I bet you thought I was going to blog more.

I have two words for you.

(They're not I lied or you're gullible or rainbow kittens, although those would all work. Except maybe rainbow kittens, but they're just so cute.)

Actually, it's one word, but I'm saying it twice, so I think that makes it count as two words. Right? Someone back me up here.

Ha ha.

So there you are. Just because I am doing this insane thing that I'm probably going to quit in a few days when I have homework again does not mean I'm going to devote more of my time to you. That's right. I wrote eighteen hundred words today and none of them were for you. They were all for me. I'm keeping them forever, hidden in little folders on Lisette that say "writing" and are purple. That's right, purple.

Okay, maybe I'll give you a word. I mean, I have eighteen hundred. I can spare some. Here's a word: objectified. Heck, here's a sentence: Are you off your meds? That's right; I think making fun of people who are taking medication for whatever reason is extremely funny. Ha ha. Ha. Do you see me laughing? Of course you don't.

Sorry if this is coming across as a little bit, I don't know, insane or disjointed or insane or something. It's too late and I should be sleeping, but I felt like bragging.

I don't have anything else to write now, but I feel somewhere in my cold heart that I should write more than just "ha ha I'm so cool" before I give up on you. I just have no clue what to write. Even my muse isn't helping me.

Yes, I have a muse now, as of twelve twenty-two a.m. EST. It is the empty bag of "NORI MAKI ARARE rice crackers w/seaweed" next to my bed. They were delicious while they lasted. Salty and crunchy and seaweedy and everything. Yum.

Some people would say that I should throw them out, but I'm not some people! I'm the hero! Anyway, this is my new totally justified reason (read: excuse) not to throw them out. This empty bag of seaweed-related food is inspiring me. It is sending brainwaves into my...brain. It is giving me all kinds of fabulous ideas just by rustling its plasticy plastic.

...Yeah, I need to get some sleep.

Sorry for not really blogging, but I can pretend, right? And so can you, infidels! Ciao!

Blogging again.

So I've decided to try this thing where I write a thousand words a day. Kind of like NaNo, I guess, but not necessarily about the same thing. Anyway, NaNo was more like one thousand, six hundred sixty-seven words a day until you started getting behind, and then you ended up with three thousand words a day for a week...

Good times.

The cat is sitting on my bed. She's not touching me; that would be too much for her little kitty brain to handle. She's just sitting a safe distance away and twitching like the twitchy meeper she is. I swear, she is the weirdest cat ever, and all cats are weird.

I've started to say "meep" all the time. It's just terrible, I tell you. I go through phases of saying random words whenever I can. Meep. Squish. Sometimes I wish I could just talk like a normal person and not have to meep at people.

I was getting off the bus a few days ago, and I caught my bag between my leg and one of the seats. I made a "meep!" noise, because of course that makes sense. John (our bus driver looks remarkably like a young John McCain, so I call him John) said, "You're welcome."

Me: Meep!

John: You're welcome!

Erin: LOLWUT.

No, really. I think she said that.

Oh my gosh, that just reminded me of how while I was standing around in the snow feeling like a pimp today, this guy walked by and told his friend about how something "made him lol." I was like, "Go away, dude."

Oh, now the cat is actually sitting TOUCHING ME and PURRING. I can't believe it. I will treasure this for the rest of my life. This kind of thing happens once in a lifetime, or maybe just once a month, but not very often nonetheless. I'm so proud of her. This is like a step to becoming normal.

!

Do you know what song I keep listening to? Of course you don't, unless you're some kind of mind-reader. Please don't tell me you're a mind-reader. I would be seriously freaked out if someone turned out to be reading my mind. Sometimes in class I do that thing I saw on MLIA, where you think very loudly, "If you can hear me, cough," and then I feel really, really relieved when no one coughs.

Anyway, song.

It's "Paparazzi." By, you know, that Lady Gaga woman. (I wanted to say "that Lady Gaga lady," but that would be a major visit to the Department of Redundancy Department. Wow, I keep getting sidetracked today. My mind is, like, not staying focused.&)

ANYWAY. Seriously this time. You can tell I'm serious because I used CAPS LOCK.

I keep singing it in my head and stuff, except I replace the word "paparazzi" with "stalkerazzi." Seriously, if you've heard the song, it makes perfect sense. I'm your biggest fan/ I'll follow you until you love me...

Why am I listening to this? Someone hit me, or something.

Have you noticed that I keep sending you to links? It's to distract you from the way I'm too lazy to write anything of substance. Look! A turtle eating a strawberry! The cover of "Going Bovine!" Purple water!

...Yeah. I should just stop right now.

In case you haven't noticed, the ninja ampersand is hiding somewhere on this page. The exclamation point is also somewhere, but it's a little more conspicuous. Okay, a lot more conspicuous.

By the way, this was 596 words. 404 to go...and homework, of course.

I'm just in a writing mood recently.

Does anyone else know how that is? You go along for days, weeks, whatever, barely writing anything, and then suddenly you just have to write. I wrote like twenty-five hundred words this weekend, and then I spent most of lunch writing too. (Sorry guys). I can't help it. I just have to write right now.

Anyway, that's why I'm finally blogging. I am not a creature of habit, okay? I am my own person, with my own random reasons for doing everything. No one can make me do anything I don't want to do. I mean, actually, you can, but...

God. I've been doing that more often recently, you know. I trail off at the ends of sentences. I don't like doing it. It makes me feel wussy -- I'm sorry, I mean it makes me feel like the sympathetic individual I am.

***---***---***---***---***---**&*---***---***---***-!--***---

Two days after I wrote that first part (you can tell time passed because of the random punctuation) it became obvious to me that I'm not in a very big writing mood. If I had really felt like writing, I would have managed to finish more than three short paragraphs of a blog post.

In other news, did you see that the ninja ampersand has an exclamation point friend? The exclamation point is not a ninja. The exclamation point is...I don't know. Something that is also very good at disguising itself, like a ninja. Maybe it has an invisibility cloak, or maybe it's just magical. Or (this is the other option) the ampersand is a ninja that can actually hide itself and be subtle, and the exclamation point fails at subtlety.

Exclamation points aren't very subtle. I mean, obviously they're not, because they're PUNCTUATION and punctuation doesn't have emotions, but I don't think of them as being subtle. Think of this as synesthesia, except with punctuation having feelings instead of numbers having smells, or whatever synesthesia really is. I'm too lazy to skim the Wikipedia article to get the vague, ambiguously true facts the way I do to learn most of the things I know.

!!! -- exclamation points. They're fabulous and loud and don't shut up. And when you put too many of them in a row they look tacky. And...you can put tildes in front of them and then Erin (and probably other people, too, but I only know of her) calls it a squee squiggle~!

;;; -- semicolons. They're sort of confused and unhappy because they always have to join independent clauses and they never get to have any fun. That's not saying I don't live semicolons; I do love them. Semicolons are some of my favorites.

::: -- colons. Colons are cute but no-nonsense. Like librarians, or something.

??? -- question marks. They're like little kids: one can be cute, but too many in a group are just obnoxious. Or maybe that's just me.

... -- periods. Periods are just boring, okay?

,,, -- commas. It is Gertrude Stein's opinion that commas "are servile and they have no life of their own." I have to tell you, I like commas. I like them a little too much. They're just so helpful for breaking up my thoughts and creating natural pauses and when I write without them I get confused, and I have to go back to using them.

&&& -- ampersands. They're pretty much fabulous.

——— -- em dashes. (Not to be confused with en dashes or hyphens, even though all three of them are little slashy lines.) Em dashes are just normal, but kind of amazing at the same time.

/// -- virgules. I actually don't care about virgules, I just wanted an excuse to type that. Try saying it out loud sometime. Virgule.

So, now that I'm done obsessing, shall we go back to my endlessly fascinating life? I think we shall.

(If you don't think my life is endlessly fascinating, why are you still here? Go read Maureen Johnson's blog or Scott Westerfeld's blog or watch this video I found on YouTube just now of a cat meowing. Or watch this mystery video by clicking on this percent sign %.)

I passed all my classes with flying colors, by which I mean I got all A's. That's right, everyone. I win.

I am hoping very much that tomorrow is a snow day. It's supposed to snow a whole bunch, etc etc, and I don't really feel like writing this anymore, so deal with it, infidels.

Ciao.

This is me blogging.

It's nothing you haven't seen before. I sit down at my computer and prepare to hammer out something that will end up taking the shape of a decent blog post. I complain a lot to whoever I'm talking to through the glory that is the Internet (sometimes through random punctuation that has no meaning to anyone but me, like this charming message I sent to Erin: ...!? ;;;;; && ^ : ) : ) ^^ ). And then eventually I get over it and write.

Christmastime is fast approaching, you know. In fact, there are some who would say it's been here for weeks. I mean, the Christmas music has been playing nonstop for ages. When we eat lunch in Kerrytown, there are always cheerful songs about Jesus and angels and Christmas spirit playing in the background. It's driving me crazy.

I'm not completely sure what my position on Christmas music is. I think I'll make some lists. That's what the characters in the novels I've been reading do. List-making is big in YA. It's a very easy way to write things out without actually having to develop them, you know. Perfect for NaNoWriMo.

Anyway, the lists:

Bad Things About Christmas Music:

• There is nothing else during the month of December. Nothing
• I think "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" and that other song, the one with the bells, are some of the most depressing songs ever
• You hear every song over and over
• As a result of that, it gets stuck in your head
• It's super annoying to find yourself humming it when you could be humming something, else, like "I'll Make A Man Out Of You"

Good Things About Christmas Music:

• It's only around for a month

Okay, so now I know I hate Christmas music. This is so refreshing. The only problem is this: I might still like it. I mean, there are many things I like even though they're obviously terrible and I should hate them. I just can't think of any off the top of my head. People who know me can think of them for me, right? I trust you to know me better than I know my own self.

That reminds me of Twilight. I'm starting to love it again. There, something for the "this is horrible but I love it like my own psychotic, unclean child" list. I think it was discovering MyLifeIsTwilight dot com, which is sort of like MLIA but with worse spelling and creepier, Twi-hard posters whose lives seem to revolve around their life-size Rob Pat cutouts.

Actually, it might be because I was trying to read Breaking Dawn in French. I like to read things in French and see how much I can actually understand and how much leaves me wishing I had a French-English dictionary in my huge coat pockets. It doesn't help that books are mostly written in some weird tense I haven't learned yet, but at least I can understand some of the words. And imagine how amazed I was when Edward asked Bella, "Tu veux la voir?" and I realized that the direct object pronouns Kris Ann have been teaching us are actually used in the French language. Also, it is just as epic when Bella asks "Why am I covered in feathers?" in French.

Pourquoi suis-je couvert des plumes?

I don't know, Bella. Helpfully, Edward explains that it was because he bit a pillow. Ou deux... Oh, Edward, you pillow-biter. Now I understand why so many teenage girls want to marry you. I certainly find pillow-biting attractive.

I put a lot of links into this post to distract you from actually reading it. I mean, who would pay attention to me when there's a link to Rob Pat's slightly stalkerish visage staring you in the face. Come on, click it. I dare you. I hear they call him Robward now.

I can't keep writing, infidels. I have things to do. Important things. Yes. More important than spilling out my thoughts, hopes, and dreams to the Internet at large, as crazy as that may sound.

Remember me?

It's okay if you don't. I don't really make much of a mark on the Internets. I make more of a ripple, I think. You know, because a ripple is a lovely phenomenon that spreads out in concentric circles before fading away into nothingness.

But that's not like me, because here I am! I'm back, because I really can't live for very long without knowing that I have people out there hanging onto my every word. Like the cousin. She said to me this weekend -- we were at my grandparents' house -- she said to me, "I need your blog! I need it to LIVE!" or something like that, and I said, "That's...nice, cousin."

I have another excuse this time. Yes, a new one. You've never heard it before on this blog. There is a concrete reason why I haven't blogged in a month. The last few weeks of October, well. I have nothing to say about that. But I was busy for the entire month of November.

"But how can you be busy for an entire month straight?" you ask. "How can something keep you occupied for that long? Your attention span isn't really that long, is it?"

Dear readers, it is that long. My attention span was long enough to let me spend an entire month of my life on NaNoWriMo.

NaNoWriMo is the short way to say National Novel Writing Month. (NaNo is the short way to say NaNoWriMo. Apparently writers don't like to actually write things out. Who knew?) NaNoWriMo is for crazy people who don't mind that they will have lost their souls by the time the month is over. NaNoWriMo is for masochistic nerds. NaNoWriMo is what everyone wants to do until November starts and they have to pick up their pens.

You write a novel, or at least fifty thousand words of something in a month. Yes. 50k in thirty days. That rounds out to a neat 1666.6 words a day.

People do it because people are crazy. People have issues. And people who think they can write have even more issues than most people, so they think writing fifty thousand words in thirty days will be fun.

(Actually, it was fun. Shh! Don't tell anyone!)

But that's what I was doing all month. I was obsessing over my word count: Do you think I can hit 30k tonight if I'm only at 26k? I was writing a lot of things that didn't make any sense: "It appears that a small tornado has entered my classroom." I was breaking the fourth wall whenever I got bored: "And then he took the midnight train going anywhere and joined a gang in the hood." I was deleting a lot of crap: Yes, that's why you didn't see anything about gangs. I was sleeping normally...Or not.

As you can imagine, I hardly had time to do my homework, let alone update the Internet on my fascinating life. NaNo sucked up my life like a vacuum sucks up dust. Also, it stole my soul and made me go slightly crazy for a few days. But I'm all better now!

Maybe.

Let's see, what happened to me today? I went to class...I went to my other class, where we talked about Catcher in the Rye.

God, I love that book. I liked it a lot more before we had to analyze it in class, of course, but I still love it. Holden is such a psycho. I don't think I'd like to meet him, but I love reading about him.

Nothing else really happened to me today. I can't believe I'm trying to blog about my life when nothing interesting happens in my life. I mean, I wake up, I eat some breakfast, I catch the bus, I spend several hours in a semi-controlled learning environment, I go home. Boring. Who wants to hear about that?

I could make up something to tell you. I could say to you,

It was a dark and stormy day. The wind was howling like wolves howl when they haven't eaten anything for weeks and their fur is starting to fall out in patches. Water crashed against the walls of Community High School, because there's a lot of water crashing downtown. There was a flood, okay? It was flooding, and dark, and stormy, et cetera. This is very beautiful and descriptive, but it's not going anywhere because I'm too lazy to write it.

If that didn't bring tears to your eyes, I don't know what will.

Guess who?

It's me, obviously. The privacy of my blog has not yet been compromised. The only person who gets to decide what ends up posted on the fabulous pages of Pseudocurses is yours truly. Don't worry. The reason I didn't blog for a month and a half was not actually because some creeper changed my password and I couldn't figure it out for weeks, like I originally planned to tell you.

It's because so much has been happening in my life. My gosh. Exciting new things are at every corner in this thrilling life I lead. I swear, every time I turn around some kind of great thing happens to me. Like, well, Commie.

I am a commie now. It all happened so fast...One moment I was hiding in my room pretending summer would never end; the next, I was being jostled around on a bus heading to Community High. School buses are not comfortable. If you have a choice, don't take them.

So. Anyway. I'm back from my hiatus, here on the Internets to bring you pithy and misanthropic insights into the world of Commie. I've even changed the color of links or something to red in honor of my school. Our school colors happen to be black and white (and our mascot is the rainbow zebra! Peace and love: Fight, fight!) but that's not the point. The point is that those reds can only really be represented by one color, and it is red.

Community is a unique school in downtown Ann Arbor. It's right across the street from Kerrytown, so of course everyone jaywalks across during our lunch period. Um, what else. Basic information, just in case you don't know...Community High was originally an elementary school. It has three floors and four staircases. Students are chosen by a lottery. We run on a block schedule, having half our classes each day and all our classes on Friday. An exclusive part of the Community experience is Forum, an hour-long class involving community service, friendship, and food.

I wrote that entire thing without even looking at one of the two Community websites. Go me. They're here !!!!! and here ???? in case my explanation wasn't awesome enough.

Let's see...this post will be full of Commie-related lists. You will enjoy them.

Fantastic Things About Commie:

• It's tiny. There are three floors, one hall on each floor
• No dress code! Not that I would, you know, care
• We can have hour-and-a-half long free blocks
• It's an open campus, so we can leave school during our free blocks
• The block schedule means we have two days to do homework
• We get to call our teachers by their first names
• It's almost impossible to get lost
• It's close to No Thai, Teriyaki Time, Kerrytown, and Smoothie King
• Teachers just talk to you in the hallways (and call your dog emo)
• All the teachers seem really psyched about teaching you
• People let you do basically whatever you want
• Peace and love: Fight, fight!

As you can see, Commie is pretty cool. I am so happy I go there. All of my Pi High friends tell me, "Oh, Libby! Come to Pioneer so you can catch a glimpse of me in the packed hallways! The teachers won't care about you, but it's okay: our stifling atmosphere and piles of homework will be worth any hardships!"

To this, I say, "No." I also whine, "But I liiiike Commie! And Pioneer scares me! It's so big!"

"You won't get lost!" they assure me. "Much."

Commie is my homeland. I am not switching schools for anyone. Ever.

The commies, my comrades in scholarly pursuits, are unique and fabulous people. Every single fricking one of them. I am not quite commie enough to abandon the useless and somewhat rude pastime of putting people into boxes, so here is my list of the types of people I have identified at Commie.

Commies: A List:

• Goth/punk refugees
• Scene/emo people: like the gothies, but more skinny jeans and plaid
• Sensitive artistes
• Assorted nerds, mostly male
• People whose levels of funkitude are too high for normal education
• People who like the idea or the specific classes
• Other people who don't broadcast their fabulosity on their sleeves

And there you are. I think I fit in with the sensitive artistes, actually. I'm quite sensitive. I'm just not particularly artistic.

Oh, and one last thing that is imperative to know about Commie: Everyone wears skinny jeans. The guys wear skinny jeans. The girls wear skinny jeans. Laurel, who teaches Spanish, wears skinny jeans. Even I own a pair of skinny jeans for the sole purpose of fitting in at Commie.

As much as you can fit in at the local alternative school, anyway.

I haven't posted in a month.

Everyone must have gotten really bored coming to my blog every day and seeing only the tired old post from a month ago. You might even have become so bored that you gave up on me and started reading a blog that updates on a decent schedule. I don't blame you. Really, I don't. I get bored when people don't update as often as I think they should. This is a real case of the pot calling the kettle black.

Many things happened since I last posted, the most important of which was my family's trip to Canada.

We went to Canada because we are all majorly obsessed with Canada. In fact, we consider ourselves honorary Canadians. However, we didn't go to the normal parts of Canada that tourists usually go to. No. We went and drove up to Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and even Newfoundland. Well, Newfoundland is an island, but we drove onto a ferry that took us over to the foggy, salty shores of Newfoundland.

The vacation took up a significant portion of my life, but I can't think of anything to say about it. I'm sorry.

Moving on.

Today, my dear friend Anna took me to the 4-H Youth Fair, where she was showing her

rabbit. I forget its name. It bit her and Patricia, but she assured us that it is usually a placid and

good-natured creature.

At the 4-H Youth Fair (or just Fair, as Anna called it), I experienced a strange feeling. It was

really strange because I go to the Chelsea Fair almost every year, and I go to the other cousin's

(TOC) horse things. I even went to an odd horse thing where they sold horse equipment with

crosses on it.

I felt really out of place at the horse thing. I am not going to buy any kind of horse

equipment or shiny glass objects. I did make the cousin buy me a sign that says "Unattended

Children Will Be Sold To Gypsies," and it now decorates my door, so I suppose something good

came out of it.

The point is not the charming sign, though. The point is that everyone else was a horse

person, and I am not a horse person. I don't want to be a horse person. Horses are large and sort

of scary, when you think about it. Also, it creeps me out the way they have large bodies and thin

legs that really don't look like they should be able to support them.

At the Fair, I was absolutely charmed by everything. Why, I could almost have renounced

my city-slicker life on the spot and gone to live on a farm with chickens. Well, not really, but I

was charmed. There were kids the child's age just carrying around chickens like it was perfectly

normal. Yep, here I am, carrying my chicken. La di da, nothing to see here. It's just me and my

chicken. Or is that my chicken and I? Anyway, it was cute. There were kids my age cuddling

with geese like they were cats, wearing rubber boots and standing in stalls, and leading cows off

to be washed up. It made me wish I could have that kind of farm-animal relationship. I am

probably never actually going to have a farm and the only animals I am likely to own will be

smaller than breadboxes, but for a little while there I wished I could be leading my cow into her

stall.

So that was the fair. That was then; this is now.

From downstairs, I can hear the lovely sound of things smashing from the TV, accompanied

by the screams of "DIE!" and "Go Slytherin!" from the child and his friend. They are vicious

children who should never be allowed to play the Half-Blood Prince video game. I watched them

play it for a while, but it was sort of boring to watch and the animation was terrible. Luna's hair

stuck straight out to the side when she tilted her head, and ol' Harry has the exact same stupid

expression no matter what. Nintendo Power gave it a horrible rating, with which I agree.

My new word is copacetic, which I try to include in as much of what I say as possible ever

since Mother said it a few days ago and I looked it up in my dictionary to see what it meant.

I'm having trouble thinking of things to say. I am only blogging right now because Liss has

taken over for Audrey on the yell at Libby until she blogs front. Currently, we are having a

fascinating conversation over gmail about my unique typing habits. I am a horrible typist. Really.

I do not type with my fingers on asdfjkl; like one is supposed to. I sort of "hunt and peck," but

with my middle fingers. I do use my thumbs for the space bar, exactly like I was taught all those

years ago.

This blog post is not working out very well. I can't think of what to write and the formatting

is messed up, so it might not even show up. Oh well. Love you, infidels, but don't think that just

because I post again doesn't mean I'm coming out of hiding.

This blog post is shorter than some words.

Today is Sunday. In different places around the world, they call this fine day many different things, but I'm really not in the mood to list any of them. I'm not really in the mood to do much, but I feel obligated to post today. You see what writing this thing has done to me? I feel almost like I should be responsible.

Lolcats annoy me.

I just had to get that out there. They really do annoy me. I have nothing against the idea of putting captions on funny pictures. That's just wonderful, as far as I'm concerned. I just don't like the misspelled captions. They bother me. Yes, I'm sure there are many people who think the misspellings are all part of their charm, but I think they'd be just as funny if they were spelled correctly. Funnier, maybe, because it would take less time to figure out what the heck they're saying under all those z's and exclamation points.

Amazingly enough, it's becoming a lot easier for me to write the name of my blog. As they say, practice makes perfect. It used to take several tries for me to type Pseudocurses correctly into the little searchbar. Now I can do it the first time I try! My finger practically fly over the keys. I feel so fantastic. This is a great talent I have: being able to spell the name of my own blog. Next, I might try spelling someone else's blog.

Eva Hattie told me a few days ago that she wants a signed copy of my book when I write it (maybe even if it's my autobiography about the genius or stupid thing I do with my life). Yes, the people I talk to usually end up being quoted here. If you don't like it, get a sign to wear around your neck, something along the lines of: Libby, do not quote anything I say. Or, even better, you could print out this thing I just made up:

I, __________(your name here), do not give my consent for my words, spoken or written, to appear on the blog Pseudocurses.

__/__/__(date)  ___________________(your signature here) _________(your favorite color here)

Okay, lovely. Hand this to me at any point between now and our world's imminent doom on December 12, 2009, and it'll be totally valid for as long as I want it to be. The world is going to end on 21/12/12, obviously. It's common knowledge. Several ancient civilizations prophecied it, so it must be true.

I'm really not sure what else to write about. I mean, seriously. I've been over pretty much everything that's on my mind right now. I wrote a poem today, but I'm not going to tell you about it. I'll just mention it in passing and leave you to wonder. I feel so cruel.

Long Words:

• Floccinaucinihilipilification
  
• Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis
  
• Pseudopseudohypoparathyroidism
  
• Antidisestablishmentarianism
  
• Honorificabilitudinitatibus

The only other long words I saw were actually too long to post, so I refrained.

I'm tired. Bye, infidels.

The words "Kimchi Kat" do not show up in that order on Google.

I'm going back to calling Cassee Kimchi Kat, even though it's misspelled. It's not on Google! How fabulous is that?

My titles have absolutely nothing to do with my posts. I like it that way.

I'm not sure if this is just me being a spelling/punctuation/grammar person, but I find it really strange to have Facebook chats with certain people. I type out full sentences and try to put my entire thought in one post. Other people...don't.

Example:

Me: Hi, Anonymous!

Anonymous: hi libby

how r u?

Me: I'm fine. You?

Anonymous: i'm fine to

do u like cheese?

Me: Um...

Anonymous: ?

Me: Why are you asking?

Anonymous: i dunno

i just wanted 2

well

?

do u?

Me: I guess. I mean, cheese is pretty cool. I don't eat it all the time or anything, but I like it.

Anonymous: lol

yeah

i don't

like it

i think its kinda gross

but

ok

It's really strange for me to look at a chat I've been having and see that I speak in sentences, but the people I talk to speak in little. Short bursts of. Speech. It takes a minute for them to write up their little three-word phrases (subordinate clauses!) and send their little tiny bits of thoughts to me. I'm not annoyed with the people who type like that, just the way they type.

its annoying. 2 try 2 read. ok? cuz ur little. mini-thoughts r not interesting. their kinda stupid. k?

So please stop it and write like you've cracked open a dictionary at least once in your life, please? I'm getting a little angry here, actually. I could rant for a while on this subject; I did once in English class. But I'm going to stop now. I might devote an entire post to this some time, but not now.

I've changed the nifty little profile picture up in the right-hand corner several times now. First it was a creepy staring face because I was too lazy to put up a better picture. Then it was the picture of a dress made from old iPod skins. I love that thing. It's absolutely amazing. But I got bored of it after a while and changed it to an interrobang, a combination exclamation point and question mark. Now it's an irony mark. Yes, it's not just a backwards question mark, it's an irony mark. There's a huge difference. I'll probably have a picture of a dead rat up by March.

It's interesting how a lot of people seem to blog the way they talk. Like, some people write really, really long paragraphs and then pull themselves back on subject. Some people just write down thoughts and skip to the next one. Do I blog the way I talk? I can't tell. I don't just talk to hear the sound of my own voice, whatever you think. I talk because I can.

I don't think that's a better reason, but I don't care.

I keep thinking about colors all the time and I don't know why.  It's very strange. I keep doing things like searching the word blue on Google or typing in yellow on Wikipedia. I even have the word blue written on the back of my hand. In purple marker, natch. I love that word, almost as much as I love colors. This is prompting me to make a list. Unfortunately, I can only think of a few things to put on it right now, so it will be an ever-growing list. I will add to it as I think of other things to put on it. Don't worry, though; that could take millenia.

Things I Like More than I Should for No Apparent Reason:

• Colors
• Butterflies
• The word natch
• British spellings of words
• British punctuation
• Punctuation
• Green cargo pants
• Characters who wear green cargo pants
• People who wear green cargo pants

I barely ever made lists until I started blogging and the little Bulleted List key showed up. See, blogging is a bad influence on me. I should leave my blog to collect virtual dust here on the Internet and go rant about people who curse too much elsewhere. Of course, my reader(s) would probably all die from lack of their daily me.

I'll stay. For now.