As It Is Written

More texts with Mum!

Mum: Zipquest. Saturday at 2.
Me: Ahaha. This should be interesting. And why have you become such a daredevil?
Mum: Always have been.
Mum: This is Ace's b-day event and you are going.
Me: I didn't say I wasn't! I'm just nervous!
Mum: It will be fun and liberating.
Me: Is that what we're calling horrifying me these days?
Mum: Loosing you of the bonds of fear.
Me: Sounds like a blast.
Mum: I hope it will be.
Me: And a little bit like it came from a snake handler's pulpit.
Mum: Gotta trust...
Me: Not gonna lie, not very good at that.
Mum: Why you need to go.
Me: Fun for you. Therapy for me?

I'm terrified of heights. My mother is very sympathetic.

Also, she guilt trips me 'cause Ace got nothing for her b-day last year. We were all too occupied with cancer. (Which was Not My Fault. Cancer, not the b-day thing.)

Texting with my mum. 'Cause you wanted to know that much about our relationship.

Me: I want French Toast like burning.
Mum: Too bad.
Me: The gf version probably tastes like potty. Why did I have to get the defective gut?!
Mum: Just luck, I guess.
Me: Bad luck.
Mum: Life is sucky that way. My roof leaks and I have no friends--so there!
Me: Your roof leaks?!
Mum: Good day to find out, huh?
Me: Well, you'd be unlikely to find out on a dry day.
Mum: Sounding like an optimist.
Me: Well, realistically, unless you routinely test your roof with a hose, you'd only find out on a rainy day.

How hilarious is her insistence on negativity? No, really, I find it funny how much disdain we, as a family, have for optimists.

Well, that's not categorically true: Dad's an optimist and we love him.

Also, I had a my-life-is-worse off with my MOTHER. How lame is that?

Here's the first in my 100 things. This is going to take me forever.

Also, I should warn you: there are footnotes. IDEK, I have problems.
( My Dad looked...Collapse )

Because I haven't posted in this thing or anywhere else for a long, long time, I will be doing the 100 Things Challenge.

Impressed yet?

No?

Don't worry, we have time.

I'll be doing 100 Decisions That I Have Made And How Those Decisions Have Made Me.

No, that's not self-absorbed. At all.

It's really a reflection of all the existentialist literature I've being reading.

So Not My Fault.

Well, I do choose to read...nevermind.

More found poetry!

Sing me a sweet fairytale.
Tell me a story that isn't true.
I want to dream for just a bit
And live in a world not so cruel.

Dear sirs,

  We can get along just fine. I even like you, for the most part. And, near as I can tell, you seem to like me too. However, we need to go over some ground rules 'cause the creepiness is getting extreme and making me uncomfortable.

  First off, I really don't mind hearing that I'm pretty. It's actually the sort of thing that a woman really likes to hear on occasion. Except, you have a tendency to take this too far. Just say it once, I'll smile and maybe work up a sweet blush, ok? 'Cause saying it more than once is just fuckin' weird and makes it hard for me to work up a good response. Also, you may only compliment me on parts of me that are above my neck...I don't need to explain this, do I? Do I? Oh, and most importantly, that compliment about my "million dollar smile" is not a reasonable substitute for a decent tip. Ever.

  Second, can we talk about the flirting? I'm okay with it. I mean, I get it. We all need someone to laugh at our terrible jokes and I'm totes fine being your amused audience. Just don't expect me to actually say anything back or do anything more let a bubbly little laugh out. For several reasons: a) you're old and tend to mumble b) my hearing's funny anyway c) if I'm at work, I have background processes running and am only devoting a very small portion of my brain to you and your bad jokes and d) your jokes are bloody awful when I do manage to hear them properly.

  Lastly, don't touch me. Don't take this personally. I mean, I probably wouldn't enjoy being enveloped by your musty and sour old man smell even if I was normal, but I don't like anyone touching me. I know that pat on the back of my hand and the side hug and the kiss to the top of my head is sweet in your head, but I'm a young woman you hardly know! And, well, I don't like touching, which might be the most salient issue at hand.

  Anyway, I'm glad we got that cleared up. I hope you understand that I enjoy seeing you, but think we should have some space in our relationship.

Sincerely,
Me

I'm cross-posting this from my history blog 'cause I need to get back in the habit of posting here!

I thought I almost started a shitstorm on the internet yesterday. Fortunately or unfortunately (can't decide), no one pays enough attention to me for such things to happen.

Anyway, so I have this Twitter account. I use it mostly to follow the Occupy Wall Street movement. (And I have a couple of RL friends on there.) I just post random things on there 'cause I have the damn thing and should use it for more than checking on where the protesters are or the current game status for the Red Wings. So I posted this little gem:


Yep. Not a big deal...until some one remembers that this was the motto of the fascist squadristi. Yeeeeeeaah. Well, I realized what I had done shortly after hitting the enter button, but decided to not worry about it 'cause I have very, very few followers. Then one of RL friends with loads of followers retweeted the damn thing!

This has been very humbling. I just called a bunch of rampant protesters fascists (okay, so that's not what I really said, but still the comparison I made wasn't flattering and pretty much no one wants to be compared to fascists) and no one gives a damn. Hm. Unless my reference was hopelessly obscure and no one wants to research my brain patterns. Either way, I've certainly been put in my place.

Though, I will say that I have been spending so much time with the fascists that everyone is starting to look vaguely fascist to me. Mussolini, you rat bastard, stop invading my head!

This is why I shouldn't read epic poetry:

Ok, so I've been blogging somewhere else. Not of my own volition, though! I've been doing it for a European Social and Cultural History class that I've been taking. So if you're interested in reading me rail on and on about history, what I've been reading and my classmates, here's where you go!

I just saw ERB's beloved Martian series repackaged for new readers! No doubt spurred by the March release of the movie based off the first book, but who cares!? New fans!