Pregnant Women Can Be Frightening

Literary was yesterday. It went surprisingly well! I won first place in oral interpretation (My cause and effect monologue) which is awesome and means I'm going to state. I guess the weird part of the day was that my quartet also won first place in competition. We've won region every year I've been in high school, so I'm more than happy to finish strong, but this may have been the saddest I have ever been to win something.

Some back story: We switched regions this year. Everyone got rearranged, really, it wasn't just us, but we were put up against Columbus. Usually, Columbus was the school we were afraid of when we ran into them at state-- now, we're hitting them at region competitions. They're a magnet school for the arts, and beat us at one act this year. Their coaches are brilliant and every student in their program is fantastic. Basically, they're the big arts monster of literary and beating them in any way feels like slaying a dragon while armed with only a wooden shield and a spork for protection. Last year, we lost to their quartet at state. They got first, we were runners up. I like to think it was a close fight, but we didn't get to see them perform.

On the other hand, Central was in our previous region and was moved to our current one with us as well. Usually we're not as worried about them, but this year they surprised us with an amazing high tenor and some adorable choreography. By the end of their and Columbus's performances, we were almost sure we only had a chance for third place.

We were all extra tense about it because, with every event finished and scored other than quartet, we were one point behind Columbus for overall region-winning awesomeocity. If we got anything but first, we would get second.

After waiting for forever (because of some mixup with the judges and the way they scored versus the way they ranked) it was finally announced that we had won quartet, and therefore our school had won the competition. I was excited, but also felt rather sick to my stomach because everyone could have agreed that Columbus did better than we did. It didn't feel like winning, it felt like we had cheated them.

But the negative feelings didn't stop there! We then got to observe the crazy drama and chorus teachers in their natural habitat, duking it out. Central's coach and entire team had a hissy about the results, demanding that something was wrong and presumably believing that we had cheated and stolen away the vast hoard of gold they should have gotten for slaying the Columbus-dragon.

On top of that, they weakly contested my win in Oral Interp earlier on in the day by saying that while their student was performing someone had a phone out. Apparently, one kid in that room having a phone out is a terrible distraction that caused him to get (No, not second. No, not third.) fourth place. So basically, they were saying that a single phone being out during a round in a room full of people caused their student to drop three places.

I was getting frustrated and irritated and angry and just in general sick of all the drama, when I happened to ask who Central's coach was.

"That lady over there. The pregnant one."

"Ohhhh. Now I understand."

I Am Caleb. Hear Me Roar.

Sometimes, I get angry.

Now, this doesn't happen too terribly often, though there are a select few that get me regularly riled up, and it is usually short-lived. But when I am truly angry, everyone knows. There are several stages to my anger, and they basically go like this.

It always starts with my Oh My God, Did That Really Just Happen face. If my anger was caused in person, it is usually accompanied by some uncomfortable laughter. Sometimes I'll actually say "Oh my god, did that really just happen." This face, easily recognizable by my friends, is my immediate response to any external stimulus that makes me unhappy. It comes in many forms, though, like the Stank face (Snarl-like lip, like I'm smelling something foul on you) or the You're An Idiot face (Raise one eyebrow, lower the other, purse lips, like you just said something stupid because you probably did just say something stupid).

Soon after, it gives way to telling absolutely everyone who will listen exactly what happened. For me, negative emotions are not a personal thing. I think my brain has the idea that if I share my anger, sadness, or pain with everyone around me it will eventually disperse until all of its power is gone. It works well, usually, to be honest, as long as I don't get in trouble for not shutting my mouth soon enough. At this point, someone inevitably tries to do the stupid thing and tell me how they see the other side of the story, which gives way to the next stage.

Now that someone has pointed out to me that I could, in fact, be a human and I could, in fact, have flaws, and that the situation might have, maybe, just a little, been my fault I fold in on myself and begin having self-esteem issues about my problems and how it was all my fault and why doesn't anyone love me and he started it but he wouldn't have started it if I had just been better, tried harder, had fewer flaws, and of course we fought and everyone should fight with me and I'm going to go to the gym.

Eventually I get over it, usually that day unless it was a particularly grievous offense, and I move on with my life. I completely forget about when I was angry at the person until the NEXT time I'm angry at them, at which point I decide that the previous times had been bothering me from the beginning. Each progressive time my anger is directed at a person the mood swings get bigger and the stages get more intense. By the fifth time, I'm making chimpanzee faces, putting the story on the local news, and buying a ten gallon tub of protein powder.

And this, my friends, is just another reason why i'm insane.

Do these mood swings make me look hipster? Because I'm working on changing them! I can totally change, just give me a chance! I've been going to the gym and every-- no, don't leave! Please, no! WHY, GOD, WHY?! Oh, hey, Glee's on.

White Seeds are The Devil, or The People Responsible for Screwing Me Up

I have a tendency to define segments of my life, and who I was, by the people I was around during that time. This is completely healthy and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. My parents, the only people around to see all of these phases, can totally corroborate these stories.

The "Abusive Relationship" phase, ages 3-7

On our street there were like, two or three different kids that were around my age to hang out with, but they were all older than me. Melody, who's still my friend today, was a great and wonderful influence who was talented at everything. Unfortunately, I spent a large portion of time attempting to hang out with my next door neighbor, Blake, who was a terrible friend.

Blake: "Let's play pirates!"
Me: "Okay!
Blake: "I'm the captain! You have to walk the plank!"
Me: "But we're on a playscape tower--"
Blake: "WALK IT."
Me: "I'll fall and hurt myself!"
Blake: "Stop whining!"

And then he pushed me off of the playscape. I started crying and ran home. I pretty much cried and ran home every time I hung out with him, but I kept going back. One other time he convinced me that the little white floating seeds that come down from the sky occasionally were actually bugs that would burn your skin if they touched you. He would touch them and not get burnt, but he told me they knew he was stronger than them so they wouldn't hurt him.

I'm still afraid of those little white seeds.


The "Video Games Are All That Matters!" Phase, ages 8-10

My best friend during this period (and still the person I spend the most time with when I'm visiting Texas) was Joseph, who I had actually met a few years prior at the science fair, where he got first place and I got second, despite the fact that my ketchup-thickness race was much more applicable to the real world than his bottle rocket or whatever.

During this time I became completely entrenched in video games. Joseph introduced me to NeverWinterNights, which ate a large portion of my life, and we also played numerous other video games together, beating whatever we could get our hands on. During school we were pretty much inseperable, as well. During free time we always played with the Legos, but all I could make was something I called, like, Mister Pants, which was two long lego blocks on a rotating wheel thing. He was making starfighters and stuff, but I was content with Mister Pants.

One day during this period, our teacher asked us to chose one of us to be Wilbur in our class production of Charlotte's Web, and the other to be Templeton. I, of course, demanded the lead, and he didn't care. Thus began my career as an actor.


The "Epitome of Nerddom" Phase, ages 11-13

My best friend during this phase was Anthony, though I guess more accurately my best friends were his entire family. I spent as much time as I could over at his house, and I spent all the time doing the nerdiest things I possibly could. Magic the Gathering, Dungeons and Dragons, even some crazy things we dubbed "Adventure Games" which was basically LARPing but without rules. Group storytelling, sort of. It was pretty neat, we did some cool stuff, even if it largely consisted of:

Anthony: "What are you doing in my forest?"
Me: "Why, nothing! I was just here...TO KILL YOU!"
Anthony: "I just shot you with a bow and arrow!"
Me: "No you didn't! I already leapt into the trees!"
Anthony: "I cast a spell on the arrow so it will find you wherever you go!"
Me: "I hid behind you and then jumped out of the way! you just shot yourself with the arrow."
Anthony: "It was a trick arrow! It wasn't sharp, I was only fooling."
Me: "I'm hungry, let's go inside."

Basically, I was still three years old.


The "Dad-Box" Phase, ages 13-14

My best friend at this point was Leah, who lived across the street from me and who got along with me beautifully. We spent one whole saturday clearing out this huge junk room they had connected to her room, and we put the TV in there and watched charmed on bean bag chairs for hours and hours and hours. We watched every season of Charmed AND beat all of the Sly Cooper games. The Fergie "Duchess" CD came out around this time and we played it on a constant loop, so every time I hear "Fergalicious" I think of raccoons.

I soon became deathly afraid of the phone at her house ringing, because that meant my dad was calling and I had to go back across the street to do something for them and stop hanging out with my friend. Every time the phone rang I jumped, and I'm still uncomfortable with ringing phones. They never bode well. Ever. And they always ruin my fun.

My dad thought it would be a good idea, since I didn't have a cell phone and Leah's parents were annoyed with the constant calls, to give me a walkie-talkie he could use to order me back home. I dubbed it the Dad-box. This proved to be terrible for me, for two reasons: One, the Dad-Box made an even worse sound before he started talking than the ringing of the phone, and I grew to despise it even more, and Two, because now my dad had to only press one button and speak rather than seven, he began calling me back more often. It became a quiet war to see how I could best the Dad-box. Once I took all the batteries out and replaced them with dead ones so I could say it died and I never noticed. I would leave it at home accidentally all the time. Basically, anything that could keep me watching Charmed for a few seconds longer was worth it.


The "Oh God So Many Gay People" phase, ages 15-16

At this point, I was out of the closet and in theatre, so I was spending a lot of my time with gay people, both in and out of the closet. Basically the past few years have been filled with more flames than Chicago in 1871. The distribution of my friends shifted heavily over to the gay side, and it still is.

I had a couple of best friends during this period, but the most predominant was Matt. It's a lot harder to look at this period in an objective, funny way because it's so recent, but whatever.


The "Who Am I and What Am I Doing Here" phase, age 17-Whenever

My current phase. No real best friend, but a boyfriend, if that counts. Lots of time shifting who I hang out with and trying to figure out who I want to be. This phase doesn't have a projected end date, but there will be one when I want there to be. Hopefully in a few years I can look back on this phase of my life and have something funny to say about it, too.

I guess the point of this post is to say thank you to all of my friends throughout the years. Even if you weren't mentioned on this list, you've influenced my life and changed me in ways that have either given me complexes forever or forever made me a better person. And either way, I thank you for making me interesting.

I love all of you.

Does this cheesy ending make me look hipster?

This Post is Totally Inapprop.

So recently I've had this habit of shortening long words into smaller, cuter versions of themselves. It started out as a joke but has become an actual habit of mine. I think I got it from my mother, who says "hume" sometimes instead of "humorous" to be funny. The most common one, recently, has been that I shorten "inappropriate" to "inapprop". It's a surprisingly effective change.

Speaking of things that are inapprop, though, I had an interesting conversation with my friend Aliza today.

Aliza: "My professor is crazy. He's talking about the ridiculousness of social rituals. Like, weddings. What do you do the night before? You get drunk and ideally hire a stripper."

Me: "I don't know about strippers, but I plan on having a massive group sex party before my wedding."

Aliza: "...What."

Me: "And I've always wondered: how do orgies end? Like, I mean, when they're over, does everyone make small talk? Do they talk about it even though it just happened? 'Jolly good, old chap, I did so enjoy that!' 'Me too, good sir, it was fabulous!' Or, like, is it really awkward? 'So, yeah, Cindy, bring those papers by on Monday once you get them signed.' 'You got it, boss. ... Could you pass me my bra?' 'Here you go. Does the case look solid?' 'Well yes, but--' 'Shut up, you two, we're not done yet!' 'Right. Sorry.'"

Aliza: "Why would you ever need to know that?"

Me: "I don't know! It seems like an important thing to know about! How will I small talk my way out of an orgy later if I don't have a plan?"

Aliza: "You're ridiculous."

Not that that is our worst conversation. She's basically my go-to for awkward conversations about things that I don't feel comfortable asking anyone else. The other day I questioned her about 'clitoral engorgement' because my friend decided to tell me about it but was very vague. Suffice it to say that yes, it is as disgusting and weird as it sounds, but is perfectly natural and fascinating. Just like everything else that has to do with genitalia.

Having some drama about my plans this weekend. Hopefully it gets resolved.

Does this obsession with the inapprop make me look hipst?

Teddy Bear/Hound Dog

So, the topic of my sexuality, and dating in general, hasn't really been brought up on the blog yet, so let's rectify that. I've had some interesting events occur in the last year or so regarding who is my current boyfriend, and of course, my mind has found a way to tie it to musical theater. But we'll get to that later.

Basically, I'm dating someone for the second time. Gasp, what, I don't even, how could you. I know. About a year and a half ago, when we were in school together, we dated. He was just coming to terms with the fact that he liked men (And I had been out since freshman year) so there was a bit of an issue there, but we kind of tried to work around it. But, in the beginning, there was like a three day period where I was ridiculously happy with the fact that there was actually someone around my age who was gay and attracted to me, and I was blissfully seated in that "talking" stage that shouldn't exist but totally does anyway. Then the drama surprised me from behind, like a loogie spat by a llama you just fed.

This drama-llama came in the form of Facebook, which, as you know, is basically the end-all when it comes to relationships. I, drunk on my excitement, requested that I be able to put that I was 'in a relationship' on Facebook, even if he wasn't tagged on it, as he still had a foot in the closet. He agreed, reluctantly, so I did so. And then my neck got a huge wad of snot all over it.

And then he broke up with me the next day.

Sort of.

He had a minor freak-out, and I got angry, then he got angry, and then we were both really angry and then we didn't speak to each other for a year.

Suddenly, I start getting text messages every morning. Before I get up, I have a good morning text. Even if I completely ignored it, before I went to bed, I had a goodnight text. I was still angry and resentful of our previous encounter, but I started opening up and responding more and more the more he persisted. At first, and I guess this is exactly why I feel more okay about our relationship now, I was a total douche in response to everything that was sent to me, and sometimes I'd ignore text messages just because I could. But eventually I started responding, and he kept trying, and I finally decided to consider dating him again.

And, here we are. And it's going well so far. But, I mean, we aren't without our fair share of drama this time. I won't go into it here, since there are still some issues with who can and can't know we're dating, but suffice it to say he'll be leaving for an extended period of time, soon, and it'll suck when he does. Especially if I continue to build feelings for him at the rate I am now, I will be crushed when he leaves.

But anyway, this is related to my musical theater interests because our musical this year is All Shook Up, an Elvis jukebox musical. Why yes, that does sound terrible, and yes, I am apprehensive, but the best song on the album is a medley of Teddy Bear and Hound Dog, in which the main character, Chad, attempts to convince a love interest, Sandra, that she should be with him. However, Sandra believes him to be a silly scoundrel that isn't worth her time. And I guess it sort of felt like that between me and my current boyfriend, for a while. He tried for probably about three months to convince me that he was worthwhile, and I spat things back at him that were probably pretty hurtful. But he stuck with me, and I'm glad he did.

I even held back on the mushiness and this post was still a little sickly sweet, and not funny at all. Oh, well. I'm sure my ability to blog humorously will reappear sometime.

Does this alternative lifestyle make me look hipster?

It Feels so Good to Burn

This:

That is me. Doing a piece for forensics right now. So, you can check it out if you want, not the best performance, but when is it ever? A work in progress. it was written by Aliza Goldstein, check her out by clicking her name, and she has a post about it. Also, if you want to do the piece at some point in the future (but please, I beg you, not for the 2011 Forensics season) she has it posted up there, as well. And she's clever and funny, so read her blog. 

Does this love of the arts make me look hipster?

Squawk

This is my summary of Black Swan in one picture:

Craswalet?

This is my summary of Black Swan in one sentence:

Lesbians are weird.

I went and saw it with a lesbian but she doesn't count.

So. Yeah. If you don't already want to see it just based on that, there's something wrong with you.

Does this love of the bizarre make me look hipster?

My blog wanted me to title this post "JAKE SHEARS"

Me: "I want to be famous. It's kind of a problem."

A.L.: "DREAMS ARE NOT PROBLEMS!"

Me: "They are if you have to deal with Freddy. Or Jason. Whichever one, you know, did the stuff with the dreams."

A.L.: "OR IF IT'S FUCKING INCEPTION!"

I think I'm just going to start putting quotes of silly conversations I have with my friends at the start of my posts now. This post will not have an overall point unless I find it somewhere in the mess.

I'm a senior, and it's sort of crazy to be in my last semester of grade school...ever. I guess, theoretically, I could still fail every class and not be able to graduate and go to college, but that is highly unlikely. 

I would like to apologize for writing so well for like two weeks and then totally stopping. I didn't want to write the second half of the interpol post because I was afraid it wouldn't stand up to the first one, and now I'm at the point where it is probably never going to be written. I promise that from this moment forward, I will look for interesting things to blog about and story arcs to pursue, and hopefully writing at all will reinspire my creativity, and get me out of this silly funk I've been in for a few months.

I have some intense forensics competitions coming up, one of the most important of which being state, as it is my last chance to get a state ring. I don't even care about the honor, the glory, or the fame, I just want a state ring. And this year, I will get one, even if I have to compete in every single debate event to get it. At least, I hope so. 

I swear I will fine things to talk about. I swear.

Does this lack of interesting subjects make me look hipster?

No. No it doesn't.

Being boring is totally un-hipster.

Literature

I'm really good at literary BS. I took a literature test a few weeks ago, I had read maybe half of the short stories, and I got a hundred. I should probably get a phD in Literature Analysis.

I'd write my dissertation on 'How to BS Literary Knowledge'.

It would say:

"Like this."

And then spend the other four minutes drawing the cover art.

Why yes, I do have a zillion assignments due tomorrow and finals this week, thank you for asking. Does this procrastination make me look hipster?

Edit:: I forgot his mane a little. Also he's a pygmy unicorn.

Edit:: My friend B.O. (Haha, his initials) said he was lacking sparkles. I told him not to make fun of my unicorn, he's disabled, and he should be jealous because my sparkle-deficient pygmy unicorn gets better parking spaces than he does.

WonderTwin Bloggers, Activate! Form of: Part One of a Story Arc!

Warning: This post is going to be a little different. Erica and I are combining our powers to form a super-post. Erica's pictures. My writing. These are the ingredients chosen to create the perfect little girl an awesome blog post! Let us know what you think about this method. Also, this post is enormous and will be two different posts, spread out over a day or two.

BEGIN PART ONE: THE SETUP

Sunday night, I slept for maybe three hours. I couldn't sleep, tried for a very long time, then got on the computer and did nothing until 3:00, at which point I laid back down and couldn't sleep for at least another half hour before I woke up, angrily, at 6:30. I dragged myself out of the shower and got ready for school, quietly promising myself that as soon as I got home I would take a nap. My parents had designated me to babysit that night, which pretty much meant I could sleep. They're self-sufficient, and only play with knives like once every three hours, when they get really bored with the power tools I give them to entertain themselves with.

Unfortunately, the world had other plans. During fourth block I got a text message from my father, explaining that I may, in fact, not be babysitting, but would instead be accompanying him to an Interpol concert, because my stepmother was terribly sick and therefore could not enjoy herself on such a long outing to Atlanta, that could possibly last until the wee hours of the morning. I'm like 95% sure she had typhoid, which totally sucked because Interpol is apparently one of her favorite bands.

"We have two hundred couches where you can--hackcoughwheezeneighcough!."

I knew we wouldn't be leaving until my father got home, so I rushed to my bed and began napping. Unfortunately, he got home maybe ten minutes later, telling me that I would most definitely would be going to the concert, and that I also needed to take out the trash and clean the kitchen.

Totally unfair.

When that was done, I laid back down, but the minute my head hit the pillow he yelled that we were leaving in five minutes, and I wasn't even dressed yet. I stumbled around until I had clothes on and then stumbled into the car. My Jason recognized that I was ridiculously tired, and decided to remedy the situation by taking me to a QuikTrip and getting me a giant PIBB XTRA: THE ARTIFICIALLY FLAVORED CHERRY SODA!

Or else.

This was a great idea, except for the fact that anyone who knows me know that being tired already makes me loopy, and throwing caffeine on top of that sort of makes me ridiculous. Luckily, it took a while to sink in and I wasn't too obnoxious on the car ride, but we got to the concert and I really needed to use the restroom. The concert was at a gutted out old church called the Tabernacle, which I'm pretty sure is sacrilegious or something but Jesus would totally have loved Rock n' Roll. 

"Stairway to Heaven! Freebird!"

Anyway, we got settled in to our seats, but when we walked in and tried to sit down the first time, this really chill usher was like "Hey, guys, the first five rows on this side are taken, and the first three are taken on that side." We nodded, and sat in our places. As my Jason went to get me another soda, though, I slowly watched him become less chill as people tried to sit in those seats, over and over. It was like the newcomers thought we were all, of course, way too stupid to sit directly in front because we were imbeciles compared to them. 

Usher: "Guys, first five rows on this side and first three on that side are taken."

Everyone, the first time he says this: "Huh? What'd you say?"

Usher: "You can't sit there."

Everyone: "Can't sit where?"

Usher: "First three rows on this side, first five on that side."

Everyone: "Oh, okay."

After this cycle repeated about twelve times, though, he became very terse.

A group of three guys sat next to my Jason and me, and I was on their side. There was a tall and skinny dude with his hat on backwards who didn't dance, but just kind of pelvic thrusted vigorously to the beat the whole time: 

...According to Erica he was Caramelldansen.

Then a larger guy who basically just texted and sat in his chair and didn't really look like he was enjoying himself:

A portrait of the modern age.

And then a bald guy in his twenties, who sat next to me and who was pretty cool and kind of muscular, and though he claimed to be the most awkward, he was actually pretty cool even if he did like to randomly climb things in order to not have to walk through the crowds of people:

Or at least the most normal.

I never learned any of their names, so lets call them Cory, Rod, and Jimmy.

Jimmy saw my Dragon*con watch, which is basically intense, and was like "Whoa, what a classy watch you have there!" and I was like "Yeah, I got it at Dragon*con!" And he was like "Bahahaha. Wow. You're totally a loser. You don't play dungeons and dragons, do you?"

"I used to."

"What about World of Warcraft?"

"God no. It feels like work."

And thus, we began talking throughout the whole concert. 

It started on a little bit of an awkward note, because the guy asked if I was here with my dad. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, except my Jason thinks it's hilarious if he points out that he is, in fact, the one into good music, and he dragged me here because he is way more awesome than I am and isn't it weird that he has a son who isn't into rock concerts because he totally is and you're jealous you don't have a dad just like him.

...Maybe my Real Dad was Pibb Xtra.

Afterwards, Jimmy asked me how old I was. I said 17, and there was a brief awkward pause. And then he said "You aren't turning 18 tomorrow or anything, are you?"

Which I immediately interpreted as:

You wanna go out sometime?

But what of course really meant:

Go Vote!

There was an inevitable awkward silence after that, as well, as I tried to figure out how to respond, but then he clarified by saying something about voting and I breathed a sigh of relief. I mean, we had just established that I was here with my dad. He was drinking, but not that much.

I'm basically just a failure at communicating with real people and understanding delicate things like social cues.

Luckily the opening band, The White Rabbits, came on about then.

But you don't get to hear about it yet! Ha-ha.

TO BE CONTINUED!

Next time, on Does This Make Me Look Hipster, there will be mystery! Intrigue! Primates! And a little bit of Interpol.

Oh God, Clay Aiken is My Real Dad

So I saw an Interpol concert last night, and I'll have a big long post about that later, but I think it requires Erica's drawings to do it justice, so it's being postponed as awesomeness takes some time to create. So, I'll move on to other news.

My mouth, which was previously approximately 25% foreign material, is now probably more like 50% foreign material, which I think probably qualifies it for healthcare benefits and a scholarship, because it's legally a cyborg.

Can I get racial scholarships, too?

So, I spent today briefly having a panic attack/meltdown because I had a mild lisp and then I got angry about it and it became more than mild because of my panic and eventually I was a quivering mass of tearth.

My tearth are a thad thubthitute for the mithery in my thoul.

I have a show tomorrow and a competition in three days, so I was freaking out about my inability to talk when it was my job to talk. I didn't want to be another excuse for the show to stink. I immediately called my Dad and demanded the intruder be kicked out of my oral castle immediately, but he called the dentist's receptionist and she said they would charge me like $300, and since I just got it in today, that wasn't going to happen. Enter Aliza:

The 'A' is for 'Advice'.

I texted Aliza complaining about it, and she told me to man up and work on making the lisp disappear, so I'd stop sounding like Clay Aiken. But I was having no luck! I couldn't make it go away. Thankfully, a Publix lady saw me crying and handed me a free cookie. I'm pretty sure she was fate in disguise, because she gave me one with sprinkles and it concealed the solution to my problem.

I bit into the cookie and said something to my father. And while all the words were garbled messes of cookie, the "S" sounds came out clearly. I tried a couple times, and discovered that if I kept my teeth separated just the right amount (about enough for a bite of cookie) I could say words without slurring them.

Made of Sprinkles and Magic

Somewhere in this, K.M. posted on my Facebook status about it that I looked kind of like Clay Aiken. He was joking (I hope) but I searched Clay Aiken's pictures and I found this picture of me from ninth grade celebrity day (I was the Flying Spaghetti Monster) and one of Clay Aiken's pictures.

The resemblance is (unfortunately) uncanny.

Aliza came to the only logical conclusion: Clay Aiken is my Real Dad. No, that's not the name of a terrible reality T.V. show, (though that gives me some ideas) it's a serious problem, with some serious genetic implications. Guys, this means you do pass the gay.

The more you know.  Oh well, maybe I can collect some serious child support, though me and my mother are going to have to have a talk about her Gaydar. As Aliza and I said when he came out, "I thought he already was? What is this madness." I have to go practice tongue twisters.

She sells sea shells by the sea shore. She sells thea shells-- NO!


Does this speech impediment make me look hipster?

Who Are You And What Are You Doing To My Holidays?

So, someone decided Halloween was Saturday, in the south.

I'm serious. Apparently Jesus is too good for Halloween.

Well, I have news for you, The South:

His insides were pie'd for your sins.

Jesus loves Halloween.

 It's religious, anyway! You dressed in costumes to scare away the devils, demons, goblins and ghouls. What could be more holy than scaring away everything that is, by definition, unholy? Is it okay to scare away those you see as evil with your shotguns and your vicious treatment, but not with costumes?

My Jason mentioned something about a parish nearby that made it illegal for people to trick-or-treat on Sunday. That you could be fined, or thrown in jail. What makes that okay?

Holidays have dates! We've celebrated them on those dates for years! It's ridiculous to just randomly decide to change it for reasons you don't really understand. I guess I kind of want to hear comments on this one, you guys. What makes Halloween unholy? It's original meaning has been so butchered anyway it's not like it means anything but 'give us candy, we're wearing costumes'. It shouldn't be a problem, unless God hates costumes and candy, in which case I'm doomed, being an actor with a sweet tooth.

My Cellphone Likes to Tease Me

When my cell phone is by my computer, which is pretty much all the time when I'm at home, my speakers make a buzzing noise like they a really consistent cough, or like they're hacking up a hairball. Usually, this is a reliable way to know whether or not I'm going to get a text message.

Unfortunately, sometimes it causes this cough-ball for a few seconds, but doesn't get any text messages. I, being who I am and desperately wanting attention from anyone who could possibly get it at any time, get excited at the buzz because it means someone wants to talk to me.

And then I don't get a message.

It's hard to describe the feeling I get at being let down like this. On a scale of one to devastated, it's somewhere around parents-forgot-to-pick-me-up-from-elementary-school.

"Well, sorry kid. I'm going home. Hope they show up!"

Oh well.

Does this personification of inanimate objects make me look hipster?

Vacuums: Creations of the Devil

I have an unreasonable fear that every vacuum I have ever used doesn't really work.

I have always kind of imagined that after sucking up the debris and garbage, the evil vacuum cackles maniacally to itself and spews the garbage back out when I'm not looking, but in a more spread-out way so that I don't notice until I think I've finished vacuuming and then I have to go back and do it again. And if I don't go back and re-vacuum it, I'm afraid that it will accumulate quickly and I will have to vacuum all over again in a very short amount of time.

Basically, vacuums are evil.

We have a little vacuum with a supersuction arm that is more handheld, which we use for our stairs. I've named him Satan. Here, I'll draw you a picture of it and how I'm pretty sure it works:

Or maybe that's not how vacuums work at all. I don't know.

The problem is that I imagine everything I suck up goes flying out the butt immediately after I suck it up.

Fetii?

So, every time I vacuum I'm constantly staring at Satan's butt hoping that he doesn't poop out the flies that I'm currently trying to clean off of the stairs. When I approached my Kim about it, she confessed similar fears but they weren't quite as drastic as mine. She assured me there was a filter, but I still had to stare at the butt just in case.

So, that's why I spent my morning staring at Satan's Butt.


Does my lack of artistic ability make me look hipster?

The Weekend That Should Have Been Real

How My Weekend Should Have Been

Friday

• 100,000 sq. ft. total-immersion experience of the zombie apocalypse in Atlanta with friends, in which I would have squealed with terror, but in a gleeful way, like a seven year old being scared by her dad. Her zombie dad.
• Rocky Horror Picture Show at midnight with a bunch of crazy people throwing things at each other and yelling things at the screen, which is pretty much my idea of what Heaven is like. Minus the stains on the carpet, and the B.O.

Saturday

• Movies with, and numerous opportunities to make fun of, A.G.

Sunday

• Halloween, and whatever that entails.

How My Weekend Is Going

Friday

• Ride to Atlanta canceled.
• Sat in front of the computer. Played around with a blog.
• Made a twitter.
• Sat in front of the computer some more.
• Played way too much Project Legacy.

Saturday

• A.G. canceled. 
• Went to Not So Scary, so that was pretty good.
• Sat around on the computer.
• Played way too much Project Legacy.
• Whined.

Maybe Sunday will be better, and I mean, having a blog is pretty cool. Especially with Erica helping out.

Whiiiiiiiiiine.

Does this pathetic self-pity make me look hipster?

Peer Pressure

So once upon a time, I had a friend who had this great idea to start his own blog about being such a hip guy or something.
(I'm pretty sure he just wanted attention.)
Shortly after, he started joking about me posting with him.

Oh, ha ha ha! Such a funny friend he was.


And then I realized he was serious.


Does my lack of enthusiasm make me look hipster, Caleb?

Furiijio Likes to Run

At least he's hardy.

Also long walks on the beach, and pretty flowers.

Guys, it has no legs.

If ever there was a randomized personality, it was this Pokemon's. Seriously though, there is a bigger problem here:

Pokemon have one-sentence personalities.

Your beloved creatures are simplified to "Eats pastries on Sundays", or "Slaughtered its entire family". This game obviously doesn't understand the emotional depth of your Pokemon. They don't get that your Pokemon get sad if they sit in your box for forever, or get jealous if they're never given a chance to fight. They just "Like to run", without legs.

In Furiijio's case, his personality is a cruel joke on his life. He likes to run, but will never have the opportunity-- he simply hovers. His only defining characteristic is his wish to gallop, to saunter, but he has to go through life floating. The only way it could be worse would be if his personality sentence was "likes to play in volcanoes", or something, but this is pretty horrible.

It's like they're making fun of the disabled.

I would like a moment of silence for Furiijio.

Not everybody has legs.

Does this attachment to fictional characters make me look hipster?

This is Totally How I Remember my Childhood

So, I was super pretentious and full of myself as a kid. The vast majority of grades K-7 can be summed up like this, by my recollection:

TEACHERS

Wow! Check this kid out! He's a genius!

ME

Chill out, Guys. Just because I have a college-age reading level in kindergarten--

TEACHERS

GEEEENIUUUUUUS. You should totally skip a grade!

RANDOM TEACHER

Skipping a grade is scary. Not very many people pass the test, and then they cry.

ME

Crying is terrible! I don't want to take the test!

PARENTS

It's your choice, our little genius sweetheart.

TEACHERS

Well, then, no skipped grade for you.

FUTURE ME

Why didn't I-- but I could have-- damn it.

THIRD GRADE TEACHER

We're going to do Charlotte's Web for our play. Now, either Joseph or Caleb is going to be Wilbur. You guys choose.

JOSEPH

Well, I mean-- I guess I could-- If given the opportunity--

ME

I'LL DO IT!

THIRD GRADE TEACHER

Sweet. Caleb gets the lead, Joseph is a rat.

JOSEPH

That's cool, I guess.

DRAMA TEACHERS FROM THEN ON

Whoa, you can understand subtexts, connotations, and inflection?! GENIUS!

ME

Another lead role? Wow, I would say that was unexpected except it totally wasn't.

EVERYONE

Stop being so full of yourself!

ME

If I was anything but modest, I would think everyone thought I was cocky.

EVERYONE

We do!

ME

Well, I'm gonna have long hair.

EVERYONE

YOU LOOK LIKE A GIRL!

ME

No, I totally don't!

EVERYONE

YES YOU DO!

ME

Okay, fine, I do. I'll cut it.

EVERYONE (ESPECIALLY MY DAD)

Thank God!

And those are pretty much all the events I remember from my childhood. Great, huh?

Do these memories make me look hipster?

A Real Place that is Totally Unreal

Over the summer, I stayed in Costa Rica with my Aunt, Uncle, and two cousins. My aunt updates a blog periodically with Costa Rican recipes and pictures of their beautiful houses that you guys should totally check out. They have a cabin and what amounts to a castle that they built from the ground up. It's beautiful.

Learning Life Through Trial and Error

Staying in Costa Rica was an amazing experience, but make sure you have someone who speaks fluent Spanish with you at all times-- I speak a little French, but my Spanish is super lacking. Thankfully, we had my uncle around, and my stepmom used to teach Spanish!

Does all this foreign traveling make me look hipster?

I Have a Twitter. No, for Real!

I have a Twitter. I don't know why. Check it out!

@totallyhipster

It will probably be just as uninteresting as this blog is right now.


Does this trendy website make me look hipster?