Jello Time With Jen

Most churches I know of love to feed the kids their body weight in goldfish crackers.  Another thing churches like are bake sale auctions for fundraisers.  There are few things as oddly amusing as watching the entire congregation have heated bidding wars for brownies.

Anyway, the point is that watching church members bid for baked goods is fun, to say the least.  Unless you go to my friend’s church, - then you get to see them battle for a jar of salsa.

Then I started thinking of how I could participate.  There is always that one person who’s item attracts the most attention and bids.  I think that I have potential to be that person.  I don’t want to brag about myself but it is true.

Without supervision, my cooking is terrible.

(Just the other day, my dad demanded that I make a hot dog for him.  I did. The next day, he claimed that I gave him food poisoning.)

So, my friend and I came to the conclusion that whatever I made would become an instant hit…because the taste is so unbelievable that you would have to try it for yourself.

Now, the next order of business was what to make.  Then it hit us - Jello.  It dates back to a day where we played with Jello molds.  The first half of our cooking endeavors were spent cleaning up after my malfunctions.  But we had a great time, so much so that we know look forward to cooking fails together.  It has gone down in history as “Jello Time With Jen”.  And if I had my own webshow, like all my friends think that we should do together, it would be aired as a special feature.

After reminiscing about it, a brilliant idea struck me.  Instead of auctioning off just Jello, we could action off “Jello Time With Jen.”  To think, people would bid over who got to have Jen in their kitchen to spend the day making Jello.

A second later however, the thought terrified me.  One, I am ashamed that my ego is so big.  Second, I have horrible luck with creepers.  I was supposed to be hanging out with my friend as therapy from the guy who wanted me to date him…and come to his apartment…with the memory foam bed…to spend a “sleepover” supposedly watching movies. I hung my head in shame.  A frightening mental image struck me, a room full of my stalkers and old men trying to buy “Jello Time With Jen”.  It made me want to cry.

While I could auction off my Jello, “Jello Time With Jen” would not be avalible.
That lovely experience will be reserved for select individuals.

My Valentine's Day Contract - Just Sign Here

Exactly a year ago, I was posting cute little Valentine's Day pictures on this blog, guilt free too.

In the past, it was a day when I could just admit that I am truly a hopeless romantic at heart. It is even more evident when looking at the high percentage of SHOUJO manga on my shelf. At school, I would send singing telegrams, chocolate, and roses to myself. Of course, they were all addressed from my favorite bishounen of the year (last year it was from Tamaki and  the rest of the Ouran High School host club).


But this year, there will be no chocolate, or roses, or even happiness. My inner hopeless romantic has left completely; she packed her bags in absolute misery and fled, leaving a river of tears behind.

The culprit: some weirdo, who had been following me around for a grand total of a mere TWO HOURS, decided that I should be his girlfriend. He has been texting me ever since. It has been a long six days.

I do not understand this. I am walking man repellent. But he is immune!

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Anyway, he went to public school. He feels the need to educate me about the dating customs of his brand of air-heads in their natural environment.

Contracts. It is true. Apparently dating teens can write contracts to date each other (and inevitably rip it up when they break up). Am I the only one who finds this slightly insane?

So, this is the feeling that Valentines Day left me with this year...it is a bit discouraging.



I am saddened that Valentine's Day isn't what it used to be. It doesn't help that this one sucks.

Moving on, I wrote this off the top of my head when I got home after being stuck with the guy who won't leave me alone.


The following is my contract (or the intro at least). I hope we can both reach some understanding.

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Dear Chris the Creeper; the stranger who wants to date me...

*Since you are so adamant about me seeing your “cool” apartment, please note that I plan to come armed, at least, with an AK-47. You get nothing.


*Furthermore, I do not care about your memory foam bed, or the memory foam pillows on top of it. I know that I am a socially awkward person. I could be wrong, but talking about your “awesome” memory foam bed, right after insisting that I am going to see your apartment, is a tad bit sketchy. Isn’t there anything else in that “cool” place of yours? Like something that gives off minimal awkward vibes? Perhaps a refrigerator or a coffee maker. If nothing else, talk about the paint on the walls. I would much rather hear about that. Just don’t say that it is white and pure, like your so-called feelings for me. If you do, I will pour black paint on them as a notion of my feelings. It is only right after all to reciprocate the sentiment. I am saying this for your own good. Trust me, it is just safer for you if I don’t know where you sleep at night.


*I think I have made it blatantly obvious in the text messages that I enjoy sharp things, like knives and swords. Clearly, you are not the sharpest knife in the drawer. See the correlation?

*I don’t want your hugs. I don’t want your less than threes in text messages. You will never get either from me.


*Don’t call me “hun”, and don’t call me “babe”. Just, refrain from using terms of endearment in general. That would be a good rule to follow. I have plenty of names for you as well. They however convey a much different meaning. Believe me; you don’t want to know what I think. I will exercise self-control if you do, you *bleep*. Starting now.


*Evidently, you are still not getting it. I have no desire to hold your hand. I understand that hand-holding and hugging (particularly me for some reason) showers your soul with sunshine and cupcakes. But I don’t care. It makes me wanna throw up…on you preferably. I couldn’t care less if hugging and hand-holding and other such activities makes you excrete rainbows and butterflies! If you dare try to initiate such acts again, be warned that there will be an aura of malice around me, designed to make you deeply uncomfortable and run for the hills. To avoid all this drama in the first place, perhaps I should just give up and become a nun. Then it would be irrational, impossible, and against my religion!


*Here is another good reason why it is in your best interest not to date me: I will make your wallet bleed to death. Do you like money? You say you have money. Well, I have some news for you buddy; I don’t. You know who else likes money? People who make good steak. Since you are wanting to date me, there are a few things that you should know about me (especially since there is little you actually know as it is). I am a carnivore. And I really like steak. Better say “goodbye” to those Monster energy drinks that you like so much, because in addition to my steak, I expect strawberries and ice cream too. Every day. (To fill the cracks of my heart that are caused by your very presence).


*I don't care what other girls that you have dated told you. You are too observant for your own good. It fills me with dread that you would focus too long on me, for obvious reasons. You see, I do not know your intentions (and again, I doubt that they are entirely pure). Not understanding your mind means that I have no clue as to how long it takes you to mathematically calculate what it would look like without said clothes (I gagged a bit just typing this thought). If you can not force yourself keep your eyes focused on appropriate places, I will forcefully remove them.

*To put this in shorter, simpler words, so that you can understand, I have no desire to date you; get lost.
And Happy Anti-Valentines Day.

Until then...

Picture of the Day

Sorry everyone.  I completely forgot the official Valentine's Day picture for 2011.  It isn't nearly as cute as last year.  (That and I didn't have anything remotely fun to write about.)

My apologies.

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The Apple Does Not Fall Far from the Tree

Father: "So, what movie did you watch at Black-kun's?"

Me:"Kung-Fu Panda!"

Father:"Man, that sounds really dorky."

This conversation happened a week ago.  Dear audience, I know that you are thinking the exact same thing as my dad. "You are a dork".  And yes, this is true.  Anyone who has read my writing here can verify it.

But in my defense, it runs in the family.  All of it.  The nerd moments.  The love for food.  All of it.

All of these conversations with my father have happened the past week.  

While forcing him to sit through "Despicable Me":

Father: I still can't figure it out.  What are those dumb looking things?

Me: Dad, it is almost the end of the movie.  They are minions.  If they were real, I would adopt one for myself.

Father: *scoff*  "Minions"?!  How stupid can you get?  They look like Twinkies....makes me hungry.

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Today, my mom and I attended my friend's funeral.  My dad, who never really met the woman, tagged along.

I have a theory that he let us go to the reception just so he could eat food (sorry, but if you knew him, you wouldn't put it past him either).

Father: Jennifer, make yourself useful. Go grab me a cookie.

Me: No, I have to say goodbye to Lindsey and her family.  Get your own.

Father: Marcia, stop talking to people and go get me a cookie.

Then he left, annoyed, to get back to the car.

Father: Where is my cookie?

Mom: You left.  I started eating it out of spite.

Me: You actually did something out of spite?!  That isn't like you at all.

Father: Whatever.  Jennifer!  Run back inside and get your dad a cookie.

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It really does run in the family.

After the funeral, we dropped by the park.  There was a party for my cousin's daughter's 5th birthday.

And a discussion about the Wii, Wii Sports, and Just Dance 2.

I have tried to get my dad to play with me before. He won't hear me out.  My aunt and cousin did a better job of convincing him than I ever could.

Aunt: Just Dance2 is really amusing for old farts like us.

Anthony:  The boxing one on Wii Sports is my favorite, man.

Father:  They really have stuff like that?  Jennifer, is he being serious?  Can you really do all of that?

(True enough.  When I am "old fart", I will force my young relatives to let me play the newest video game things that come out.  They will be no match for my skills.)

On the Topic of No Topics 4

Is this the fourth one?  I am going to assume that it is. So, I shall continue my post about Much Ado About Nothing.   But NOT the play by Shakespeare.  Just...no.

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My friend, Lindsey, is filming another one of her movies.  She writes her own series of epicness.  On Monday, we finally get to work on the third one.  (I missed out on the second because of school).

My role, you ask?  Myself.  Look down at the cast script.  Jenny is played by Jenny.  Lindsey came up with characters for everyone, except me.  She wanted to have a spastic, clumsy, spontaneous, clueless, happy, ect, character…essentially comic relief.  And since her basis for this out-of-touch-with-reality character was actually me, who better was there to play the role?

I do all my own stunts.  There is an infamous one in the first movie.  In the script, there was something about me falling of a treadmill, while singing.  Sad thing was, it came naturally.  When the camera started rolling, I started belting out some random song.  And I did not just act like I was falling off the moving treadmill.  I accidentally fell off of it, yet because it was written into the script, it worked.  Perfectly.

There was another scene in which I had to fall down a hill.  Aced that one as well.  (I even did so a second time…that wasn’t written into the script).

I hope my acting skills have improved marginally, considering that I am playing myself.  That way Lindsey won't have to run around in a Hannah Montana wig, pretending to be me.  First, it is a frightening scene.  Second, not to brag, but I think I have more experience and expertise in the matter.  Over 19 years worth of it.

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You know you are a nerdy only child when you play animal crossing incessantly.  The thing is, I am oddly addicted to creating anime themed rooms (otherwise I get rather bored with the game).  It began when I found an anatomical  model, washed up on the ocean shore.  I was instantly reminded of Hiroshi (this is all a Wallflower reference, by the way) and proceeded to build an entire collection of creepy things that remind me of Sunako Nakahara.  I call it my emo corner.  But I am not emo. And it isn’t a corner.  It is, in fact, a whole room.  It makes me smile.

Awesome right?  Well, I have another awesome room.  It is pretty much an Ouran High School Host Club room.  Alas, it is missing two key things that the game designers regrettably left out.  The first, and most important, would be the hosts themselves.  Bishonen!  How glorious it would be to have all of them there!  Thus, the second would obviously be the presence of floating rose petals everywhere they go.  But there is no Tamaki (or Hikaru, or Kaoru, or Kyoya, or Mori, or even Hunny-senpai) and therefore no floating rose petals.  With that in mind, I think it is still money worth spent.  So, yes, I admit to playing that game for hours each day, just to create my anime themed rooms.  If there is nothing cool to buy…I call it a day.  So, I suppose I am that creeper neighbor who buys miscellaneous crap and otherwise never leaves the house, to marvel at said crap.

I have the DS version, so it isn’t as fun as the one I used to play with my cousins in Iowa.  We found the game amusing for the sole purpose of tormenting the neighbors.  First, it is important to note that these cousins of mine are FMA fans, like me.  We love Al.  How could you not?  But there was a character in their Animal Crossing game named “Alphonso”.  Somehow that single “o” attached to the end of his name, gave him an air of…being lame.  Hence, he was the primary victim of our fun.  We laughed at his name while hitting his big head with a net and pushed him into holes.  How we loved to watch him squirm.

I hate these games.  I really do.  The moral of this story: play Trauma Team; preserve your dignity.

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Here is an interesting discover I made while I was away.
Jen > Oatmeal
Jen < Ice Cream

My question of the day:  What does it mean when your friends determine your value according to their love for food?

With this logic:
Dora > Steak
Leann > Hot Chocolate
Black-kun > Strawberries (on her good days)
Mon Amore > Flaming Hot Cheetos
Hari > Ice Cream

Maybe I exaggerate (and I will  let the reader decide in which way).

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I like getting to know which of my friends are in touch with their inner children.  On the way to Phoenix with Leann and Katie, we determined that Katie is one of those people who prefers not to interact with them.  She keeps her inner child on a tight leash.  A very tight leash.  And that is only when she lets her inner child out of the depths of the small dungeon she is in.  Not that there is anything wrong with this.  Hari is the same way.

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Speaking of Leann and Katie, I had a weird dream while spending the night at their house.  Before going to bed at some obscene hour in the morning (6 or 7 ish I believe), Leann and I were engaged in some deep conversation.  But it inevitably lead to talking about Disney movies.  Ariel is my least favorite.  So, falling asleep, I had The Little Mermaid on my brain.

I dreamed that I was a mermaid.  Katie and Leann had to drive me back to the ocean for some reason.  Next thing you know, I am on that pirate boat from Peter Pan.  It is sinking; everyone is screaming.  As if I thought it would help, I tried to get higher up on the ship and grabbed onto Captain Hook’s hook.  Then it hit me, if you were a mermaid, you would never drown.  I was invincible!

At this realization, I awoke to their hyper chihuahua stepping on my face.

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The next time I talked to Leann at a sleepover, we had deep conversations and not so deep conversations.


“Ways to Drown a Mermaid” fell into the latter category.  We concluded that swimming pools would not work, water is water.  Therefore, sticking one in a swimming pool of Cool-Aid would only get them high.  Cool-Aid is like pucca for mermaids.

 And while we thought that closing their gills, another problem arose.  Mermaids do not have gills.  Well, not to my knowledge.  Do they?  I had a friend who claimed to be a mermaid.  She didn't have gills...

Wow Jen.  Way to go, asking the most important questions!  “Do mermaid’s have gills?”
“Who’s trashcan is that?” (I applaud all who recognize that last one)

So Much For Sleeping in Heavenly Peace

I need to redeem myself after that last nerd rant.

It is now 8:30 AM.  Now, I want you to take a good look at that those numbers!  See anything odd?  Yes, I am actually awake at this hour.  Once again, some uninvited guest is crashing on my bedroom floor.  As I am not a morning person, my anger meter is rising and the meter for irritation has reached astronomical levels.

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Flash back a couple months back and this is where it all began.  I am happily cleaning my room, minding my own business.  I set up one of those huge moon chairs next to the window so I can read my books and closer to the T.V. so I can watch movies or play my games or something.  Since I practically live in my room and hardly ever venture out into the dangerous vast space of the remainder of the building, I strive to make my domain as comfortable as possible, even going as far as to get a mini-fridge for my Ramune.  My room has always been a sanctuary.  

Alas, this year things have changed and I can no longer find solace in my own room.  The dark night of my soul began when my dad first discovered that he could play his new war games on my PS2.  Since he has long been going into withdrawals from lack of cable, I assume this was only natural.  He would spend a vast majority of his money on movies to placate himself and video games were just another way for him to survive.  

He did respect that the PS2 was mine at least, so the logical solution would be to sit in my comfy chair and play his war games night and day.  He would turn the volume up on full blast as I would sigh and climb my way into my loft bed to try and sleep or read a book, hoping that he would leave.  

My misery increased when my mother wanted to use my computer...at the same time.  Unfortunately, my comp is located on my desk....which is right in front my bookshelf...and only a few feet away from the moon chair.  My parents bickered back and fourth and had volume battles, while once again I would climb in the loft and tried to endure.  As things continued, I wouldn't even enter my room until it was time for me to go to bed and they were gone (if I was lucky).  

Gradually, my father seemed to loose interest in video games.  Perhaps it was because one day he noticed that the moon chair had become lopsided...he broke it.  With the chair gone, he spent less and less time in my room and more and more money on DVDs.  And my mom spent less time at home, and went to my grandmothers to use a computer.

Finally, things seemed to have returned to normal....minus the moon chair. Sad face.

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But today, my father has invaded yet again.  He is now sleeping in my room.  Is this normal?  None of my friends seem to have this same problem with their father sleeping in their room.  

Well for one, I don't think this is normal (could be wrong but it is my hypothesis nonetheless).

And two, some one shut the man up because it is annoying.  I can sleep through buses crashing into walls...but not this.  The middle-aged man passed out on my floor sounds like a broken lawn mower.  That is perhaps an under-exaggeration.

To make matters worse, I no longer have the Nerf foam weaponry I had once safely stored in my loft bed is now gone.  It was given to charity after a yard sale flop.

So, this is how it went down this morning:

Me (in half-awake mood of rage):  Shut up already! If you are going to sleep in my room, at least do me a favor and don't snore.  

I couldn't didn't have the Nerf stuff obviously, couldn't part with my pikachu plushi, so I threw a pillow.

My Father (taking pillow and placing it under his head):  I don't snore.

And...he promptly resumed sleeping.  My cat, the adorable little creature, has even clawed his head a few times and the man still didn't wake up.  Mayhem probably lost interest.  My cat likes my hair a lot...and the man sleeping in my room is balding, and therefore not nearly as fun.

He is still here by the way.  Forgive me if my writing today is more boring than usual.  It is hard to think of anything remotely fun to say with the guy's snoring disrupting my train of thought.  Hopefully next time the circumstances will be favorably different. 

Beware: My Soul is Radiating Pink Sparkles and Butterflies Tonight

Let me give you a fair warning now, this next rant will give you just another look at how much of a dork I can be.  I suppose the majority of my blog already does a great job of that.  But, since I feel this next one is going to hit a new and impressive low, you might want to turn back now if you want to hold on to a sliver of hope that I am somewhat cool.

My family is cheap.  My mom and I have little regard  for  fashion sense, if any at all.  So, when she got fed up with the fact that I don't have a jacket to wear, she figured it was time to remedy that.  And what better way of doing so than to hit Wal-Mart and find something reasonable.  Oh goodie.

Don't get me wrong; I love Walmart.  But, here is where the problem lies.  My dearest mother likes to largely exploit the fact that I fit into clothes in the childrens' section.  For as long as I can remember, she takes advantage of this and stuffs me in to whatever she pleases...and it is usually something pink, poofy, and decorated with a sickening array of butterflies or rainbows, or hearts or pastel flowers...just to name a few.
And it is quite possible, to my horror, that she will find some hideous combination of the above.  And I would prefer to avoid said garments like the plague.  Thus the never-ending cycle continues.

Moving on to today's story.

While meandering through the racks of tye-dye and peace sign decorated things, I wondered when this would end already, and dreaded what new monstrosity mother had managed to dig up.  Then something caught my eye.  It was a pajama section (those over-sized shirt ones) devoted to a specific Disney movie that came out not to long ago. Tangled.  It is the movie in which Ashley was finally able to find my Disney princess counterpart. 

Something happened that is very rare on our excursions.  I felt a surge of happiness.  In some euphoric moment of bliss, I hopped my way over to see what I could find.  Technically they didn't really have it in my size (seeing as I am around a "12"ish and the largest I could find was a 7/8.  But they were designed to be slightly longer anyway.  Not wasting any time, I picked out not one, not two, but three of them.  Don't judge me!  The irony of it all, seeing as they all have some degree of pink in them ... and mass amounts of sparkles, flowers, and butterflies.  Yet, because of the whole Tangled factor, all is oddly right with the world.  Besides, if I was gonna have to get other stuff from the kids place, I mind as well make it good.  

I should note that as I walked up to the counter I told myself that if anyone gave me weird looks they were just jealous.  It wasn't so convincing when the cashier was a college age guy.  Nor did I want to picture that man in my selected items.

When I got home, I got ready for bed and decided to wear one as I commenced my habit of dancing like an idiot.  I am pretty sure that I resembled an overgrown eight year old.  

Then....my happy world came crashing down when just a few minutes ago my parents felt the need to add  that I was being foolish and that it would probably shrink in the washing machine anyway.  Now this may be true, but at the moment I feel like said eight year old who discovered that their ice cream cone dropped in the middle of a muddy street....

(Still haven't found anything similar online either.  Sad face)

But, even if it just for tonight, I shall still revel in my nerd moment.      

November - In all its Boring Glory

I know, I haven't written anything for awhile.  Think of that as a gift to you.  You didn't miss out on much.
And I really don't know how to make any of this worth reading (like the rest of my blog I suppose).

This is November for you...well the details of my birthday anyway (everything else is just a boring blur):

• I turned 19.
• mourned over the fact that in one year I will no longer be a teenager
• pondered if this was something to mourn over...and came up with the conclusion yes because 20+ would make me feel elderly
• wondered why this was so, seeing as 21 would be fun (and that is a year over 20...hmm)
• I was kidnapped/surprise adopted, with a pillowcase over my head and hands tied together (couresty of Black-kun, Ashley, and Mon Amour)
• ranting of bishonen
• kinda crashing a wedding
• more ranting of bishonen
• watching Gintama
• wondering with Kelsy as to why Gintama characters pick their nose so frequently (this still remains a mystery)
• winning an ultimate version of "The Daruma Doll Fell Over"  - this included dramatic poses on Black-kun's hot tub and foiling all of Kelsy's attempts to kick me over (why yes, I am quite proud of myself) 
• picking up cat puke
• buying mass amount of manga
• marveling at how my nerd shelf has grown
• picking up more cat puke
• rushing cat to the vet, all the while listening to my mom yell that he was going to die
• brought him home the next day...after a week of lethargy he returned to normal and I came to the conclusion that he just likes to live up to his name

On the Topic of No Topics 3

I am beginning to think that my Topic of No Topics Rants should be a monthly occurrence.  My mind frequently wanders to other things, and as soon as I find it, it is time to write again.

In this post I will rant about things such as the oddities of my kitten Mayem, enlightening you in the taste of the Mayans, and cursing the crimes of "Canyon Cafe".

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Not to long ago, I wrote about my new kitten, that has now officially been named Sparta.  But I prefer his nickname, Mayhem, so I will refer to him as such, at least on my blog.

And now, I would like to clarify something.  Initially, I thought that he was kinda fruity.  I no longer think that. Everyday, he seems to be more and more manly.  I know I should be like a proud parent at the sight of it...but it is slowly beginning to creep me out a bit.  He is now displaying qualities that I never expected from this little kitten.  Well, in cat years he is a rebellious teenager, so I guess I really should have anticipated it.

First, he drools when he is pleased.  I got used to this trait pretty quick.  He also wipes it off on my hand, or any other body part which is readily available.  It isn't a problem.  I understand full well that cats don't have owners; they have staff.  And if one of my roles in his life is to be a spit cloth on legs, I can deal.  But his next quality is enough to drive me insane.  Prepare yourself.

He is clearly proud of his horrific farts, which he also emits when he is undeniably happy.
(An immature topic to bring up, but it rings true.)

I didn't think God created any living creature that could produce an odor enough to rival some of my family members after a night of Taco Bell and their obscure alcoholic beverages.  Until Now!  Mayhem puts them all to shame!  (Think rotten eggs in a cesspool and forgive the repugnant vision.)

I am just sitting on my bed with a good book and Mayhem will be in a lovable mood again.  (He can transform into a non-stop purr machine.)   I must admit, it is quite cute.  But, once he is calm as can be, everything takes a turn for the worst.

He begins to release some putrid vapor from the depths of his being, which is nearly enough to knock me down from the loft.  It is as if some incubus of Satan wormed its way into his glutes, died, and rotted away for months!   I believe the noxious fumes to be the closest thing to mustard gas that I have ever experienced.  I can only hope that I either become accustomed to the horrendous stench before it burns the inside of my nose off.

Until that time comes, I shall try to make sure that I never stand downwind.  Mayhem can watch the Lion King with me, and sympathize with Pumbaa while eating his rare kitty treats, as he continues to excrete a virulent miasma that engulfs every corner of my room.  It shall be a real bonding moment. One that I shall treasure for the rest of my life.

Now, I know all you cat lovers out there are shaking your heads thinking that I am some disgrace to the kitten-owning community.  So be it.  I swear to you that I have been very careful to meet his nutrition needs as I was instructed.  There must be something in the dust particles, which he is able to seemingly ingest out of no where, that makes is output increase astronomically.

I don't know how it came to this.  The more I think of it, the more I realize that Mayhem is turning into a real redneck of a kitty!  I am not going to elaborate on some of his other qualities.  If he were human, he would most likely spend his days downing Mike's Hard Lemonade, collecting mass amounts of Nascar memorabilia, and generally  living by the motto "glorious lack of sophistication".

He does this when he is just being lovable.  And afterwards he looks even more pleased, especially with himself.  I wish I knew if this was some kind of strange way that the male species show their admiration. What goes on in their heads is truly a mystery that I shall never fully grasp.

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I am looking forward to halloween this year.  Partly because part of the plan this year is Soul Eater cosplay.  To summarize, I get to dye my hair blue and throw "tadpole bombs" at people (as long as Mayhem allows me to get my work done...).

Black-kun taught me something interesting today.  The Mayans (yes the ancient civilization ones - duh) would be pleased.  Apparently, they found women with blue hair to be attractive and fashionable.  How they Mayans found people with naturally bright blue hair in the first place is unknown to me.

But this is coming from Black-kun, so I can take it as a compliment.  Besides, it is a great joy to know that I can actually  be called  "fashionable" in some cultures.  It is a first for me, so I can't complain if it is a culture that has long since died off.  I will take what I can get!

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Moving on.  Black-kun.  Sent me something on Skype that makes me smile.

~Ken's Tip #31~    click it

Yes, I am a socially awkward person.  I will not deny to be the freakishly quiet thing that I am.  But even I see the humor in this.

In Japanese class, we are often asked to ask someone "Wouldn't you like to *fill in some verb here together*?"  And I have also noticed an interesting pattern.  Most of the time, guys will say "yes" immediatly.  But the girls will shut them down completely.  In Japanese this only involves saying - "excuse me but there is a problem...." An explicit "no" isn't there, but it is trailing off somewhere in the distance.
It is kinda sad actually.  I don't really see the harm in responding "good idea" or "of course"!  It is just Japanese101!

However, I did have opportunity to ask some random person if they wanted to eat lunch in the cafeteria.  I had hoped that the guy would say "no" just so I could say "You're horrible" (special props to the Japanese re-make of Hana Kimi for that one).
But as all the other guys in the class, the rhetorical yes inevitably followed.

And things got worse when he asked what kind of foods I like; I hadn't been anticipating this, as the conversation does not usually hit this point.  Abandoning everything, I loudly proclaimed my love for steak.  I didn't know he was referring to the food at the cafeteria....I thought it meant in general.

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I suppose the worst part of the steak/cafeteria blunder was the nature of my community colleges cafeteria in general.  They pride themselves in calling themselves "Canyon Cafe".  A cafe!  That is not befitting at all.  They charge obscene prices for mass produced mediocre chicken-strips and other "meals".  Now, I could rant for some time about the ridiculous prices the place on their food...but that would be irritating and a long waste of time.  But what cannot let go of is their prices on salt packets, forks, plates, and the like.  In short, the only thing without charge are the napkins, which I pull out in generous heaps, laughing maniacally to myself "take that cafeteria!".

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Thanks for allowing me to share my musings of the day...It is nearly 1:45 AM where I live...when my mind is most prone to not shutting up...

And Now, A Moment of Awkward Silence

I had a flashback from my past awhile ago, back from when I was a cheerleader (-gasp-).  It was one of those famous moments in my history where people discovered that I do enjoy dropping a sarcastic comment every so often (again...-gasp-).  It began with an awkward silence.  I suppose this stems from have a reserved otaku and a superficial "creature of light" in the same room.  It went something like this... after a rather interesting conversation actually:

Me:  ...

Classmate: (probably thinking) how do I converse with this strange being?

Me: *stare*

Classmate:  "Um so, did you know that every awkward silence a gay child is born?"

I figure that this is a common phrase to all the everyday teenage conversationalist.  But I shall confess, still lacking social grace,  that I am still unsure of the proper response to this.
(Perhaps someday someone will come across this blog and enlighten me). 

And thus another awkward moment was born.

Me: ...

Classmate: (most definitely thinking)  It isn't working!  What could this mean?!

Me: ..."There must have been twins." *insert smile here for added effect*

Mission accomplished.

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So, I have recently been contemplating how to prevent such situations and how to handle them.

I can't help you.  Yet, Dora has her own scheme and I can only hope that it works for you.

In the event that things get awkward, just repeat the following phrase:

"I've never eaten this much CHEESE".

It is best to note that this will have the best results while in the presence of an anime fan (especially one who could get the reference) or someone who is not too mature for there own laugh.

Unfortunately, if the person does not fit into either of the above categories, you had better be actually eating cheese.  Better yet, carry some in your pocket to whip out spontaneously, in case of emergency, and dazzle them with your mad skills.

If the above fails, may they have mercy upon your soul.

The "Untamed and Unnamed" Now Has A Name

Recently, my slow typing has hit a new and impressive low.  Last month, I got a kitten for my birthday, which is actually next month.  He has a fascination with keyboards (or anything that I am doing at any particular moment).  And being the six month old beast that never sleeps, he feels the need to make it difficult for me to add anything to my blog at any hour of the day.

He went through an identity crisis for the longest time.  My mom kept getting his gender confused for the longest time, thinking that he is in fact a she, which is in fact not true!  This messed with my head and I kept thinking that he was fruity and flamboyant (being that he is a kitten, this is actually partially true).  Nonetheless it was difficult to come up with a name for the poor creature.  Hari, Dora, and I tried to think of something fast.
  
1.)  First, Dora liked "Little Guy".

It was ironic to me because there is also a little guy that goes by the nickname of "Little Guy" who works for the F.B.I. in the Trauma Team game.  And at that point, I failed to see the masculinity in my untamed and unnamed cat.  Also ironic because he could turn out to be a real fatty...you never know.  And at that point, I would have to switch to calling him "Big Guy".  One, this is actually not very appealing.  Two, there is also a "Big Guy" in Trauma Team - the orthopedic surgeon who fixes injured people with power tools during office hours, and runs around in a superhero cape throwing cars at drug dealers and other criminals when he isn't performing some obscure surgical procedure.

Thanks to Dora, "Little Guy" stuck as a nickname.  But was replaced after a short while.

2.)  Ashley liked the name "Magnus".  The name was adopted from The Mortal Instruments books.  Why?  Because "Magnus" is the overly flamboyant and fruity "sexy, sexy warlock".  Besides, to an outsider, this name actually sounded quite masculine.

But it wasn't too long after that there were clear problems.  First, the Magnus from the book is "flaming homo", or as I like to say, as straight as a rainbow.  And my cat is not, to my knowledge.

And upon reading the City of Glass book, which Ashley and I promptly decided needed to be burned, the name became harder to accept.
And, put simply, I don't think my mother would feel comfortable getting another kitten to name "Alec" as his male lover.

3.)  I liked the idea of naming him "Mayhem"; it seems even more troublesome than Trouble.  He responded to it quite well (in addition to "Psycho").  The problem - I loved it...mom objected.

For now, his official name is Sparta (you know...The Mean Kitty Song).  I know it isn't original, but it fit quite well, especially since he seems even more manly.

His not-so-official name is Mayhem.

Is It A Good Idea to Microwave This?

I am beginning to think that I should stick to the saying "that which does not kill me serves as blog fodder".  Yet, although I haven't died (obviously), I haven't written anything in a long time.  Well, I have been preoccupied watching those youtube celebrities that make the "Is It A Good Idea To Microwave This?" videos.

No, you cannot tell me that this is not intriguing.  I highly recommend these if you want to watch things explode.  They cook my brain cells, among other things.

Ever since I saw them test the microwaving of a blowfish, I have been wondering about what would happen if I stuck that jarred octopus of mine in the microwave for a few minutes.  The more I think about it, the more curious I become!  Please pray that I don't dwell on this for too much longer.  I have a lingering suspicion that my mom would not approve...and that such an attempt would go down in history as another one of my infamous "quirks".

But if I do try this, and survive, I shall tell you all about it.  (For that which does not kill me serves as blog fodder). 

In Other Words, We Eat Stuff

I seem to write about food a lot :/
Yes, I do like food.  I am not some glutton, nor am I even over 100 pounds.  Food is essential to daily living.  I LOVE FOOD!
Yet, I can't help but find it extremely awkward that I write about food.  A lot.

So, if you haven't already figured it out, once again I shall be writing about food.

First I would like to make a reference to Hari's blog.  She wrote a lovely post about our Popcorn Club.  I will briefly explain in a way that will not steal her thunder.  In short, at community college our group of friends routinely make popcorn. We devour it.  End of explanation.  (The stuff at the cafe is ridiculously expensive, and I too broke, with spending money on books, to stand forking out an additional $6.00 for not very good, overrated, mass-produced chicken strips.)

But recently our group has been pondering extending our horizons.   Just last week we shared a bag of beef jerky, and this got us thinking.  Why should we limit ourselves to popcorn?  Yes, popcorn is amazing butteriness in a bag.  But who can deny other wonderful foods, such as Lucky Charms, which are magically delicious?  So Emily and I think that a name change is now in order.  We contemplated changing it to the Popcorn, Beef Jerky, Goodfish (yes, the cracker kind), Cheetos, Ice Cream, Popsicle, Brownie, Cake (on birthdays), Cupcakes (any day), Cake (wait...any day simply because we can), Insert Other Foods Here -Eating-Club.  Unfortunately, most normal people should find that to be a mouthful.  So, it has been shortened to the Eating Club, with the former as our alternate title.  (Yup, this is probably going on a poster of some kind).
And we have adopted the phrase, In other words, we eat stuff, as our mantra.

Of course, this is currently an un-official club.  My friends and I dream of the day where we have funding and more members who will supply us with food.  But I think the title Eating Club gives off the impression that we are all obese gluttons, which is not true.  The cafe food is just far to expensive.  And we are far to lazy to go about this any other way.

On the Topic of No Topics 2

Oh no...I am at it again. Mindless babbling. (In this post, I will cover everything from the ice cream man and Trauma Team to nose-themed boss battles and alarm clock anger.) 

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I sit before you typing this with a bowl of cookie dough ice cream as my dad proceeds to chase after the ice cream truck down the street. It is an amusing sight. Luckily, the silly yet alluring tune should lead him there. It is oddly exhilarating to release ones inner child and set out on a race to hunt down the ice cream man in his fruity truck. Sadly, my mom fails to relish in our joy.

I remember when the ice cream man played a very familiar tune to me. Let me elaborate. In the third Sailor Moon movie, the children are kidnapped and taken on creepy flying ships to a castle in the sky where this evil queen puts them in dream boxes so that their "dream energy" will create a black hole big enough to engulf earth. They are kidnapped when they are put under a spell played by a special flute and can thus be commanded from their sleep-walking state.

Yes, the ice cream man used to play the same tune.
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I am sorry I haven't written anything until now this month. However, I feel that I have a valid reason. And it is called Trauma Team for the Wii. (The whole Trauma Center series has a wonderful plot.) I finally have my own copy. Unlike its prequel that I already owned, called Second Opinion, it doesn't just have surgery. Now it has forensics, diagnostics, first response, endoscopy, and orthopedics (because what's not there to love about operating on someone's blones with a drill?!).

For me, endoscopy is the absolute worst. Although the character you are playing invested in her own personal golden endoscope, it is by no means magical. I mean, no matter how you look at it, you are still shoving a camera down someones throat (at least...I am pretty sure that is the orifice which I go through - minus the time that I had to maneuver my way through the glutes of a cat ). I always get lost in the stomach...

Ever since I bought games from this series, it is not uncommon for my parents to hear me ranting about my patients and their ailments. I hate thrombi (these irritating moving blood clots) and I constantly curse the little monsters. My mother gives me weird looks as I say to the screen "you sir, have a lot of annoying tumors...this is not good". My dad offers little assistance as he pushes me over and over, while maniacally laughing "he was on is way out anyway", as I look at the screen in terror when his vitals drop to zero.

I have to say, I love the tumors in Trauma Team. They are red, sparky, jewel-looking things. They make me smile. In Second Opinion they were just dark purple blobs of tumor doom = death!
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Another game that I bought recently is entitled WarioWare Smooth Moves. I brought it to Dora's birthday party. We agree that it has to be the strangest yet most addicting thing we have ever played. It makes you wonder if the creators were insane or absolute genius.

I don't have much to explain about it other than that it is basically a series of mini games, and in one of them the "Boss Battle" was beaten by throwing a multitude of bananas into the nostrils of a gigantic nose made of stone...

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I was reading through some of my old fan-fiction and noticed the vast majority of the stories have something in common. Somewhere in the story, I destroy and alarm clock in an extremely violent fashion. It is a process that can even involve stabbing the thing with a kunai knife or watching it explode into flames.

This reflects my hatred for them in real life. So, I found an inexpensive treasure on ebay with will hopefully make this process a little less painful. It looks like this ...

Try as I may to hide the side of me that loves sickeningly cute things like this, I cannot help but smile when I look at it. So, I think it shall hopefully brighten by day.

(I hope my strange rantings about my mundane life do the same for yours.)