I like ribbons and puppies and explosions.

And spies with Irish girlfriends, the latter of which has an affinity for C4.

I can’t help it. I cannot get into Desperate Housewives, or Grey’s Anatomy – though from the few episodes I’ve watched, I do enjoy that one kid. George or whatever. But so help me, someone needs to tell him that his gay just oozes from his pores, and chasing pretty blond tail all across the hospital isn’t going to make him any more straight – so I find my own particular joy in crime shows. Well, a certain brand of crime shows. Burn Notice, anyone? I mean there’s a spy who enjoys yogurt, an Irish national who enjoys blowing things up, a chain-smoking mama, an alcoholic best friend…tell me where in that you see anything that is bad. I mean really. At least one building blows up every episode! Hello! Nothing ever blows up on Grey’s Anatomy, does it? No one is ever shot on – okay, well maybe people are shot. But everyone gets all “concerned” and everybody freaks out and somebody inevitably has sex in the break room. There is none of that on Burn Notice! People get shot and Michael Westen laughs! HAHAHA!

…okay, my crazy was showing a little there. But I’ve been watching Burn Notice for the past four hours and it gets in a girl’s head.

But really. I like Burn Notice and Criminal Minds, and Psych when things get a little too dark and depressing for me. Because whoa, mama, Criminal Minds will mess with your head.

In other TV news, Supernatural comes back tonight! This is exciting! I have missed my boys. All tall and gruff and silly and “Grr, look at me, I shoot demons”. Oh, boys.

So, I’ve probably mentioned my anxiety issues before. They’ve been calming down a little lately, but I still get wound up really easily. And when I say anxiety issues, I mean…issues. Like, where most people are like, “Oh, I’ve got this big test coming up and I’m so nervous!” I’m like “Oh, I’ve got to get up in the morning. Hell. Time to throw up.” Only I don’t actually throw up. I haven’t had a full-on panic attack in a while, but my stomach gets all in knots and I can’t breathe and it’s hard to fall asleep. Kinda sucks. So I watch lots of TV to distract myself from the fact that there might be something I’m supposed to have done that I haven’t and someone might be mad at me and I might be in trouble and lose my job and have to drop out of college and my parents will hate me. I’m more concerned about my parents hating me than living on the street, which is probably indicative of a much deeper psychosis than a few anxiety disorders.

So anyway! -nervous laughter- Now that that’s out of the way…I have developed an issue with Taytay. And that is his sad attempt to grow stubble. Here is a little PSA for the Taytay: STOP. IT. You are, like, twelve. So quit trying to grow facial hair. You look weird, like a little kid in Daddy’s shoes and tie. I would like to extend a similar tidbit to my future husband, the freecreditreport.com guy: QUIT DOING STUPID SHIT TO YOUR HAIR. God. It’s just weird now. I reject this.

So lately I’ve gotten all addicted to those stupid Flash games on Facebook. Shut up and put your judging faces away, please. They entertain me. I am currently a fourth-year on School of Wizardry and I have a bunch of little fishies swimming away in a nicely decorated tank on Fishville.

…SHUT UP, OKAY. It entertains me.

God, Michael Westen is so badass. I mean, honestly. He’s just so…aaugh. Badassery makes me all bouncy and happy. Especially when he’s whaling on the bad guys. Yes! Kick his ass! Ha!

Speaking of boys: things are still good with mine. He’s been all cute and sweet lately, and when it does it makes me giggle. And I don’t giggle.

Oh! Who wants to see The Runaways? I do! Kristen being the ultimate female badass herself (Joan Jett, of course. No, not Xena. Jeez. Xena does not know how to play the guitar)? Yes please! Movie will be epic and this is one girl who will most certainly be seeing it.

Time to go make dinner. Chicken sammich and mac & cheese for the win.

It’s a metaphor! FOR LIFE.

So lately I’ve been thinking about risks.

I do not take risks. I don’t. I follow the absolute safest path I possibly can, where the end result is clear and well-laid out and I know exactly what to expect at the end of the day. With my anxiety issues, it’s about the only way I can avoid having panic attacks every two days. So when I’m presented with a possible life-changing situation, I like to either a) dodge it, b) ignore it, or c) let someone else make the decision for me.

Case in point: we recently had a major snowstorm here on campus, and there’s still snow around, pretty deep. When they plowed the parking lots just after our return from Christmas, there ended up being a mountain of snow and ice up against the wall around the dining hall parking lot, 10 or 11 feet tall. I’ve been eyeing it for weeks, every time I went to a meal, wondering what it would feel like to climb that snow mountain but never actually doing it for fear of getting in trouble with a passing security guard or my natural clumsiness kicking in to cause serious ice-related injury. But today, walking back from dinner, I looked at the snow again and, suddenly, with only the thought of the fun in climbing it and reaching the top, I leapt for it. My hands were painfully cold, my jeans got soaked, and clumps of ice jabbed into my legs and ass when I finally sat triumphantly on the top, but hell if it wasn’t worth every second. I grinned down at my friend, who had been laughing at me the whole time but looked slightly impressed as I waved at her.

This is a true story by the way, folks. It’s almost unrealistic in its perfection as a metaphor, but I swear to baby Jesus I climbed that mountain of snow.

Point is, I realized that I’ve got to start tackling the mountains. The excuses I come up with in my head, the reasons why not to do things are completely irrelevant if I’ve got just one great, shining reason to just shut up and do it. Even if I have a panic attack or two, even if all my sensible, responsible cells are screaming that I’m an idiot and why am I doing this and this is going to end horribly so just GO HOME, I’m going to do it. Sure, at some point I will fall down the mountain and bash my head open and it’ll all end in tears, but at least it’s a good story. And I can say I tried. Right?

I enjoy animosity.

It is a sad day in my world when I would willing place Criminal Minds over NCIS on the ION nightly schedule.

It is a sad day in the greater universe when something like a television schedule actually matters.

Gah, I hate it when someone tries to out-geek McGee. I, personally, hate it when people try to out-geek me. But I am a know-it-all, and God help me I get a little rush whenever I get to show off that I know something. I so love it when I get to use big words and the slightly confused look on people’s faces when they try to comprehend what I said. Does that make me a bad person? My mom drilled it in my head when I was a kid that I shouldn’t show off, but…God, I just love it. I get a little light-headed, and I tend to smirk all smugly and quote random facts I learned from watching Jeopardy! as a kid. Almost as good as mediocre sex.

Hee, hee. WordPress is telling me “howdy”. That’s just cute.

So last weekend I went through and did a complete overhaul on my harddrive. We’re talking disk clean-up, defrag, deleting, registry clean…it’s running a little better. Sort of. I really need a new laptop. The “o” button on my keyboard is trying to fall off now. I’d take a $200 used Compaq if I had to. Poor baby’s just on her last leg. I will be very sad to see her go, though. This old girl’s carried me through a lot of stuff – high school and all the Twilighting, IMDB-message-board’ing, writing – God help me – Blue Earth, the most epic piece of wonder ever wrought by two slightly over-sugared high school seniors; freshman year of college and all the papers, the Facebooking…I re-met my boyfriend on old Lulu. She’s been good to me. I’ll hate to see her go. I’ll probably keep her around, if I can. I might leave her safe at home, tucked up on a shelf somewhere; she’ll be lonely, but safe.

You’ll always be my first and my favorite, baby girl. I’ll never find another laptop like you.

All right, now that I’m done being creepily over-attached to my computer, let’s discuss. I would lik to learn Russian, I have decided. In fact, I would like to learn a lot of languages. I got into an argument the other day with a girl in my Psychology class who insisted that English was a Romantic language, can you believe it? Ugh. Linguistics is a dying art these days. No one cares for the finer points of the beauty of communication anymore. Bah. I, for one, am still easily wooed by any0ne with a strong command of a language – any of them, really.

And for the record, English is a Germanic language. Old English – which, so help me God, is not and will never be similar in any way to Shakespearean English – was tied very strongly with the German and Eastern European languages of the time.

So I have decided I really dislike one of my friends, and I have worked out the main reason why: she talks exclusively about herself, to the point of having completely derision for anything anyone else has to say. Namely me. Now, I like listening to people talk. I just do. I like the way people think, if it’s interesting. For one, her thoughts are as straight-forward and bland as white rice. She is completely self-centered, her entire world revolving around herself and ways to keep herself happy, regardless of what harm may come to those around her. I have issues with self-centered people anyway, but people who are so blatantly egotistical, so focused on themselves and their own sense of entitlement, just bother me. So, long story short – this chick’s a bitch, and I’m done with her shit.

This episode of Criminal Minds starts out with a black screen and the opening notes of Inna Gadda Da Vida. I like it. Though lately I’ve been more into classical music; I’ve developed some seriously screaming headaches, and violins and soft piano are about the only thing I can handle. Moonlight Sonata is my new best friend. That is my absolute favorite Beethoven piece. It’s just gorgeous, yeah? Go listen to it. Now. Go, shoo. Go listen to it so you can agree with me.

Ow, ow, ow. Sinus pressure. Ow. Gaaah.

Ugh. Migraine. Unappreciated, body. Unappreciated.

This is one of those days on which I would really love to just curl up in my bed with the television remote, Lord of the Rings in the DVD player, and talk to the boy. He’s exceptionally good at making me feel better when I feel awful. So are rolling epics.

Would it be wrong of me to sleep on the RA couch?

“The unsub avoided areas around the wrists and throat, where arteries are close to the skin…these kids were skinned alive.” God, Reid, you are just so freakin’ perky. I adore that skinny little dork boy, but Good God in heaven he’s morbid. And Morgan is all sexy when he’s tackling people to the ground.

I’m so exhausted…nap time, y/y? And my knees are swollen. It hurts to walk. And…and…other things.

I freaking love Meryl Streep. Don’t judge me! I love her in “The Devil Wears Prada”. Also I adore Anne Hathaway. She’s a good actress, and she’s so pretty. If I could look like Anne Hathaway for one day, I’d be happy. Jeez. So gorgeous.

I think I need to make a list of people who make me really, truly happy. Thinking about them will make me forget about my general blah-ness, right?

1. Cam-Cam the Texas Man. He is nice and sweet and smart and I like it when he goes on about things because he’s so cute when he gets all passionate about things. Also, that is the best nickname ever.
2. My daddy. He is also nice and smart and he makes really good food.
3. My mama. She is nice to talk to and funny and lovely. And also makes good food.
4. Brie. She is funny and witty and we share a view on Twilight that is inexplicable to anyone else.
5. Sarah. She is sweet and fun and you just cannot replace 8 years of best-friendship.
6. Michalski. Yeah, this one’s a bit weird. But he’s smart and witty and we share a sense of humor that is odd and incomprehensible to most. Also I like his voice.

Six people. I have six people who make me incredibly happy. Hmm. It’s moments like this that I realize that I really am a lucky kid. Some people don’t even have one person in the whole world who makes them this happy.

And on that note, good-night, my loves. Here’s some lovely art by people who aren’t me.

PIRATE. BATMAN. Seriously, the only way to make that better would be to put “with a jetpack” on the end. I don’t…even have words for the amount of awesome in those two words alone. Pirate Batman. *disbelieving headshake* It’s just too rad.

Rad is my new word. I like it. It’s like “bitchin’ “. It’s all retro and nifty.

Also, I joined the new Mystery Google extension, Mystery Missions. It’s…kind of making my life. I haven’t actually done anything yet – because that would be proactive and, psh, I am a reactive girl all the way – but still. It’s epic. I’m tempted to post a mission for someone to text me, just to see if anyone would.

So…friend of mine’s boyfriend got her flowers today, just because. One – that is totally adorable, and only makes me love him all the more. I really am v. happy they’re together, even if he is from Boston. But she’s from Jersey, so I guess it works. Two – got me thinking about last Valentine’s Day, when my own dearly beloved got me flowers. Aside from it being the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me – and that includes the time Phylicia pushed a girl down on the playground in fifth grade for yelling at me – it got me thinking about reactions. Her reaction to this delightful gift was rather smiliar to mine – ecstasy, of course, and lots of girly giggling, but awkwardness at the same time. We don’t know how to react when people do nice things for us.

We are naturally suspicious. Of everything.

Now, military men (and ladies) will tell you that’s a good thing. CONSTANT VIGILIANCE! (points on your behavior chart if you get that reference) Unfortunately, it makes real life a bit of a pain. So in the interest of all those out there with trust issues, here’s a little PSA for the loved ones and acquantainces who don’t understand why being nice elicits wary looks and a muttered, “Uh…thanks. I think”:

Fact 1: It’s not your fault. It’s not you your girlfriend/boyfriend/friend doesn’t trust. It’s the world! Watch a few episodes of Criminal Minds. You’ll start wondering why that car is following you so close, too.

Fact 2: It’s fucking frustrating. Your boyfriend wants to trust you, really. He does. He doesn’t want to be all jealous and nervous and easily upset. He wants to make his head believe what his heart knows – that you are a perfect angel with fluffy feathers comin’ out your ass. It’s just difficult. So don’t hit him with your purse.

Fact 3: You are not the only one. We don’t trust anyone, including our own mothers. In fact, the only person we do trust is Julie Andrews, because…uh, hello. Julie Andrews.

Thank you for your attention. Please feel free to help yourselves to coffee and cookies at the back.

In happier news, Phineas and Ferb are having a Christmas special. Christmas is in 15 DAYS, Y’ALL. That is just over two weeks. Motherfuckin’ Christmas. Gets closer every year, I swear.

I hate Uncle Jamie!

I…don’t have an Uncle Jamie. I just really love Love Actually. Seriously, out of all the romance movies in the world, this one is my favorite. Oh, hello sexy British man with glasses. I had forgotten you were in here. Hmm. Hmm hmm hmm. After watching Transformers 2 with Megan Fox’s boobs flopping all over the place, I think I deserve a little sexy British man, yeah? That movie was ridiculous in all its aspects. “Look shit blows up! You’re bored with shit blowing up? Wait wait wait! Here’s Megan Fox! And look! You can ALMOST SEE HER BOOBS. Omg y’all. Now we blow more shit up.” Though I, for one, appreciate things blowing up.

 

Also I am sick. I think I am dying. Slowly. My throat hurts and my head hurts and I cough and…and…I am dying.

 

Awww. This is the most squee-worthy movie ever. “But for now, let me say, without hope or agenda – just because it’s Christmas  and at Christmas you tell the truth – to me, you are perfect. And my wasted heart will love you until you look like this.” I plead with you to find me a better line than that. Other than maybe “I just love you too much to keep from making love with you, even if it’s only for a couple of nights” (from this Jacob/Bella fic). Which made me almost scream with aww-ness. Speaking of everyone’s favorite half-naked werewolf, I’m going to see New Moon again tomorrow. Admittedly, I’m going with a couple friends and their boyfriends, which is awkward, but hey. Taytay breaks all ice.

 

God I love little British children. Can I move to England just long enough to raise my kids with British accents? SO. ADORABLE.

For the record, I am Team Marshmallow.

I would just like to say that I truly believe, out of all the batshit crazy Twilight fans, out of the hordes of hormone-driven, squealing, oh-my-God-please-just-shoot-them preteen girls, the ones I hate the most are the “Team Book Edward but Team Movie Jacob” ones. Seriously, why don’t you just fucking advertise that you like controlling, creepy guys but only when they’re big and hot and shirtless? Jesus.

 

Team Jacob elitist feels all pretentious.

Turkey Day ftw.

Okay, so it’s not actually Thanksgiving for another hour and a half. Whatever.

So I’ve been feeling oddly contemplative lately. The good kind, though, not the bad kind, though the latter is more likely with me, so I can understand your confusion. No, the good kind of contemplative, where you’re on Facebook and you find yourself with three tabs open – your ex-boyfriend, your current boyfriend, and your newest friend. And you suddenly realize that while you can still see why you thought your ex-boyfriend was hot four years ago, you don’t quite understand how that boy became the center of your messed-up high school world. You realize that you have, maybe recently, maybe a long time ago, let go of him, and in doing so have managed to accept – no, embrace an entirely new life. However, this new life of yours can be similar in many ways to your old one, different in some, and the amalgamation of the two is enjoyable, beautiful, perhaps flawed but in all its ways perfectly suited for you, for the here and now.

One must not alter one’s entire being in order to accommodate a single change. Doing so is detrimental not only to oneself, but to those one affects.

Also, Simon Pegg in Star Trek? EPIC. WIN. OH MY GOD SO MUCH EPIC WIN. THERE IS WINNING OF THE EPIC VARIETY OOZING OUT OF ZACHARY QUINTO’S POINTY VULCAN EARS AND CHRIS PINE’S PIERCING FORGET-ME-NOT BLUE EYES. But what the fuck is that green thing? Its eyes kind of freak me out. But totally in the good way, like Paranormal Activity.

What? You haven’t seen it? Well I’d like to take a minute, just sit right there, and I’ll tell you how I watched this freaky-ass movie about Micah and that chick who might be named Katie but maybe Anna or Liz or something else really generic.

So, long story short, poor Katie-Anna-Liz is being hunted – I wouldn’t really call it haunting, as haunting implies just harmless, mostly annoying hanging-about – by an unnamed demon. But this story is mostly about her boyfriend Micah, who is probably one of my favorite characters in a recent movie. I absolutely love the progression of their relationship, how they start out bubbly and happy and cute but as the hunting gets worse, transforming from thumps in the night to the demon watching Katie sleep, slamming doors, dragging Katie down the hall, and finally possessing her, their relationship devolves. They’re snippy with each other, then angry, then accusatory, then, finally, mostly silent, when they both realize there’s nothing really to be done except pray the demon lets Katie go. Then -

SPOILER Y’ALL. BEE-TEE-DUB.

Katie gets possessed, and kills poor Micah (whose named is pronounced MEE-kah, by the way) throwing him at the camera at the last second!

It’s way creepier in the movie, I swear.

So my word of the day has been “amalgamation”. I don’t know why. I just like it. I’ve been using it as much as possible. I think that should become a habit of mine, pick an unusual word once a day and use it as much as possible. ¿Sí, muchachas? Sí. Excelente.

Lately I’ve been trying to understand the concept of the artistic nude. Now, I understand the beauty of the human body and whatever. I understand wanting to appreciate the body for what it is in its purest form, as simple and perfect as the day of its birth. But I think there’s a lot of wiggle room within this category, and it seems to me that a lot of this wiggle room is filled with porn. Maybe I’m just not artistically sensitive enough; I don’t understand most modern art, either. But from the perspective of a girl who considers herself fairly open-minded – I may not understand what you see in Jackson Pollock’s splashes of color on canvas, but I respect your assertion that it symbolizes the artist’s pain or joy or the agony of the human race. Or whatever – there is an awful lot of photography categorizing itself as artistic nude that could easily blend in with a line of soft-core porn.

Fought with the boyfriend last night, for the first time in a really long time. Is it weird I think it was kind of…cathartic? For me as a person and for us as a couple. I mean, we never fight. It’s not like we don’t communicate enough to fight, we just…agree on a lot of things. But when we do it tends to get…nasty. Not nasty as in insulting and throwing things and being just whiny bitches to each other, but nasty as in emotionally draining. Maybe it’s like that old practice of blood-letting, but with less death and wooziness and general unhealthiness. Okay, so maybe it’s like that old theory behind the practice of blood-letting – causing slight harm to release whatever toxins lay under the surface. Hmm. I kinda like that.

Oh! So I’ve been having really weird dreams about Rob Pattinson. Now, first you have to understand – I do not like Edward Cullen. I don’t. I think he looks pale and weird and his hair bothers me and he looks like he’s on fucking meth all the time and his face is all screwed up like he wants to cry ALL THE GODDAMN TIME. But I enjoy Rob, when he’s being Rob. And…

Hold up y’all. I just had to share this. With, y’know, no one. I just started to Google “rob pattinson in remember me”, his new movie in which is unlawfully attractive, to share pictures with those of you who have missed out on this development. But the Google suggestions gave me “rob pattinson in red underwear”. Now, let me take you through my thought process here:

“…huh. I…huh. Red…? Huh. What…okay, screw it. I gotta see this shit. Okay, okay, loading, loading…I do enjoy Chekov in the new Star Trek movie, so cute and Russian, and…whoa shit, y’all. That is an actual RPattz in actual red underpants. Ho…ly shit. That has to be Photoshopped. Has to be. I mean, I have seen some good Photoshops in my time…but why are there several options for this? Surely a Photoshop would be outed. Okay, okay. Clickity-click. Gotta see this shit up close and personal whoa Nessie. RPattz, ya got on no pants. Or shirts. And those are ugly curtains. What in the name of God were you smokin’?”

I’m DEADLY FUCKING SERIOUS y’all. I have been laughing for ten minutes solid. I love you, Rob, I do, but wear a shirt. And pants. No one wants to see that. Taytay is the Shirtless One. And sometimes Kellan.

 

(ETA: I totally forgot to actually put some decent Rob pics in here. So here’s one for you…and one for you…and one for me.)

All right. Whew. Moving on after that little…interruption, I have been having weird Rob dreams. With lots of awkward dates and hand-touching. Not Edward/Bella awkward, just normal awkward. Kinda cute. Which is very, very weird, because I happen to be a very happily taken woman with really not much interest in Rob. If anything, you’d think I’d dream about Taytay (okay, okay. I’ll stop with the links to half-naked Taylor Lautner. But you know you like it). I confuse myself sometimes.

Boldly go where no one has gone before, y’all. That does not include my boyfriend’s pants. Stay outta there.

You know what would be totally sick? And I mean sick in the way that grunge rockers of the early nineties used it, not in the way that well-meaning but easily-frightened news anchors mean it today when referring to the latest case of swine flu. Anyway – a pet cloud. Seriously. Even more awesome than a pet werewolf named Murphy which would be superbly awesome and the sickest thing since Kurt Cobain, a pet cloud would be one of the best pets ever. Think about it! You could make it rain on people you didn’t like, but if you were at, perhaps, your little sister’s T-ball game during a particularly hot day in June, and you forgot the beach umbrella at home because your sister insisted that you buy her a Gatorade before the game and you became so flustered with her demands that you completely forgot about the inevitable heat, your pet cloud could hover over you and provide you with some nice shade.

I would name my cloud Han Solo. Maybe Princess Leia, but Leia got kind of wimpy after she admitted to being in love with Han. Well. Aside from the whole saving-him-from-the-carbonite thing. But still, she was way more kickass before she got all love-struck.

Though Harrison Ford in tight black pants does that to people.

I’m thirsty.

Eating chocolate eclair and moping. Let’s enumerate my problems, shall we? It always makes me feel better.

1. One of my best friends may at any moment commit suicide.
2. She also refuses to leave her abusive boyfriend for the one who actually loves her.
3. One of my ex-friends is a complete bitch but will not leave me the fuck alone.
4. One of my friends has the swine flu.
5. I am completely unprepared for the Model United Nations conference in Chicago in a week and a half.
6. It is not Thursday.
7. I have kempo karate in the morning and that is so not my favorite class.
8. I have upset my boyfriend. Yes, that boyfriend.
9. I am a chunky monkey.
10. My chocolate eclair is almost gone.

I feel 9 and 10 are related.

Also I have an exam tomorrow that is going to kick my ass, and I have a shit-ton of stuff to do for work, and…and…my brains hurt.

Can we skip ahead to the day of Thanksgiving? Kthnx.

Blaaarg.

Fuck learning.

No, don’t fuck learning. Learning is nice. Homework, on the other hand, is definitely fuckable. And tests. And the inability of professors to confer amongst each other and realize that they are scheduling me for an exam, a quiz, and a major paper due in the same week, along with a million and ten things I have to do for work before Thanksgiving break in, oh, ten days. I have never been this unwilling for a holiday. Seriously. Push it back into December. Thanksgiving is just the precursor-to-Christmas holiday anyway; no one would really care. Bah. It’s not even a religious holiday. Stupid America. Goddamn you, Squanto! Couldn’t you have done this whole feasting thing in October? Or June, maybe? There are some very nice fruits avaliable in June.

I’m in a better mood this week. Can’t tell, can you? Ha. I think it’s the rain. Now, let me straighten this out first. I enjoy rain. I really do. It gives me a perfectly reasonable excuse to stay inside all day, curl up with a book, and drink tea in my bed for hours. It’s nice to listen to, it’s relaxing…I like rain. I even enjoy being out in it. I like stomping in puddles in my rain boots, I like umbrellas, I like watching it rain as I walk around campus.

However!

I do not enjoy cold rain. If it is cold and there is moisture coming from the sky, it had better damn well be snow. If it is not snow, the temperature should be warmer so I can enjoy my rain properly. Cold and rain are not weather conditions I expect to see on the same day. Step it up, weather-deciders. Hop to. Fix this mess.

But weather aside, I got over my prolonged Bella moment, thank God. Seriously, I sicken myself sometimes. God. Even I recognize how pathetic last week was. I moped around all week like I did when I was eight and my mom made me give away my puppy.

Huh. I barely remember that dog. It was black, I think. We came home one day and all my mom’s shoes were in the hallway. I think my mother held her temper well. She didn’t even scream. Much.

Anyway, Bella moment is over. For now, anyway. I just don’t…do well when I can’t talk to my boyfriend for more than a couple days and oh, my God, I really am Isabella Marie Swan. Jesus Christ. I might as well move to Forks now.

But it’s cold and rains there.

In lighter news – new header. Again. I like this one better, though the girl kind of looks like Emma Watson. I’m okay with that. Emma Watson is very pretty.

By the way,  listening to: “I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You” by the Black Kids, off their Wizard of Ahhhs album. Pretty good song. I’ve been really into The Bravery and Flogging Molly lately. I think I’m trying to be in high school again.