Failsauce

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.

SLATFATF
~Å~

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.

SLATFATF
~Å~

P.S.

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

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.

SLATFATF
~Å~

P.S.

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.

Boredom: Mother of Invention

I decided to pick this up again, admittedly, it was a bit fun being sarcastic in a place easily accessible. October, as anyone who knows me and reads this (so... no one...) already knows, is my favorite month of the year. The weather (at least in Texas) starts changing, Halloween is right around the corner, I get to decorate the house, and the telly plays spookeh-moovehs 24-7. What is not to love?! (Unless you are a person who gets sick from the weather changing, think Halloween is the devil's holiday, and abhore gore... so... probably that big fat dude that does documentaries. Michael Moore. That's the guy. Man, almost typed Roger Moore o_O; ).

I was going to do a Halloween costume this year, get me a little red riding hood outfit, add a torn throat, some slashes and gashes, fuck up my hair, add some fake leaves, tear up some fishnets, and bam. Little Dead Riding Hood. Big bad wolf got me. Unfortunately, I can't seem to get a break in the finances, so frivolous spending is out the window. Much like fun. And laughter.

I can't even fund myself a punkin' to carve. How sad is that? I should draw a picture of a punkin all carved up and put a wanted sign outside of my house. Add it to the decorations... Man that made me depressed just reading that.

I really was gonna say something meaningful in this post, but I got a bit sidetracked throwing myself a Halloween Pity Party... It's lonely when you're the only one at the party... for pity... for yourself... cause you can't get a needless holiday related item (or 2). Wow, I sound like a spoiled brat, lol. In my mind I just went "There are people starving in Africa!". Do you think people in Beverly Hills say things like, "There are people who can't get a slutty costume this year, Jessica, think about those poor people down in Texas!"...

Yeah Jessica. You fucking spoiled bitch.

SLATFATF
~Å~

p.s. I feel guilty every time the place I think of as "unfortunate" ends up being Africa. There are plenty of other places where people don't have food, shoes, or education... like Alabama.

The Devil.

I was looking at my email, when something I would have normally ignored caught my eye. It was this.

You can imagine my horror once I found that -the- Billy Mays (of Amish Barn 12) had moved on to bigger and better things, namely life insurance. I shudder at the thought of seeing one of these commercials air.

Think about it. Life insurance (like coseco direct, wait no, colonial life, wait no, conseco direct, wait no, colonial life.. (they keep flipflopping between names since I watched price is right with my grandmother at the tender age of 4)) is aimed towards the elderly. Health insurance offers multitudes of branches, including life. Can you imagine ↑ THIS GUY ↑ at nine in the morning, screaming at your Nana at the top of his lungs:

"BILLY MAYS HERE WITH COLONIAL PENN LIFE INSURANCE, TO

OFFER YOU THE VALUE OF A LIFETIME! LITERALLY! DO YOU WORRY

ABOUT LEAVING YOUR LOVED ONES WITHOUT THE MONEY TO BURY

YOUR CARCASS? WELL WORRY NO MORE WITH THIS AFFORDABLE..."

You get the idea. Poor Nana will die, instantly, in her lazy boy, coffee and english muffin still warm next to her cooling, rigid form. What a way to go.

Meh, I should put him on my hitlist.

SLATFATF
~Å~

No, you love -me- more

I was talking to someone earlier today about the expression of interest. We both came to the conclusion that it'd be nice to be the pursued instead of the pursuer once. This made me wonder, what happens if you get two people together who are of the same type; pursuer with pursuer or pursued with pursued. (Look. I used a fucking semicolon. Go do a goddamned happy dance, Felipe.)
Do the two pursued just stare at each other all day? Waiting for one or the other to make a move?

"He's totally crazy about me. I'll just sit and wait for him to come to me."

"Oh yeah, she's into me, I can tell. Won't be long til she walk on over and practically begs for it."

-(3 hours pass, both leave wondering -

- how they could have been so wrong)-

What about in the case of the pursuers? Do they they struggle to figure out which is the aggressor? Or does something opposite happen, like they both bring each other to climatic heights of desire for one another?

Meh, Interesting concept..

SLATFATF
~Å~

Donner Party of 3, Donner Party of 2..

Why is it that guys are the way they are. Hear me out. I know that girls are the queens of saying one thing and meaning another, but guys don't even give you that much to interpret. I have to weed though all this ninja-like poking and proding just to try and figure out what their alterior motive is. That was one thing I really liked about Conrad. He was pretty straight forward when it came to his thoughts. It was kinda refreshing. Guys are far too worried about their appearance, whether they look weak, whether they look macho, whether they look desirous or whatever other option you wanna list here. Girls, on the other hand, are selfish. Think of any sentence, and find a way to make it all about you and in an insulting way, you'll have the reason why guys never know how they offended girls. Take any situation, and twist it so you can benefit from it in some way, you'll have why girls do the things they do. Guys are simple creatures in comparison, but sometimes, it's exhausting weeding through the bullshit. If you want to know if a girl is interested, flat out fucking ask her. You'll find out pretty damn fast. If she laughs in your face, guess what, she was a fucking cunt anyways, and you wouldn't want to be with her. She'd dump you for the next hot thing with a paycheck that came her way. Otherwise, they'll either be really nice about it, or they'll bite. So stop poking around, finding out what their plans are, but not asking to fill in a slot in their schedule until they take the step first.. some girls don't ever fucking take that step. Then guess what, you may have lost out on a great fucking girl.

SLATFATF

~Å~

P.S. For creatures so preoccupied with their balls, you'd think you guys would grow a pair.