Stupid people make me angry.

I mean seriously, didn't you people practice at all over the break?????

That is all.

Safeway.

So yesterday, my mom was sick, and Jayne was depressed. I was neither, and we needed milk, mac and cheese and ice cream, and vanilla extract. Also Suburbia has lots of sidewalks, and a Safeway within walking distance.
So my mom gave me twenty bucks and I left.

The walk there was pretty uneventful (although I did get honked at and given a really creepy smile by a construction guy...) and then I got there.

This is where the weird started happening.

First I got the milk, and the milk we get looks like this: (my dad's lactose intolerant.)

So I picked up a thing of milk, and put it in the basket. Then I realized I got the one that has lactose, which looks like this:

This is not the right milk. So I tried putting it back on the shelf, but Safeway has one of those spring loaded shelves that make it really hard to put stuff back. And the milk was off the top shelf. Oops.
So I'm jumping and pushing on this milk, trying to put away this unwanted vitamin enriched milk, and this old lady who could have win a "really grumpy Betty White lookalike contest" just stares at me.

I can almost hear the "Stupid ass kids ruining our neighborhood" running through her brain.
Finally I got it back and grabbed the right one (It was by the soy milk), and ran to the ice cream isle.

I knew what Jayne wanted (Ben and Jerry's Whirled Peace) so I ran to the Ben and Jerry's section... and it was the only one they didn't have. And I 'm banging my head against the glass, when I remember, "I HAVE MY PHONE!!!!!"

So I called the house, and longer story shortish, I got her the Steven Colbert's Americone Dream.

Then I had to find the vanilla extract, and realized that I have no frickin' idea where vanilla extract is.
Crap.

So I ran around the whole store trying to find a helpful Safeway employee, and I finally found a nice guy named Jun in produce, who conveniently knew that extracts are in baking. I guess that makes sense...

So finally, I had everything!! Yay!

So I headed to the checkout, and the guy rang me up. And then I remembered that the Safeway is in Generica, not Suburbia. And in Generica, they charge ten cents for a bag.

And of course, Friendly Safeway Guy didn't tell me this. Thanks FSG.
And double of course, I had every stinkin' coin besides a dime. Crap again.

So finally I just give him a dollar, and while he was giving me my change, I found a dime in my wallet.
But I got the bag, and that was a small victory... except that it didn't have handles.

So I walked home hugging a freezing bag for maybe half a mile (but it still wasn't fun) in my high heels, because I had forgotten that their higher than my old ones.

I finally get home, and put away the perishables, and my mom asks,
"How was it?"

Dear Fashion

This post contains profanity simply because sometimes a sentence just needs a good "fuck" for impact you know?

Dear Fashion

I'm sorry that I'm not a super model. I'm sorry I'm not a Barbie doll. But most of all, I'm sorry that I'm a person.

I eat just like my friends do, and yet they're all zeros, threes, sevens. And you say to me "this is what you should be."

Well I'm not.

So maybe I don't fit your smalls, hell I don't fit your mediums, and I'm sorry that your mini skirts make me lookalike a cheap prostitute.

You can suck my metaphorical dick, and find a new slave. Don't expect me to starve myself for you. You're not worth it, and I am.

Fuck off, love me.

WE'RE SORRY

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The Burden of Agnosticism

agnostic |agˈnästik|

noun

a person who believes that nothing is known or can be known of the existence or nature of God or of anything beyond material phenomena; a person who claims neither faith nor disbelief in God.

My family is... complicated when it comes to religion. My dad was raised Jewish, but he's an atheist, and my mom was raised Christian, but she is an Avalonian Pagan. (No, she doesn't worship the devil, get your minds out of the medieval gutter.)

My parents raised me and Jayne with science and faeries, and taught us to choose to believe in whatever we think is right. This has proved difficult, as you can imagine.

I don't know what Jayne thinks (I know I didn't even know what I thought when I was eleven), and honestly, I don't have any idea what to believe.

Part of me says that there can't be anything out there, because if nothing was left for us to decide, then what kind of world would it be?

Another part of me says that there shouldn't be anything or anyone, because nothing should be perfect.

Then there's the ever present longing to know that somebody has plans for me, that I'm not just wandering around, that I have a purpose.

I want to believe that I'm a piece on the grand scheme of things.

And I can't. 

Whenever I start thinking things like this, my mind always wanders off to ancient Greece.

They had gods, but their gods were imperfect.

After all, Zeus went around knocking up random women, and chucked his baby off  a mountain because he was ugly.

Athena turned a woman into a spider because she could weave better tapestries than the goddess. 

They were the original dysfunctional family.

And yet, they were worshipped, and turned to for guidance. So many people lived their entire lives religiously, doing all they could to please these gods they knew in their hearts of hearts were looking out for them.

I've actually cried myself to sleep, wishing that I'll know someday what's right.

I have really prayed exactly twice in my life.

When I was younger, every night before falling asleep, I would make three wishes: one for myself, one for someone I knew, and one for the world.

One night I wished that everyone I knew could be safe and unharmed. Less than a week later, hurricane katrina struck. Two houses down the road from my grandparents, the street was practically destroyed.

And they were nearly untouched.

Can you blame me for feeling amazed, and grateful, to whatever was obviously listening to me?

I don't think I'll ever really decide what to believe in. But I do know that, "The universe is big. It's vast and complicated and ridiculous and sometimes, very rarely, impossible things just happen and we call them miracles"

le pixie cut

i'm going to get my hair cut!
And it's gonna look like one of these. I still can't decide which.

Pretty.

Update: and the winner is...

Err.. Yeah, um so...

I'm not going to lie to you.
I've been extremely busy doing absolutely nothing.

My Dad's been off work for the holidays, and in fact, just went back today. Several times I have thought of writing a post, and then had an "OOH! Internet!" moment. so, sorry.

I will now tell you some stuff.

• I dyed my hair blue, except it's really more bluish blackish. here, have a picture:
• I turned 15! I guess you probably figured that out... I had a couple friends over, and we stayed up all night watching movies and learning dirty words in french. No I won't tell you any of them. I will tell you that we watched Labyrinth and Mrs. Doubtfire.
• I got some really cool stuff for the holidays. 
• I am now in possession of a stuffed owl named Watson. If you want to know why his name is Watson, I'll tell you the same thing I told my mom and Jayne: Because Holmes isn't a very good name for an owl.
• I'm working on a new story. Ish. at the moment I'm really just coming up with the world, and possibly putting way to much into it.
• I'm starting a psychology class this semester.
• I didn't shower today. 

Uh.. I think you're caught up now. 

So, I can't think of anything else to write, so I'll give you an excerpt of the main book I've been working on (I'm determined to finish it before the year is over. I've got some time.), a cute picture of Watson, and maybe a crudely drawn picture of a duck.  Because I'm like that.

OK, story:

(This is from a chapter that I pretty much wrote for myself. It's really sweet, but it has almost zero relevance unfortunately.)

Three a.m, and Lydia Winnoway is crying on her bed.

She’s crying because she’s afraid.

She’s afraid that the King’s Guards, those silk cloaked little bastards, will catch James. She’s afraid that one day, he’ll be late, because he’s not coming home. That’s why she yelled at him. Because she didn’t know where he was.

It’s been rough lately for Lydia. Her aunt Muriel is won’t stand for Lydia even being around James- and not because he’s a thief. If she knew what Lydia has been hiding from her-and James-she would be beyond furious.

Lydia is almost sure she's pregnant. 

Aunt Muriel isn’t the only person who would hate a half clockface baby, even a blood relation. Lydia has seen babies left on the steps of houses. Even left at the inn.

No child can grow up at the inn. Not surrounded by people like her and James.  She knows this from experience. 

The door creaks open.

“Lydia? Are you awake?”

It’s James.

“Yeah,” Lydia whispers.

James sits on the bed next to her and wraps his arm around her shoulders. She brushes his cheek, her fingers glancing across his hour hand.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you, I was just worried.”

“I deserved it, Love. But I don’t think the whole bar needed to know.”

Lydia laughed and wiped away her tears. “Next time I’ll yell at you in private then.”

“Agreed.”

Lydia chuckles at that.

James loves her so much. Every time he looks at her, he wonders what she’s doing with a wanted  clockface criminal when she could have kings and gods bowing down to her. 

He’s been in love before, sure, but never the way he loves Lydia. 

She reminds him of the fairytales his Cousin Meghan used to tell him. Stories about a princess who ran away to slay a dragon, and never brushed her raven black hair.

Sure, there may be a lot less dragons around the inn then on the floating kingdom of Frisk, and Lydia’s locks may be a tangle of sandy curls, but the fierce look in her eye, and her easy laugh are things James never thought he would find anywhere besides stories.

Watson. Isn't he frickin' ADORABLE? Seriously, I'm hugging him as I write.