I'm reading Abbie's blog. I'm thinking, that it's good to have faith in something. It doesn't matter what it is, just have faith in something. For me, it's the belief in the inherent goodness in humanity and the perserverence of the human spirit. It's been my life raft among other things, because I think I've systematically dismantled every belief system thrown at me except for that one. I'm reading her blog, and I'm thinking that once upon a time I felt the same overwhelming exhaustion and the same cry for redemption of some sort. It wasn't any sort of rebellious martyrdom, just a feeling of being incredibly tired of the world, and seeking the clarity of escapist fantasy, like actually having things like true love, pure evil, true friends, true freedom, true loyalty, and real purpose, instead of so many sickening shades of gray. I don't think I've really stopped- I just found more of those things in the world I live in, so I find I'm not half as tired anymore as I would make myself to think.

I try not to be irrational in my ranting. I find that it does me no good, no matter where I am, people will judge me, not based on the intensity of my emotions but the quality of my reason. I get the rep online of being "heartless girl" or whatever, which I find to be amusing. The reason I, and people in general, blog, I think, is to seek some sort of approval, admiration or pity from other people which I might not elict otherwise. Will it work? Probably not. I don't care, I'm blogging anyways. But I do care. So. Cry, people. Wallow in my angst. I will be satisfied.


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Have you ever seen anything catch on fire? Well, I don't mean, like, anything. I mean, like, a building catch on fire. When I was going to see Fools, on the way, Party Land was on fire. Like, literally a wall of fire, the back side wall of Party Land. And a van parked next to it. I don't know, I've never seen anything on fire, besides a van by the side of a road once. I mean, really on fire. Destructive fire. Not fireplace, chemistry or movie fire. It was on fucking fire. I'm fairly sheltered; I've only seen a handful of violent things firsthand in my lifetime, so I guess I'm lucky. My friend's dad was driving along Rockville Pike, and we saw a whole bunch of red and blue lights from police cars and fire trucks flashing in the middle of the night, and plumes of smoke and water being illuminated by.. I don't know. Something. I expected to cause to be some stupid trash can blaze,or the fire to be out and smoldering. Well, we pass this curve in the road, and the fucking building is on fire. My friend told me there probably wasn't anyone in it. I was pretty sure there wasn't anyone in it. I don't know why I was so sure at the time.. now I think that I'm sure that there was no one in it, because it's a small, one storey store. There wouldn't have been old, handicapped, sleeping or feebly sick people in there. Employees and customers can just run 30 feet or so the front or back door. But I think the reason why I was so sure at the time is that I don't think I could have on a good conscience gone on and enjoyed a play after watching people in a building burn. I never thought that things could.. actually catch on fire. Only on the news or in movies. You'd think that after 9/11 I would start thinking of everything as possible, but I guess some people never learn.

The Bivalves piss me off. They're stealing all my friends.

I WAS going to blog yesterday, but the blogger site was down. Sucky. I should learn a few things about humility. PuffyAndrew&Rob wiped me and Alex's collective asses with their project. SUCK!

Alex, you owe me balsa wood. I'm going to see Fools. Tonight. Fear me.

I'm blogging today. Three days later. I'm beginning to think it's impossible to blog everyday.

I hate my body. It's too high maintenance. I wish I could be a perfect Asimovian robot or something. Dentists are evil. I happen to not enjoy swallowing my own blood. It's a bodily fluid that doesn't belong there. I don't mind temporary pain, like taking a shot, but dentist appointments are an hour of evil. Brush. Teeth. Better. If I remember after this week.

http://www.songbirdcry.com/Lighthouse.htm Songs don't usually make me want to cry, but this one's very sad.

Calculus is actually becoming useful. Last year David said it would, but I didn't believe him. Speaking of Puffy, Seth cut his hair. I'm traumatized.

I'm rather enjoying math now. Because I'm a freak. And physics.

Willard's Halloween bash was a lot better than one most ravers could throw. BLUE RING OF FIRE!! FOOOOOSH! HOO-AH! I think I'll do that trick with AILD.

I finally found out why I consider Andrew P to be oddly fascinating. It's this. I can't stick him into a category. You'd think I'd know a whole bunch of types of guy dorks by now. Like there's the Political Guy Nerd, and the Dramatic Shakespearean With Literary Ambitions Guy Nerd, and the WarWarWAR!! Guy Nerd, and the Gaming & Card Games & Hobby Shop Guy Nerd and the OTAKU OTAKU anime Guy Nerd and the HistoryFreak Guy Nerd and the ILoveMathDuuuuhh Guy Nerd, the Computer Programming Guy Nerd and the Creepy Stalker Guy Nerd and the JustPlainUgly Guy Nerd. Andrew P (I should just call him Andrew, since there's only one) is... I have no idea. He's like... Foolish Mortal I Will Damn Your Soul Guy Nerd.

I promised that I would blog today. Actually, I promised that I would blog every day, so I'm like two days late. Things have just been coming up so that I can't get online and blog. I'm sort of addicted. I feel closer connected to you people because talking in writing is so much different from talking talking. Sound and crap. I dunno. I like this better. Maybe I'm just antisocial. I also promised I'd go on Two Towers more often. Sooorrry, Azzie. :( Sorry, sorry. I have to go eat dinner and then do kung fu. So this is my filler blog.

I just found Jen's journal. I just linked to it. I feel guilty, because she's been linked to me for a long time now. My fairy name is stupid. But. Andrew P is "Gossamer Pepperweb". BTW, whenever I comment, I have this urge to type in my internet handle, not my real name. I must spend too much time online.

I'm reading my blogs again. Apparently, I do all of my blogging at 4 in the afternoon.

I added a comment engine, like Alex said. I'm his smiling cupid slave. Without the fans, and wearing clothes. I wish html were easier. I mean, it's already obscenely easy, but since I'm the consumer, I demand the universe revolve around me, and make everything easy. I just figured out why I wasn't getting any comments. Yes. I am slow.

I'm sorry! So sorry! For not updating enough. I'm incredibly outblogged, now that I have to keep up with everyone else's blog. It's worse than keeping track of one message board all the time. I'll have to wear a hair shirt to convey my penance. And lend this passage a quality of ominous power. No. Haha, Alex, you suck. I did my "original narrative' during physics, AND I got to go to the art gallery. You suck, you shoulda been there. No, I wasn't the girly who poked Raphael's "Madonna and Child." I wish. It was hella fun. Some of the pictures seemed to be glowing and crap. Like, there was this picture of two teenage girls in a window waving, so it was like me and Janis looking at them waving at us looking at them waving at us. That was great. And this one of a random canal in Venice. Kick... ass... art... *drool*. I want to be a homeless bum in the National Gallery. So that when I ask people for a dime or something, I can be like, "Hey, this is my house!" and show them the fountain with the bronze Hermes on it and my little tropical flower garden and my splendid "living room" with the oak writing desk and comfy chairs and various pompous portraits and an electric chandelier on a chain, and my kickass "private gallery" with the only Da Vinci in the western hemisphere. And I could subsist on cafeteria food and t-shirts with Monet and Whistler on them. I could be the world's most educated bum ever. Ayn Rand would hate me. I have no ambition whatsoever. Except to learn as much about world cultures as I possibly can. You know, like National Geographic stuff. I, unlike you ignorant heathens, actually read the articles. Joy. Plus, I got a nice 'peanut butter ghost' from some guy outside the art gallery for taking a survey. Rock on.

Atlas Shrugged is too damn long. I'm like 300 pages into it and dying already. I need a good, banal 'intermission novelet'. I could watch 'The Black Knight' when it comes out. It's about some guy from the Hood who gets sent to England in the 14th century. Mr. Thomas would DIE if he saw the trailer. It looks totally retarded. So I have to see it. "WHO BE YE???" "Who be I??? You be DEAD if you touch me again!" It's really banal. I don't feel like being philosophical. I argue too damn much as it is.

PS: Is it just me or does Mr. Gaffney look REALLY retarded with a mustache?
PPS: Nick, you must be in a better mood tomorrow. Or I shall be forced to backfist you again. Repeatedly. Guacup!!! Chingpao!!! I'm too lazy to slap you.

I'm reading Alex's blog. He's thinkariffic. Weird, I'm usually of the opinion that everyone is happier than I am (*insert egotistical teenage angst here*) but I guess not. Well, I know that everyone else angsts but just don't hang their dirty laundry up to dry, so most of the time I forget. It's a general rule that other people look so happy until you live with them.

I was also thinking that if I ever got a tatoo, it'd be a calligraphy Pi symbol on my hipbone. Doesn't matter which one. I dunno, it seems like a meaningful symbol of human intelligence, but not just that... but um... human integrity? People look at me funny when I tell them I want pi on my pelvis, but I really do believe that. I'm a humanist. I warned you. No one would ever be able to see it though, unless I one day chose to wear low-riding jeans and a tank top. Woo. YES that's so me. Rhinestone studded jeans and a torn spaghetti strap camo tank top. Maybe I'll get Hermes' wings tatooed on my ankles. That might be overdoing it. T wants angel wings tatooed on her back. Like Rinoa.

I wonder what Nick and Alex would get for tatoos. Andrew wouldn't get a tatoo. If I looked at him, or showed him my blog, he'd wonder a) why I'm consistantly spelling "tattoo" wrong, and b) he'd look at me over his glasses and blink, and then incredulously enunciate, "Why?" And I'd answer something really stupid like, "Um, I was just wondering" or "You'd look cool with a tatoo." And Nick... I dunno, he's flamboyant but not extroverted though he might get one just for the halibut. I don't know what of. Maybe something in Latin. Something like, "Veni, Vedi, Vici" or ...uh. I dunno. Lorenzo D' Medici's balls. Or something totally retarded like "Please mind the gap." Alex would get.. um... something symbolic and thinkariffic whose significance I'd miss. Something real manly like the logo of "Dragon Warrior." No. But I can see him doing that.

The Catapult Museum Online is down. It makes me sad. :( I was gonna design my own trabuchet.

I'm in an insufferably good mood. HA.

I like scootering. Because my bike is flat. Alex's bike isn't flat. Homaster. Rock Creek park is really nice this time of year, BTW, because the leaves are all golden and crap. I went under a bridge where cars were going over, and I climbed up the scree under the rafter/support/pylon thingies. It's kinda weird having like a ton of steel and combusting engine oil going at 50 miles an hour 3 feet above your head. It sorta sounds like you're on a beach and the surf is coming in, except it never goes out. I need to go check out
that Lunar Bridge website thing. Alex. remind me. Plus, I got water all over my feet by turning on the wrong part of the water fountain. Maybe it's for washing off dog crap or something.

My October 22 post scares me. I'm editting it. It cuss too much, and it's not very nice. Now I really wanna peanut butter sandwich.

I've been in a bad mood today. People seem to be universally pissed off at me and misconstruing things I say so that it seems like my life is a perpetual argument. I mean, even the things I do for fun are a perpetual argument. Like playing Zelda and tearing my hair out over them puzzles or reading "Atlas Shrugged", which is basically an attack on my belief system even if it's a good book and Ayn Rand's been dead for.... ?

But it's all right. Never underestimate the value of a good friend. I love you, Azzie. In a platonic way,of course. :)

http://www.sciam.com/news/062101/1.html
Dry water!

Whenever I log onto anything I always have trouble coming up with names. Sometime it's easy, if what I'm logging into has a definite audience- if it's people I know, it's usually my realname because it'd be pretty stupid to log in using a handle like MegaBabe5341 or something. I use different names to roleplay, and that isn't a problem because the people I'm roleplaying aren't supposed to be me anyways. God this is inane but I'm glad I'm typing it because 15 minutes ago when I was talking to Alex I felt that I didn't have anything to talk about, and how that always happens to me. Sometimes I just really want to write down everything I think, but I don't have a pen with me, and when I do have a pen or a keyboard with me, I don't have a thing to write. But most of that time that's when it's like the middle of the night, and the Midnight Muse has come to pay me a visit and GOD she pisses me off, because I just want to sleep and not think about jack like the meaning of life, because it isn't going to help me any. But when I'm actually writing a lot of the times I don't have naything to say. It's why I don't keep diaries. They piss me off. I piss me off. I don't like reading what I wrote.

ANYWAYS. Names. I was talking about names. I can't find the one word that defines me, and I feel there ought to be one, even if I can adequately find a word that defines that facet of my personality that I'm typing under. I should have used 'amorphous' as my name, but whatever. What the hell was I talking about? Every name I've used has its own personality like its own face, and everyone I talk to with that face see me like that.

I dunno, maybe it's not so much as me changing as people's perceptions of me, or people making me feel different in comparison to them. Hell. I want to get me a peanut butter sandwich.