grew out of the age group and I don't notice it anymore, but I'm pretty sure hipsters absorbed emo kids in an attempt to make themselves stronger. Kind of like Strong Guy, but with a mustache and superior music taste. Because nothing says anti-establishment like buying clothes at Hot Topic, right guys?

Wonder Balls

Do you wonder, wonder what's in a Wonder Ball? Let me tell you: chalk candy and I think a sticker or temporary tattoo or something. It wasn't really that great. But when you're a kid, there could be anything in a Wonder Ball, including things that couldn't possibly fit inside one. These things might still be around somewhere, and I think Turkmenistan just got their first shipment last week. The upside? They're lucky enough to have that first Wonder Ball experience, from the crappy chocolate to Disney character-covered box. The downside? I think the last one rolled off the line in 1998, so it'll be a test to see how well chocolate stays preserved inside cardboard and foil.

Nicolas Cage's dignity

It's scary to think that this guy was once a somewhat well-respected actor. Don't get me wrong, I don't particularly dislike him, and some of his movies are entertaining enough to sit through at least halfway; but it would be somewhat ridiculous, and quite a stretch, to say that any of his latest roles have been worthy of accolade. The Sorcerer's Apprentice, Astro Boy, G-Force, Knowing, Ghost Rider, The Wicker Man...the list truly does go on. His slow descent into what is seemingly madness is reflected best in the insanity that has become his hair, ranging between unwashed and unkempt, the butthead, and the most unflattering of them all, something that makes Rihanna's forehead look small. And that's no easy task.

Eiffel 65

Just kidding, nobody misses them. Also, I just realized the second-to-last sentence in the Nicolas Cage section ended in rhyme. I never cease to amaze myself.

Poor Queen Latifah.

That is all.

Food that shouldn't be considered food.

Everybody has foods they dislike, and I tend to like things that a lot of people don't, and dislike things that a lot of people enjoy. I'm weird. However, in some(most, all, whatever) of these cases, I like to think that most people would agree with me. Here's some insight into my taste.

Watermelon

I generally consider all melon to be wretchedly awful, but watermelon is the worst offender of the bunch. It's grainy, watery, and tastes like everything that's ever been wrong with fruit. Everyone seems to love it, and I'll never understand why. Groupthink, most likely. You're all sheep.

Cilantro

This shit is disgusting. It's like dirt and soap combined with a plant, rolled in feces and prejudice. I am completely alienated from Tex-Mex cuisine because everything is full of cilantro. There are certain dishes that allow me to ignore the taste and enjoy everything else, such as guacamole, but those exceptions are few and far in between.

Celery

Eating celery feels like someone wrapped hair in a disgusting, crunchy exterior. When it's cooked and mushy, it's fine, but raw celery is probably my least favorite food in the world. I've been told, "Oh, just eat it with peanut butter! It's delicious!" Guess what? Tried it. I require roughly two jars of peanut butter for one stalk of celery, which defeats the purpose of eating celery; because it's, you know, healthy. 

Marmite

I've had the pleasure of eating this satanic concoction twice in my life, most recently at my friend's dad's house on New Years Day. Imagine, if you can, eating the thick, brown child of salt and yeast; it is possibly the only thing in the world that can make toast disgusting. We as a society are worse off because of the existence of marmite. If the U.S. terror alert levels were affected by the presence of food, this stuff would drive us into red alert on a regular basis. The UK should be investigated for using biological weaponry against the world population solely for inventing this crap.

Balut

No, this "No Image Available" thing is not a mistake, I didn't post a dead link in this entry. I'm sparing you from seeing what balut looks like. In case you've never heard of it, balut is a boiled, fertilized, only slightly underdeveloped duck or chicken egg that is eaten directly out of the shell. It's incredibly popular in Southeast Asia, and apparently considered to be an aphrodisiac. If someone tried to get me to eat a dead, whole baby duck, the last thing I would be doing is trying to get in their pants. I'd most likely be vomiting as I ran out of the room.

My original intent was to have drawings for this post, but it didn't happen. I still need to download Macromedia Flash on my netbook, so we'll be without illustrations for a while. Enjoy the pretty pictures from Google for now, everybody!

Apparently, I'm in high demand.

I'm freaking BUSY. Every single day lately is crammed full of fun and awesome things, and I've barely been home. I definitely haven't had a chance to sit down, write, draw, make a new banner...things like that. I feel like my blog is my yard, and the grass is getting overgrown and the plants are starting to wilt. And it's being overrun by lemmings.


I have ideas. Post ideas. They're circling around in my head, just waiting for a free hour or two when I can do that thing where you put words together in a cohesive and coherent structure, though cohesive and coherent might be a lot to ask for. I haven't abandoned you, readers. I still love you. I have free time now, but I have gotten maybe 10 hours of sleep over the last three days and today, I've been up since 7:30. It's my own fault, I'm not pointing fingers at anyone, but I'm also my own worst enemy. Let's face it, nobody's shoving sugar and caffeine down my throat, and there isn't some invisible person forcing me to stay up until 4 AM when I should be going to bed roughly five hours earlier than that, since my classes actually start in the morning this semester. 


Stupid decision on my part, once again; no morning classes. I tell myself that every semester, because I just can't do it. It's impossible for me to absorb any knowledge before noon, which is exactly why I stopped speed-reading encyclopedias at 8:30 every morning. It did me no good.


So I'll do my best to be back on a regular schedule soon. School is returning to Grim Reaper everyone's social lives away, so maybe people will forget I exist and I can go back to being forever alone and dedicating every waking hour, minus my classes, to the internet. It will be glorious.


Soon.