Thursday, January 14, 2010

Why Live on Earth..

...When you can live on Halo? I keep picking up and dropping Halo 3 for Xbox360 (horrorfangirl is my gamer tag if you want to add me). I go up and down in skill ranging from top killer or second to top all the way to third from bottom. It seems to change drastically match to match, partially dependent on how well I know the map or the style of play, and partially depending on some unknown variable I can't seem to isolate yet. It seems so very random!

I started wondering if this was the case with other situations for most people. It seems as though I am the only one who can gain great skill at things overnight and then lose that skill the very next day. I wonder if perhaps it has something to do with my particular memory problem. I'm trying to do some little memory builder software to teach me that certain skill set. Tricks and tips to remember anything and everything. My memory is so bad that out of fear of forgetting my experience meeting Christopher Titus (eeeee! <3 <3 hearts hearts!),I immediately went home and wrote down the entire interaction in precise detail. Revisiting the notes is like reliving the entire moment over again as if for the first time; that is how bad my memory is.

I hope this "good-one-moment-gone-the-next" doesn't carry over, for me, to my other abilities. Can you imagine having this situation happen during a Psych evaluation?

"Well, Carl, to be honest, I think your problem roots from
suicidal tendencies that even you yourself may not be
aware of."

"Really? What should I do about it, Doctor?"

"Uh... Well... I guess if you're already leaning that way..."

Meh... here's hoping, right?


This is my Wednesday Post. I haven't slept yet. Again. F.M.L.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Pity Party, Your Table is Ready...

Had myself a cry. That sentence alone is something I don't say outloud, so feel honored interweb. I can't bring myself to write about what or why, but that confession alone feels like some sort of a small step.

In unrelated news, life ticks on.

I'm currently watching a movie adaptation of one of my favorite books, 1984. Still trying to find myself a hobby that doesn't involve me sitting in front of a screen... no sitting at all would be best. Bought myself an album to store photos in, it was on sale and I wanted to maintain some things that have been drifting loose for probably far too long. It makes me wonder if anyone has a picture of me. I mean an actual one, not just a blurred digital one hastily made with someones camera phone before I either notice them, hide from them, or flick the camera off. I've gotten much better about it over the last year or so, but what about before then? I can only think of two occasions when I have given my picture. One was to a significant other, and the other to my mother. No matter who asks for them, those remain the two situations alone. I wonder why that is?

My mother wants me to go in for a batch of new photos for her, perhaps a mother-daughter photo session like I had when I was... 18? I think it was 18. I forget now. I haven't decided if I am going to agree to it or not. I want to look my best, and I don't think that now is my best. Nothing a little hard work and a pact with the devil won't fix. I need to stop trying to make pacts with the dark lord in order to solve life's problems. Especially since he doesn't seem to be listening, or at least is only keeping me on the back log. You think the devil has call waiting?

Meh... probably screens his calls instead.


Monday, January 11, 2010

Double You Tea Elephant...

When, roughly, did A.I.D.S. and H.I.V. go out of style. When did they no longer become the "cool kids on the block", to be thrown aside for the latest hipster to hit the scene; cancer. I was watching an advertisement on my hulu t.v. show (Dead Like Me - Season 2, which always, without fail, seems to advertise some sort of tragedy that is killing ____ people every day. Fitting, no?) when an ad popped up begging for money for children on the other side of the globe that have no food or medicine or societal payment means of any sort. (This was of course the same time I noticed that like Kalawalakumpo... I don't think that's right... anyways, this was at the same time that I noticed this poor, indigent, desolate young man was wearing a FUCKING SPIDER-MAN BUTTON UP JERSEY STYLE OVER SHIRT. Those go for frickin' 60 bucks here in the states! I'll tell you what kalawala... I'll tell you what Kal, I'll trade you 10 bologna sandwiches for your frickin' spidey shirt!)

It was at this time that I realized how long it had been since I'd seen any kind of advertising or mention of the A.I.D.S. epidemic (now known more as the A.I.D.S. inconvenience). Why did this suddenly fall to the wayside of socially conscious importance?

Why does one disease, pandemic, or affliction get greater presidency over equally deadly one just because it's newer and has that new-grim-reaper-smell to it still?

I had to stop my show and go get a drink, and had to open my freezer to retrieve ice for aforementioned drink. My freezer, for some reason, despite all the cleaning outs/baking soda/ice dumps/etc has the funkiest smell about it. And I don't mean it likes large gold jewelry and Afros. I walked out of the kitchen with my fresh(ish) drink, and turning to my roomie asked why he thought our freezer was so funkadelic. (How funky is your chicken?) After what shall be interpreted into roomiese into, "Iunno", I came up with the theory that perhaps it is the lingering odor of the dead remains of a previous tenant who was brutally butchered and stored in our freezer. This would explain why it is so hard to get anyone to come repair anything in this apartment... They are all scared of the ghosts that may seek vengeance still clinging to the location of their horrific and violent murder/hibachi neighborhood b.b.q. I then theorized we should start seeing if the power-outages happen at the same time every month, perhaps it is the built up spiritual energy of this punitive poltergeist. Or should I call it my poultrygeist?

Meh... or it could be us using up too much power...



Son of bitch... it turns out his name is Noah.. Kal is from a different commercial!

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Amish Way of Life; Chapter 2

My power went out. Again. For some reason, sneezing in this house seems to blow the fuse box. I don't mean that literally, I just mean that the littlest of things can destroy the fragile ecology that is my power grid. After suffering through Thursday, and calling into work on Friday, for more voluntary suffrage, I opted to stay with my mother. I love her dearly, but I seem to drive her batty when I'm around. Sometime between my taking over her couch and my dog crapping on her patio my welcome was worn out, luckily, right as the power was fixed. I packed my shit, stole some food from her fridge with a thank you, and went home. When I got home, I was surprised by how unwelcoming it looked to me. I dropped my stuff off in my room, looked around, cleaned up some, and turned on my main heater, which promptly started killing me with all my sinuses.

As I was digging through my blankets for my lost sock (I swear there is a sock-only-magnet connected to my bed that perpetually robs me of one, single sock. Just one. I'm not sure why the magnet doesn't want the other sock, perhaps it only has power for the one. Perhaps that one is all it needs for world domination. Only the magnet truly knows. And perhaps The Shadow.), I started wondering if visiting your parent(s) makes your home life seem crappier somehow in comparison. It's a nice feeling to have someone doting on you. It's kind of like romance. I've never really been woo-ed. I tend to do the spontaneous things for others, I've only ever been surprised on Valentines Day twice in my whole life. Once was back in high school when my boyfriend and his b.f.f. decided to try and outdo each other, which while it was nice, I always kind of knew it was more about them competing than me really. The other was a surprise gift from a friend last year. Beyond that, no boyfriend or "secret admirer" has ever swept me off my feet with some romantic gesture. No candle light dinners, no surprise present. Wait, I lie a little. Lee did send me a dozen roses in the mail the day before Valentines Day, but I think the reason I didn't think about it was because he had a girlfriend at the time and was cheating on her with me (unbeknownst to either of us). I kinda guessed he was gonna since he did a shitty job covering up asking for my address. Maybe that devalued it some too. I think the grandness of the gesture probably doesn't matter as much as the surprise or the effort.

Someone close to me said recently, "Seems like you just like to be surprised". Maybe that was more accurate that I realized until just now. Whether it's the ending to a movie, or a romantic gesture, perhaps it's the journey and not the destination that matters more to me.

Meh.. maybe I'm over thinking it, as always.


Friday, January 8, 2010


This post is hardly a post at all. It's more of a statement. It's 11 a.m. and I still haven't gone to sleep. I'm getting sick, and I don't want to go to work. I haven't a clue what to do on the matter, and the dark lord won't answer my "calls" no matter how many snack cakes or Twinkies I sacrifice in his name. Doesn't anyone have Satan on speed dial so I can make a pact for a little sleep? Maybe Oprah does...


Thursday, January 7, 2010

For Insomnia, Press 103...

I miss the inside of my eyelids. I slept with them once and they never called me back. Must have lost respect for me or something. Now I can't seem to get good old Morpheus to even give me a second glance. (Woo! Almost wrote Mephistopheles! Talk about a slip-up! Devil: "I don't understand! I take their souls and then I never hear from them again! I mean, I'm funny, right? Am I too fat? What's wrong with me... It's my wings, isn't it? They make my butt look big, don't they?!")

I use to be completely pro-insomnia. I use to feel like a genius come 3 a.m. because by then, all my creative juices were flowing. I would come up with some of the best ideas for my writings-in-progress or for drawings... But now my insomnia seems to have no purpose other than playing Halo 3 until the sun comes up, disturbing my dog (who is, pardon the pun, getting bitchy...), and making me sleep until the sun is close to going down again. Maybe I should just give it up, commit to being a vampire, and start sucking blood. (Sorry, I can't go to Subway with you, I'm on an all liquid diet...)

People keep telling me to take this pill or that pill, but I can't help but think that drugging myself into unconsciousness isn't the right idea. Hell, it doesn't even seem like a good suggestion much less the solution! This whole insomnia thing wouldn't be such a pain in the ass if I could just find a hobby... (see Monday, January.. uh... not.. nows... post.)

Meh... Maybe I'll become a vampire slayer. (Blade, eat your heart out.)



For the record, this is my Wednesday post. I just didn't get it in before most of civilization thought the day had switched over. (It's still Wednesday until I fucking go to sleep, damnit!)

"Nothing cures Insomnia like the realization you have to get up"

Tuesday, January 5, 2010


Wow, talk about fail. So, it would seem that my attempt at a post on Tuesday did not take, so let me redo it from memory. Poorly, no doubt.

Let me start by stating I do not have a car. Nor do I have a driver's license. I have been "driving" with a learner's permit for what is most likely longer than allowed, or just long enough for me to get in major trouble. Whichever has the larger judicial impact (since that is my usual luck).

I went for a walk today with another to the "nearby" (45 minute walk there) Walmart (Where you can save money at the cost of sanity. If anyone ever gives me a gift card to Walmart, I will shoot myself. I do not want the gift of being forced to stand behind some fat lady with curlers in her hair as her 12 children run a muck and slowly convince me that perhaps today is the day to have my ovaries tied.) While I had no problem with the journey, my companion (who is a *gasp!* combustion engine volunteer pilot, a.k.a. drives something motorized by choice) more than a few times mentioned his displeasure with the endeavor. This brought to my attention that if laziness is the mother of invention, then convenience is the mother of laziness.

I think we, at least as Americans, would benefit from a Gasoline-Limitation Bill. Something that says you are only allotted so much gasoline per week or month. This would not only convince some of Americans to walk more often, but it would limit fossil fuels, and help fight national obesity. We would appreciate the outdoors more, maybe get a little sun, and help fight depression (15 minutes of sunlight a day is a natural anti-depressant!).

Maybe, just maybe, the people of America can try to do something to fix a few problems here and there instead of just bitching about them.

Now I'm gonna go move my Hummer.

Meh... Okay that wasn't the best closing joke.


Monday, January 4, 2010

Collecting collections..

I need a hobby. When I say I need a hobby, I mean I need a hobby or I will end up either going insane, eating myself to the point of being unattractive, or I will kill someone. Probably someone close to me because they will catch me at the worst time. I need a hobby to stimulate my mind, because I'm losing it. The only problem with me just up and picking a random-ass hobby is the fact I haven't any clue what I want to do. I have an interest in sculpting clay, but not the financial means. I enjoy drawing, but I just can't see it as a hobby. I write, I read; not hobbies to me. I don't want to paint, too messy. I haven't the financials to collect things, much less the patience. I don't want to take up a sport, or a language. They all seem more like chores than something I'd want to do. I am horrid at knitting, I'll get too frustrated with jewelry making, and I don't think video games count. They just seem to waste my time.

Oh my god, I can't believe I just said that sentence.

Video games seem to do nothing but waste my time.

I actually think I'm starting to outgrow them. I never play them when I'm alone now days. I mean, I do, but I don't. I dunno. It's an odd sentence to make... at least for me.

Back to the topic at hand. Or should I say the topic not at hand? It just feels like I can't seem to get a grasp on my missing hobby. There simply has to be something that screams "Andrea". I don't want to pick up a hobby that has me sitting on my ass, but I don't want to sweat up a storm either.

.. Fuck >_<.

... I hate hobbies. v_v.. sorry this blog sucks. Shoulda been done on Sunday.. but I fucked around, watched Dead Like Me (Season 2), and now it's 2:30 a.m. Since I haven't gone to sleep yet, it still counts as Sunday.. yeah?

Meh.. Fuckin' 'obbies.


This was the worst ranty-blog that made absolutely no sense what so ever.. um.. ever. Sorry, mates.

Saturday, January 2, 2010

Resolutions Pollution

A New Year's Resolution is something that goes in one year and out the other. I've decided to give this thing a real shot as one of mine. I tend to avoid/shy-away-from things like blogging, tweeting (twittering? twitterpating? being all atwitter?), myspace, facebook, etc etc etc. It is my logic that the people who matter in my life will know where I am without having to check a website. They'll know what I've done recently, and even what has been done to me without having to constantly check the postings at some virus-contaminated replacement for good-old-fashioned staying in contact. I don't even text-message because it is my opinion that if it's important enough that you want to tell me it, you'll pick up the god damned phone (the same one you're rapidly punching the keys of in order to send me some garbled abbreviated jumble that I must then track down 3 Russians and a codex in order to decipher) and call me! If not, then it's probably just some little animated-pixelated-gif of a leprechaun shaking his naked-buttocks at me, with the original and catchy slogan of "kiss me i'm irish" hidden somewhere amongst the labyrinth of forwards-to addresses and demands for me to send this to everyone on my contacts list or else my penis will rot off in front of the girl I am madly in love with by next Tuesday and I'll never find true happiness or my keys for all of eternity (which is one hell of a feat since I'd have to grow a penis and become a lesbian in order for that fate to come to unfurl. A hell of a lot to do in the span of 4 days.)

So, hatred aside, I'm going to spew my ramblings and opinionated mental expectorations on this matrix of the macabre we call the web-blog. May God protect me. Or some all-powerful-being. Maybe a little prayer to the divine Oprah.

Meh, blogs.


I still hate these things. And all of you. Okay, maybe that's the old me speaking. But I do still find this all trite and pointless.