Dear reader, do this for me:
Get a mirror. Hold it to your face.
Stare at your pupils (the darkest spot in the center of your eye that lets light in). Watch them for a minute and notice their size.
Now, think about the person you care about the most and/or you are most attracted to (if you’re lucky it’s “and” rather than “or”).
Watch your pupils grow bigger from the sheer thought of that person, rather than the light levels in the room.
That is all.
You Are What You Eat
It’s Monday again; I almost forgot. I’ve been at the beach for a few days and so every day has felt like Sunday to me. But I’m home now, and it is again time to share a bit of media with you all.
I don’t think I’m going to post a video this time, due to a combination of my sheer laziness and lack of motivation to find a suitable video to embed (and subsequently comment on/pick apart). So, I think the form of media I’m going to use today (I use the term “today” very loosely; as of writing this right now I’m actually in tomorrow) is going to be a photograph.
The picture itself is from a music video. I decided not to post the video itself, though I may one day in the future. I ran across it one day after reading about Armin Meiwes, a German man who wrote an online ad for his search for a person to kill and eat. Yes, I said eat. The ad got a couple of responses, but the final one was that of Bernd Jürgen Armando Brandes, who met Meiwes at his home and, after sex with him, agreed to be slaughtered and consumed by Meiwes. Look it up yourself for more details–it’s a really interesting story. There are even pictures of Meiwes’ work around on the internet; he recorded himself doing the killing. 
Anyway, Rammstein made a song about it. Shortly after the video was produced. It is from the shooting of the video that this picture is taken:
I won’t go into the details about the video; watch it if you’d like, or wait around until I post it here myself. I just love this last part of the video in which Christopher Schneider emerges from the underground station with the other members of the band chained together on a leash. That’s intriguing to me, for many different reasons.
Finish tomorrow.
Yes, dear readers, it is Monday. Mandag. Lundi. The most loathed day of the week. The day of the week that’s slandered, beaten up and shaken down for lunch money. Yes, perhaps he deserves it, being the first day of the work week and all, but give the poor guy a rest for a minute and enjoy what I’ve got going on here.
Lately I’ve been bored and wondering what to do with this lowly little blog. It just sits here and awaits my next wave of emotion–not budging or batting an eyelash–like an abused housewife who doesn’t know what’s good for her. Sometimes I wonder why I continue to write in it, since its only named-and-known readers thus far are Janus, Tank, Brandur, Amanda and Nessa ( hállo, hey, hej, guten tag and hola, respectively). But for those of you who remain anonymous and read this little ol’ thing…thank you. Anyway, back to my dilemma on what to do with this blog if I’m not bitching in it….
Then it occured to me today: I might feature some sort of media of my choosing on Mondays as a good way to begin the new week, whether it be music, a video or a photo that I find myself liking at the moment. Mind you, it may not be every single Monday from here on out, but it will be something–and something is better than nothing, right?
So, without further ado, I give you the first feature. Today it’s a music video, one that I liked since the first time I saw it one sleepless night in my room a couple of years ago. Here it is, “Into the Ocean” by Blue October:
I enjoy Blue October’s music very much, but I especially love the video. I like the theatrical style of the video and the rich blues, greens and blacks in the visuals. But behind every idea is a meaning. What is this video trying to say? That’s left up to the viewer. If you’re curious as to what the actual words to the song are, the lyrics are here.
So how do the two (the song and the video) relate? Consider what’s going on in the video. Justin is watching his own stage performance in which he a veritable Captain Ahab, battling a whale. The people in the audience around him watch as he and his “crew,” the guys behind him, work steadily to fight against the monster. But when the fight begins to get serious–and the rain starts to pour on both Justin and those supporting him–the audience flees, and Justin finds himself alone.
It’s a testament to how little people really do care about their friends sometimes. Sure, they’re there when things are going well, but when it starts to get ugly and they risk getting their hands dirty, they’re quick to step out of the picture. The audience represents his so-called “friends” that come to support him and watch as he works through the battle with the whale. But their concern for him truly shows when the downpour begins–they run away, so as not to get wet with the rain they’d determined was simply his to deal with. When people get in too deep, they just let go sometimes…they’d rather give you lipservice about how they really “care,” but don’t have the action or staying power to prove that their words are worth anything when it really matters. So I say screw people like that. Superficial friends are fun…until things turn ugly, then they’re nowhere to be found. So why have them in the first place? (“Good question!” comes the cries of the readers).
But yes, back to the media itself: it relates to the song in that he’s going through something awful, hence the whale skit. I suppose the video is just a non-verbal supplement to what the song is saying. We can assume that the line “the loss of her, the one I love” is his wife, judging by the sign in the empty chair next to Justin (“Reserved…For My Wife”). Other viewers may draw different meanings from the song and/or video, but that’s the beauty of art: it can be taken any way the observer wishes.
Wow, this turned out to be a little more dark than I’d originally intended. My bad, but hey: c’est la vie! Oh, and if you liked this, I suggest watching “Hate Me” by Blue October as well. Dark stuff, sad stuff, but good stuff.
The Importance of Being Ernest Earnest
I’ve got you figured out. You’re sensitive and emotional, but it’s ruined by your tendency to be oh-so-secretive. You only share information you want, and my prying ways don’t do anything but piss you off (which isn’t hard to do). There are all kinds of things going on inside that pretty head of yours that I’m not meant to see…and because I scaled your fortress wall and peered into your core, you fled. It’s because you’re scared. And that’s okay. I like that. But vulnerability isn’t something you want to deal with. You’re jealous, possessive, unforgiving and blunt to the point of sadistic cruelty. I hate talking to you. I hate being dragged into your little game of alternating sweet talk and cold shoulders.
But I can’t stand to be away from you.
There’s this awful magnetism, this horrible attractiveness that you possess…and you know it, don’t you? You’re not even that great-looking. Sure, you’re handsome in your own way, but not conventionally attractive in the loosest sense of the word (girls don’t like to have to lend their ponytail bands to their boyfriends)…yet I want to hold your hand, to touch your face. Your huge ego could perhaps be taken as an over-compensation for other things; I confess that I couldn’t argue against it. Your meanness is repulsive, and you dominate everything you’re involved in. You control the conversation and couldn’t care less about what I have to say. You’re unpredictable and uber-guarded, bottling things up instead of just bringing them out. You push people away, just shrug them off when you’re bored with them or they cease to be of any use to you. You’re callous and cold. You are a perfect Scorpio. But I can’t help wanting to be near you.
It’s unlike me to allow myself to be slighted so many times and still come back for more, because I am in no way attracted to the “bad boys” ( I want nothing more than a sweet, down-to-earth guy). I don’t love you; I don’t think I ever could. But I am so drawn to you I wait on your next move–seriously, I find myself waking up in the middle of the night to check my phone in case you’d decided to text me. I thrive on your attention right now, and although I know I’m getting slightly used by you here I couldn’t imagine anything else so wickedly pleasurable than your touch. I’m learning not to push you or pry into your psyche and to just let you talk when you want, to follow your pigheaded lead until I am rewarded with your passion, a drug I’m beginning to undergo withdrawals without. I know it’s going to be a short-lived infatuation and an even shorter relationship–yet another thing that is entirely unlike the normal me. Once I feel I’m “into” someone, I’m pretty much in for a while. I don’t like fickle, temporary flings and therefore avoid getting into them. I like to think I’m a fairly stable person…so why am I feeling this way? Yeah. I’ve got you figured out. But the more I understand you, the less I understand myself.
No Other Appropriate Word But “Yay!”
So it’s time to put an end to sleepy-eyed Skype conversations and failing keyboards: Janus is coming to Greensboro in the fall. I am, in a word, overjoyed. I can’t believe it actually might happen–the man (geez, that’s a scary word) who has basically become my best male friend over the last few months is coming to meet me! We’d talked about the possibility of a visit a few times before, but this time seems so tangible, so plausible! When he told me about the actuality of the plan being put into place the other night I could hardly contain my excitement, though managing to emit only a faint “Eee!” Thank god I was alone in the room. Truthfully, I’m happiest about the reality that he may simply have an opportunity to escape from the place in which he’s stuck (physical and emotional) and reach his full potential as the awesome guy he is, whether I’m graced by his presence or not.
Although I’ve only known him for three months, he’s begun to grow on me and I really enjoy his company on Skype, where we talk nearly every day. I’m glad to have him around, and it seems like we met each other at interesting and perhaps crucial points in our lives–a period of metamorphosis and self-discovery for me, and what may be one of life’s darkest moments for him. We share a symbiotic relationship in which we both give and get support that helps to sustain us. Of course, we goof around when we’re not talking about why there is no god or real love, and sometimes even then. I really like him as a friend and I’m beginning to think I’d do anything for that kid. I just hope our friendship is the same in person as it is in type. I just need to start learning how to keep my mouth shut every once in a while so I don’t bore him to death or drive him away before I get used to him being around, however long that may be.
Seeing Stars, From Not-So-Far Away
Tomorrow (well, today) Amanda and I are going to Charlotte to see The Fray and Jack’s Mannequin in concert, coming back Sunday morning after overnighting in a hotel tomorrow night. Amanda, an avid fan of both bands, is beside herself in excitement. For her, this is a pilgrimage. Verily I say unto you, we are going to see Isaac Slade’s bald little peanut head in all its glory. And there will be much rejoicing. And singing. My only job besides driving two-and-a-half hours is to keep her from attempting to touch any of the band members. I have my work cut out for me–Asians can be fiesty!
So a week ago today I moved out of my dorm at UNCG. Dad and Chris came to help me move out and, after lugging all of my crap up the stairs to the waiting cars, I began the final drive home of the year. I’ve been here seven days and already I miss being on campus. Everything was so carefree there–even though I had so much more to do. I was constantly in motion, going here, meeting this person, doing that, et cetera. Now my days consist of a daily drive around Fayetteville looking for work to keep myself occupied over the summer until I can go back to Greensboro. I try to spend time with Amanda, a friend from high school, but soon I’ll not even have that to do; she’s going to Germany in just a few weeks, leaving me stranded here alone in this hellhole of a city. Hopefully I’ll get a full-time job to keep me on track. And I need to join a gym so I don’t gain back the weight I lost in college.
I hate that this blog always ends up being a record of all my bitching; I don’t mean it to be. I truly don’t. But it seems that I only feel like writing here when nothing is going right. I suppose that when I’m happy (which is more often than it seems, I swear) I don’t have the time or the patience to write here. So, reader, do forgive me. You’re free to click that X up there if you want, because it’s probably not going to get any better.
You’re still here? Well, don’t be surprised if you end up annoyed (I have that effect on people).
I would say that I don’t know why I’m in this kind of depressed mood lately, but I do. It’s not any one thing. It’s just a combination of little things that just keep building up–tiny pebbles that pile on top of me until I’m crushed under the weight of it all. What’s saddest is that I let the little things get to me. I don’t have any “real” reason to be in this kind of funk, which is depressing in and of itself, because to me it seems like I’m whining over something everyone seems to be able to handle. It only gets worse when people try to “help.” I hate that kind of attention because I’m terrified of what people think of me. I always assume that people only say nice things because they’re expected to or think it’s what I want to hear, but don’t really mean it. Nothing is more disgusting to me than that. The fact that I over-analyze everything someone says or does only worsens the problem, because I assume everyone is insincere, and I hate that.
Just typing this is helping me to realize why no one seems to want to talk to me. At least I’m figuring something out here.
It’s a disease. Just thinking about what you as the reader is thinking while reading this post makes me want to throw up. I can’t stand it anymore.
So what, you ask, are the so-called “little things” that are building up? Well, here are some of them. I am at a place in my life where nothing is making sense. Nothing is absolute like it used to be. Since starting college, I’ve found out more about myself as a person, but have begun to lose track of what I as a person believe. This isn’t strictly about religion, though that is part of it. I don’t know what I think about anything. (“Oh, it’s because you’re so young. It will work out, just give it time.” I know that. But I don’t need to hear that from everyone. So please, stop saying it. I don’t need advice, I just need someone to listen…but no one seems to understand that.) I don’t know what I want to do with my life and I don’t know where I stand on most major issues, though I’m figuring that out slowly but surely.
At this time in my life I’m also horribly obsessed with appearance, and I hate it. Like I mentioned, I’m scared of what people think of me. I always assume the worst. People call me “pretty,” but what’s that worth? What if they just say that to make me feel better about myself? I always assume they are, and I don’t want that to be the norm for me. I don’t want to be the girl who relies on everyone else to validate her because of her looks, but it seems that that’s the path I’m going down. In person, I don’t do my pictures justice. Sure, I like certain pictures of myself, but the mirror reflects someone totally different than that cute girl on Facebook. I watch videos of myself talking and just sink further. Do I really look and sound like that when I talk? No wonder no one wants to be around me! I don’t even want to be around me when I see that shit.
One thing I think is kind of funny (in both the ha-ha way and the peculiar way) is that no one wants to date me, they just want to marry me. What the hell is that about? Do I act that old? I really don’t think so. Do I not look like girlfriend material, someone you can walk around town with on your arm? I guess I just look like the wife that everyone knows you have but no one is supposed to see. “Sure, you’d make cute kids, but not a cute enough companion.” Or, “Yeah, I’ll love you [love is such a strong word, in my opinion], but don’t expect me to be seen in public with you.” Maybe I just don’t have the personality–yeah, that’s it. You want to spend every free moment talking to your object of affections, but are only obligated to speak to your spouse when you both are home from work at night. I guess I’m just boring, but I don’t have the energy to change, at least not right now. If I don’t know who I am, how can I possibly know who I want to be? It’s all very frustrating. I want to just crawl under a rock or break down and cry.
It just seems like everyone is so far away…not only physically, but emotionally, as well. No one wants to get too close, I guess because they know I get attached so easily. I really do–I’ll throw myself into whatever or whomever it is that I grow attached to. I guess I’m like one of those fuzzy little burrs in the grass that, if you get too close to them, stick to your socks and annoy the hell out of you until you pick them off and throw them away. So yeah. Don’t get too close to me. It’ll just end up hurting both of us, and who wants that? I’m finding out that it’s worth being alone if I avoid getting in the way of anyone else.
I don’t feel like writing any more.
I’m not in the greatest mood. As I write this, I’m in a minivan with my parents and cousins, headed to Lake City, South Carolina for a family reunion. Oh, joy.
It’s not that I don’t like my family; I love my family. They help me out when I need it, and they’re just a lot of fun to hang out with. I think today I’m just in some sort of funk that perhaps this overcast weather had a hand in creating. I’ve been promised a safe return to the house by dark today, and once I get home tonight I have to pack again and head back to Greensboro. Today is the last day of spring break.
“It Tastes The Same…If You Close Your Eyes!”
If you haven’t already guessed, this week was spring break for UNCG. I’ve been everywhere and in-between this week, visiting places like the Swansboro, Raleigh, my home in Fayetteville, and Lake City, where I’m headed today. I started the week in Swansboro at Melissa’s house, where I stayed at her parents’ house with her and Miranda. we made trips to the beach at Emerald Isle, a mere 4 miles away, and took pictures under the bridge just a few steps away from her house on the inland waterway. That was what our days consisted of. Our nights…well, we started with drinks with dinner and moved on from there. Our liquor menu featured Bacardi O orange rum Monday night with coconut rum, moving on to Smirnoff Ice later in the night, and Smirnoff 90-proof vodka Tuesday night followed by red wine for them and a Skype conversation for me…intoxicating. The volumes of alcohol we consumed were ridiculous, even for rugby players–1/2 gallon of Bacardi, a 6-pack of Smirnoff Ice, a bottle of red wine, half a fifth of coconut rum, and 1/2 gallon of vodka, between 3 (occasionally 4) people over 2 nights. Needless to say, there were some interesting occurances resulting in a few bruises on all of us and a nasty cut on Miranda’s knee. We were sliding down dewy playground slides with open bottles and lit cigarettes and climbing fir trees barefoot at 2 in the morning. Truly these are the best years of our lives.
Love, or the Lack Thereof
I’m on I-95, and they’re asking my cousin, two years my junior, what her new flavor-of-the-week is. His name’s Matthew. Hopefully he’ll treat her better than chad ever did, but that’s not anything I want to get into on this blog, today or otherwise.
So I’m back again to the subject of relationships. My good friend Hannah has found a boyfriend at college recently; he seems like a really nice guy who treats her well. She reported the good news about how he practically fell into her lap to Amanda and I over lunch this week. Amanda and I have conversations nearly every day about how we couldn’t find a man if we stood on a streetcorner (haha), and even if we did, he wouldn’t be a decent, caring guy–all the members of that species either died off or were snatched up a long time ago by other girls. We’re already making plans to be nursing home roommates, the “80-year-old-virgins.” I’m not in any rush to get with anyone right now; I’m enjoying not being tied down to anyone. However, I’d love to have someone with whom to share this part of my life and to have fun with.
Føroyskt!
After weeks of being accosted by various Skype creepers (most of whom are foreign guys with the sole intention of gathering as many racy pictures of gullible young women with a SkypeMe! status as they can), I think I’ve finally found a friend who is worth the trouble of even logging in. He messaged me out of the blue last Saturday night at around 11pm, and our first conversation via messages and a mic chat lasted until 4am (8am his time). We’ve had lengthy (and very near-flirty) conversations just about every night this week. At first I wondered if I annoyed him slightly with my youth, since he’s 7 years older than me (wow, in type that looks really bad, haha). I don’t worry about it as much now, only a week later, because I think I surprised him with my intelligence (read: random knowledge of trivial subjects), making me perhaps a rare species among Skype users. He’s incredibly smart and friendly, and I confess that i’m getting into the habit of staying up later than I normally do in order to talk to him every night. I don’t mind it in the least. P.S., I do know his name; I even have his number, though I can’t call it right now due to my phone’s international settings. So there. I simply don’t want to go into too many details…just yet.
Wow. I’m in a better mood already!
First off, I’ll say this: I am horribly sick. My spelling and grammar are not going to be perfect in this post because my fingers are having issues and my head is incredibly heavy, but I feel it’s important to record exactly what happened and how I’m feeling so I can reflect later on this. This illness hit me really fast yesterday after my rugby games, and in less than 24 hours I am so sick that I’m rather lucky to be sitting up right now. Yesterday morning I had a bit of a stuffy nose but didn’t think anything of it and got up to go to the two rugby matches I was scheduled to play. When I arrived on the pitch at 11 that morning, I realized my throat was sore, and deduced that I was coming down with a cold. I was fine and played both matches back-to-back without incident. At the social, however, I started getting a little chilly though there were about 4 teams in a tiny apartment. I had two cups of rum and juice and tried to determine what was happening to me because I could definitely feel something coming on. I sat on the stairs in a dream-like state among the loud music and dancing, sweaty bodies. I drove my drunken friends back to the rugby house after the 3-hour social and sat on the couch in a hoodie and shorts, covered by a blanket. I began shivering, my teeth chattering. My joints and muscles ached, and my head started hurting. One of the ruggers gave me acetamenophen (Tylenol to you lay-persons) and had me lie down to try and sleep. I woke up an hour later with my skin flushed very hot, but I was not sweating. It seemed I couldn’t sweat. I felt awful and kicked off the blankets and stripped out of the hoodie. I began to re-think my earlier hypothesis of the common cold (most colds don’t produce fevers that high) and decided that I must have the flu. I didn’t know what my temperature was because no one had a thermometer in the house, but my hands and face were very hot, according to everyone who touched them. A thought ran through my fevered mind: this must be what Jacob Black feels like all the time.
Now, enter the vampire…
Laura came in and announced “I found a Lars outside!” and in came the friendly neighborhood music major that lives next door to the rugby house. We’ve always called him a vampire for reasons I’m too lazy to type here now, but we pick on him mercilessly about it. He takes it like a man, though. He’s also the object of my secret affections…hopefully he’ll never find this post. I never thought he would even remember my name because I’d only seen and talked to him around 10 times this school year, but he’s my friend on Facebook and thus must know who I am. Anyway, after being handed a Mike’s Hard Lemonade (which belonged to me) from the fridge, he walked in and noticed me lying on the couch with a cool cloth on my forehead and came to kneel beside me. He put his head on my shoulder and asked “Hey, how are you feeling?” I could smell his hair, a mixture of shampoo and traces of sweat…he’d just gotten off work. I told him I wasn’t doing well at all and that I thought I had a fever but didn’t have a thermometer. After placing the cold bottle on my wrist, he felt my hands and left to go find a thermometer in his house, handing me his bottle to hold while he was gone, warning my playfully not to spike it with anything. I held it dutifully in my left hand and waited for his return. Laura told me, “You don’t have to hold it the entire time, you know. You can just set it on the floor,” but I just whispered back, “I will do anything for Lars. Shhhh….”
He arrived around five minutes later without a thermometer (none of theirs worked) but with a packet of Emercen-C, which he tossed to me. I mixed it with water and drank it down, grimacing as I did it. He, Laura and I talked for a little while longer before he left for a party down the street. I couldn’t believe what happened. I’m excited to see him again (as I always am).
I’m going to read this post later and realize how ridiculous I sound, but recording thoughts is truly what this blog is even about. To me, it’s an open diary online that I can read later and others can read anytime.
After an awful night and day of sleep, I went to the student health center on campus and waited in triage for an hour until I was seen. After finding out my temperature (103.9), they sent me back into an exam room to be seen by a doctor. I was given tests for influenza, strep throat, and mononucleosis. All came back negative. However, my bloodwork revealed my white blood cells to be slightly elevated and some sort of bacteria hanging around in my blood. Dr. Beck gave me a prescription for antibiotics and sent me on my way. Hopefully this will take care of it.
Alas, it is time to pack my shoes and cram my clothes back into my suitcases and leave my house for…well, home. I’ve been here in my hometown since December 16th, and ever since Christmas got over (even before that, really) I’ve been anxious to leave. It’s just so…boring here, and there is no freedom. I’d planned to leave on the 16th of January–yesterday–but Dad convinced me to stay another day because my car had been leaking antifreeze. In the one week we get weather below freezing, my car starts leaking precious antifreeze. Go figure. So I stayed another day and had the cracked, leaking hose plugged to try and remedy the problem. Of course, that didn’t work. Today, we discovered that it was not a radiator hose that had been leaking, it’s my water pump, causing me to stay yet another day. So I won’t be leaving until tomorrow morning. I’ve decided that it was simply not meant for me to leave yesterday or today. My neighbor, Dave, who is a mechanic in the army, installed the new pump and everything is running fine, but it is getting dark right now, and I’ve a lot to unpack when I get back up to Greensboro. I blame all my car troubles on our front yard–every car we park there deteriorates very quickly. I’m serious; we live in the Twilight Zone. Oh, well.
I want to tap his vein. I want to see his blood flow. I see a flash of the smooth skin of his inner elbow, and immediately I want to touch it. There is life in there, sweet and scarlet and sticky. I itch to graze my fingertips along his arm. To feel his faint brachial pulse and find the best entry point. To pierce it with a gleaming cannula and hear him sigh, lids half-closed. It’s beautiful.
I’m not a vampire…or a phlebotomist, for that matter. I just got some creepy sort of medical daydream when I saw his arm yesterday. Not to hurt him, just to draw a little life out of him. Maybe I’d feel…in control if I stuck him with a needle? I don’t know. Anyway, so ends tonight’s morbid, poetic moment by Yours Truly. Sorry if it grossed you out. Nah, not really. I’m not sorry.
Since I’ve been home for Christmas, a number of things have happened. Minuscule to most, but important to me (mostly because I don’t have a life). The moment I stepped in the door of my house I began cooking for Christmas, and I’ve still a bit to do later today when the family wakes up. I’m completely numb to the Christmas feeling right now. It’s pitiful, but kind of expected. Christmas is coming, I cannot stop it; I can only endure it and wait for the new semester to begin, when I can get out of this house and get back to my life on campus. December 26th I begin the count down to January 16th when I’m headed back to Greensboro. I want to get back to my friends and rugby and my college career, but I’m actually kind of excited about getting back to spending time alone…that is, unless someone I’m interested in is interested in me. I’m still unsure. Sometimes I get these warm fuzzy feelings about him, but sometimes I wonder if it’s even worth the trouble to spend my time thinking about him. We’ll see how it works out in the end.
Apparently my hormones are running rather high right now. I’m (at least mentally) going after every guy that even remotely interests me. However, I usually end up with thoughts like (and I quote): He’s uh, in an open relationship with…with who?! and Don’t you hate it when they turn out to be 15 years older than you and married? Just kidding about the second thought, but it really is something that I said to myself a few minutes ago, heh. I long for an embrace, a kiss. Even a second glance would give me a high at this point. It’s not like anyone is rubbing their relationship in my face, which makes my situation all the more unexplained and unnecessary, at least for me. I hate feeling weak, and this desperation for a man in my life is making me sick. I’m getting depressed writing about it. On to lighter subjects…
The Mother Flippin’
Thanks to my brother, I’ve become absolutely addicted to Flight of the Conchords. Oh man. Perfect, silly, sometimes dry, sometimes nerdy, tongue-in-cheek humor (or humour, if you want to spell it “more correctly,” according to Jemaine). They are amazing, and they brighten my nights. I dream of them one day making a tour stop in NC. I’ll be there. Promise.
The Bird
I’m developing plans for the tattoo that will eventually go on my left foot. I need someone to draw it for me but I know I can’t do it myself. Besides, that’d be kind of selfish and narcissistic to have my own drawing on my body. I’ve tested it out in Bic pen, but need to finalize a few things and get the money together to go out and get it done! The only regret I have is that I won’t be able to donate blood for a while afterwards.
