I call myself a writer (sometimes) but I suppose the correct term would be scribbler. I've written everything from poems (which I can usually finish) to the beginnings of maybe 100 novels (which I never finish). I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing but I am always writing something, even if it's just this - a blog. Perhaps it's my upbringing as an only child that led to this - having to entertain myself by devising elaborate fantasies in which everything is perfect, or, the reverse, everything is so much more messed up than my real life. But since I was a child, I was always writing.
I'm a secretive writer, mostly. Especially when it comes to stories. I don't like sharing my work with others. Poems I'm a little less private about. Be it on my now defunct Xanga page, or as notes on facebook, or as class projects, I've never had much problem putting 30 lines of prose out for others to see. But when I'm writing fiction, as is my m.o., I tend to hide it away in folders, or squirreled away in locked files on my laptop. It's been that way as long as I can remember. I don't really have an answer as to why. I'm usually embarrassed of the topic I choose to write about, whether I think I'll be caught plagiarizing or I feel my ideas are just stupid. I have never been comfortable sharing with the people around me.
The embarrassment, which shouldn't be so great a factor, is actually one of the most important factors of everything I do in life. I'm a very easily embarrassed person. I blush easily, and I tend to shut down when I feel I've made an ass of myself in some way. I know everyone gets embarrassed, and maybe I'm just overreacting, but it's actually caused a lot of stress to me in life.
I can remember being maybe five or six, and saying something completely absurd to my parents and grandparents and then running, horrified, from the room to hide behind the bed. I had only said some ridiculous thing any child might have said, but being laughed at bothered me so much that I hid from my family - the people who, by definition, loved me regardless. Maybe it was growing up the fat kid and being made the center of attention in a negative way that caused me to be so careful and wary of what others thought of me. I've had my moments where I enjoy being the center of attention. For example, I like to be the one who makes people laugh. And I'm pretty good at it, if I do say so myself. But when it comes to serious conversations and dark secrets, I'm a little more selective. This whole blog experiment notwithstanding, I tend to limit my revelations to people who I feel I can trust.
I also take rejection very, very badly. So in a way, it's a defense mechanism to keep all these deeply personal things private. Regardless of how good or bad I may think my writing is, I don't share it with other people because I'm absolutely horrified that they would have the wrong reaction. Whether they laugh at it, mock it, hate it, love it, it terrifies me that I can't control their reaction. Maybe I've spent too long letting my neuroses run my life, but at this point, I really don't know any other way.
This whole post is proof of my inability to stay on topic, so perhaps the natural segue is to talk about how I NEVER FINISH ANYTHING. I am not exaggerating when I say I've started to write at least 100 novels. God knows why. It's a ridiculous undertaking that I will probably NEVER pursue, but I still start them. Some are only written out in outline, some have a few paragraphs, some are 100 pages long. But they're all unfinished. Either I got bored with them, realized I was just re-writing a book I'd read, or a movie I'd seen, or I just hated where it was going, but they're all abandoned. I flit back through them, occasionally. Pretend I'll pick up where I left off, or start somewhere new and hopefully bridge the gap later, but I never get far. I think I've written in every genre that interests me at least ten times. And I cringe when I read through most of them. Others, I think might be good, if they were finished, but that would mean I'D have to finish them, and, well, that's not going to happen. Between the three computers I've spent my life writing on, I have at least 30 stories on each. And it actually makes me cringe to go back through them, sometimes. For example, when I was 12, I started writing what I thought was going to be a great story. I wrote over 100 pages of this book and had a billion characters and plotlines, and all these improbable situations. I left it alone and started something else within a year, but in high school, I powered up my old computer and read through it... And nearly died of embarrassment. Why? I couldn't tell you. No one else had, or would, ever read it. I was the only one. And yet I was so embarrassed for myself. It was easily the worst thing ever written. It still makes me cringe just thinking about it. I wonder if I'll ever write something that I'm actually secure about. Maybe someday in the distant future, I'll have some brilliant idea that doesn't make me want to stab myself. Thus far, not the case.
Poems have always come easy to me. Whether they be rhyming verse (trite though it may be, I was damn good at it) or free verse (which I'm still a bit iffy on) I can usually jot one down in a matter of minutes when the muse descends. I never set out to write them, but when I get the idea for one, I HAVE to write it, right then, no matter where I am. Having a notepad on my smartphone has made this process sooo much easier to facilitate. Before, you'd find me scribbling on receipt paper while at work, desperately trying to finish the verse that appeared in my head before it was gone. Some of these I like, some I don't, but I don't usually have a problem showing other people. Which makes no sense. When I'm writing stories, they're usually all fiction, maybe a detail here or there borrowed from my life or the life of someone I know. But when I write poetry, it's almost always hyper-personal. But these, I'll show around to anyone. Someone make that make sense.
Well, as this add rant fest comes to an end, I guess I'll just sum up by saying I'm a weirdo. And that's ok with me. Also, I am absolutely writing this to justify NOT paying attention to the plot of a story I'm currently writing. Because it makes me cringe.
Ciao
----Alamo
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Demons
As life likes to throw me curve balls, I'm always struck by the concept of coping mechanisms. I want to start off by saying this post is not a cry for help, me begging for pity, or something I'm ashamed of. This is merely what's on my mind and what I feel like writing. I'm not in crisis, I don't need help, but thank you. I debated writing it at all, but when I started this darn thing, the whole point was that I was going to be honest with myself. Yes, I'm more than just a nerd, I'm a girl. I have my own laundry list of issues like every other human being on the planet. I have limits. And lately, I find them tested.
First, a fun and exciting backstory. I did not have an especially happy childhood. (I know, I know, cry me a river.) I was the designated target for every bully in my elementary school and I learned to hate myself before I even knew who I was. Good times. Most kids my age were enjoying their friends, and having fun, and dealing with the day to day stuff that happens to everyone. I, meanwhile, was more depressed at age ten than most people I know have ever been. I eventually grew out of it, somewhat, and learned to let myself be and not be ashamed of who I was. That being said, it's still a struggle sometimes not to fall into old habits. In thinking about how I've learned to cope with stress and anxiety, I think about the many failed methods I had growing up.
For example, I used to wear this gray coat every day over my clothes in elementary school. It doesn't seem like much, but it was my security blanket. As long as I had it on, I was inside my shell where nothing could touch me. I had a physical barrier between myself and the people surrounding me. It wasn't too terribly meaningful, but it gave me somewhere to hide. As I got older, I started spending time without it on, and realized that, even though I felt more vulnerable, I felt I was worth more without it, if that makes any sense. So I eventually quit wearing it altogether. A breakthrough, of sorts.
After that, my mechanism became the idea of crazy. And I still struggle with falling back on that one. The way this started was weird. I got out of the worst grade of my life (5th) and into a great classroom with a fantastic teacher who made me feel valued. And I kind of let loose. I was hyper, and loud, and outspoken and channeled all the emotions I'd had into being, well, obnoxious. But it was still better than being a zombie in a gray coat. So I more or less invented this persona of the crazy girl. My classmates would still laugh at me, but in a kinder way. Progress. This continued up through middle school. The more out there I let myself be, the less chance that people would judge me on the things I couldn't change. My appearance wasn't a factor, it was my personality. For some reason, I thought it better that people judge me for being the crazy girl instead of the fat girl, or the ugly girl. Maybe not the healthiest of ways to take it, but it worked well enough.
By high school, I had mellowed out a little bit. Not completely off the walls crazy, but not crawl into myself shy and awkward either. But when things did get stressful and difficult, I had to come up with new ways of coping. I, like so many others, began to injure myself as a means of coping with stress and pain. I'm not justifying my behavior, I'm certainly not endorsing it in others, and I'm absolutely not proud of what I did. But at the time, it helped me get by, albeit extremely unhealthily. I managed to maintain a normal(for me) life and had friends - lots of them. I felt validated by my peers, but not by myself, apparently.
After high school, I had a bit of a downward spiral. My first semester of college, I commuted to a local university while most of my close friends moved away. I felt left out, abandoned even. And I was miserable. So I thought a change of venue would help. I spent the second semester living in the dorms at a state university two hours away. This did wonders for my social life, but not much for my academic record, so I was not invited to come back the following year. In short, I'd blown my chances in school because I was too caught up in my social life. (Life: 1, Alamo: 0) I moved back home and became increasingly more depressed, working a series of terrible jobs and slowly descending into livable insanity. And eventually, I cracked. At an all time low, I checked myself into a psychiatric hospital to try and find a better way to cope with my problems. The first time left me shell-shocked, after baring my soul in group therapy and realizing a few things about myself and my home life that were making me so unhappy. But when I got out, I couldn't adjust, and ended up going back in for the second time just a few weeks later. I did ok for a while after that. I went to therapy, used my coping mechanisms, and took my meds. But I hated feeling like a zombie. I wasn't depressed. But I wasn't happy. I wasn't anything. I felt numb to everything, good and bad, in my life. Ten months after my first hospitalization, I checked myself in for a third (and let's hope) final time. After that, I was determined to change how I reacted to my problems and not fall back on the hospital every time things got hard. And, though this is not recommended for anyone else, nor do I have any degree backing up this decision, I made the decision to discontinue taking my meds. I backed off them slowly and started to remember that there were things I missed about being able to feel.
I'd be lying if I said things have been perfect since then. I'm still a mess, most days. My anxiety keeps me from leaving the house, some days. I constantly panic in social situations and I generally feel like a mess. But, I don't hurt myself, I don't abuse drugs or alcohol, and I keep myself away from triggers in my life. Occasionally, something will come my way that I'm not expecting, and yes, I'll admit, my first instinct tends to be to either hurt myself or withdraw from everyone. But I don't do either. I'm actually pretty proud of that. I've managed to keep away from my most addictive behaviors, the ones that made me feel better than any drug, for years now. I don't have things figured out. I don't know how I get out of bed most days. But despite how ominous that sounds, I'm actually kind of happy. Stressed, anxious, neurotic and ocd, but overall, I'm pretty ok.
I may have my downsides, but for all my crap, I've gotten pretty good at facing down my demons.
That's all the brain vomit I have for you today, Interwebs.
Yours,
Alamo
Because it needs to be adressed, if you're suffering from depression, anxiety, thoughts of suicide or self-injury, please contact someone for help. Help is Out there , just ask for it. It will get better.
24-hour Crisis hotline
1-800-784-2433
First, a fun and exciting backstory. I did not have an especially happy childhood. (I know, I know, cry me a river.) I was the designated target for every bully in my elementary school and I learned to hate myself before I even knew who I was. Good times. Most kids my age were enjoying their friends, and having fun, and dealing with the day to day stuff that happens to everyone. I, meanwhile, was more depressed at age ten than most people I know have ever been. I eventually grew out of it, somewhat, and learned to let myself be and not be ashamed of who I was. That being said, it's still a struggle sometimes not to fall into old habits. In thinking about how I've learned to cope with stress and anxiety, I think about the many failed methods I had growing up.
For example, I used to wear this gray coat every day over my clothes in elementary school. It doesn't seem like much, but it was my security blanket. As long as I had it on, I was inside my shell where nothing could touch me. I had a physical barrier between myself and the people surrounding me. It wasn't too terribly meaningful, but it gave me somewhere to hide. As I got older, I started spending time without it on, and realized that, even though I felt more vulnerable, I felt I was worth more without it, if that makes any sense. So I eventually quit wearing it altogether. A breakthrough, of sorts.
After that, my mechanism became the idea of crazy. And I still struggle with falling back on that one. The way this started was weird. I got out of the worst grade of my life (5th) and into a great classroom with a fantastic teacher who made me feel valued. And I kind of let loose. I was hyper, and loud, and outspoken and channeled all the emotions I'd had into being, well, obnoxious. But it was still better than being a zombie in a gray coat. So I more or less invented this persona of the crazy girl. My classmates would still laugh at me, but in a kinder way. Progress. This continued up through middle school. The more out there I let myself be, the less chance that people would judge me on the things I couldn't change. My appearance wasn't a factor, it was my personality. For some reason, I thought it better that people judge me for being the crazy girl instead of the fat girl, or the ugly girl. Maybe not the healthiest of ways to take it, but it worked well enough.
By high school, I had mellowed out a little bit. Not completely off the walls crazy, but not crawl into myself shy and awkward either. But when things did get stressful and difficult, I had to come up with new ways of coping. I, like so many others, began to injure myself as a means of coping with stress and pain. I'm not justifying my behavior, I'm certainly not endorsing it in others, and I'm absolutely not proud of what I did. But at the time, it helped me get by, albeit extremely unhealthily. I managed to maintain a normal(for me) life and had friends - lots of them. I felt validated by my peers, but not by myself, apparently.
After high school, I had a bit of a downward spiral. My first semester of college, I commuted to a local university while most of my close friends moved away. I felt left out, abandoned even. And I was miserable. So I thought a change of venue would help. I spent the second semester living in the dorms at a state university two hours away. This did wonders for my social life, but not much for my academic record, so I was not invited to come back the following year. In short, I'd blown my chances in school because I was too caught up in my social life. (Life: 1, Alamo: 0) I moved back home and became increasingly more depressed, working a series of terrible jobs and slowly descending into livable insanity. And eventually, I cracked. At an all time low, I checked myself into a psychiatric hospital to try and find a better way to cope with my problems. The first time left me shell-shocked, after baring my soul in group therapy and realizing a few things about myself and my home life that were making me so unhappy. But when I got out, I couldn't adjust, and ended up going back in for the second time just a few weeks later. I did ok for a while after that. I went to therapy, used my coping mechanisms, and took my meds. But I hated feeling like a zombie. I wasn't depressed. But I wasn't happy. I wasn't anything. I felt numb to everything, good and bad, in my life. Ten months after my first hospitalization, I checked myself in for a third (and let's hope) final time. After that, I was determined to change how I reacted to my problems and not fall back on the hospital every time things got hard. And, though this is not recommended for anyone else, nor do I have any degree backing up this decision, I made the decision to discontinue taking my meds. I backed off them slowly and started to remember that there were things I missed about being able to feel.
I'd be lying if I said things have been perfect since then. I'm still a mess, most days. My anxiety keeps me from leaving the house, some days. I constantly panic in social situations and I generally feel like a mess. But, I don't hurt myself, I don't abuse drugs or alcohol, and I keep myself away from triggers in my life. Occasionally, something will come my way that I'm not expecting, and yes, I'll admit, my first instinct tends to be to either hurt myself or withdraw from everyone. But I don't do either. I'm actually pretty proud of that. I've managed to keep away from my most addictive behaviors, the ones that made me feel better than any drug, for years now. I don't have things figured out. I don't know how I get out of bed most days. But despite how ominous that sounds, I'm actually kind of happy. Stressed, anxious, neurotic and ocd, but overall, I'm pretty ok.
I may have my downsides, but for all my crap, I've gotten pretty good at facing down my demons.
That's all the brain vomit I have for you today, Interwebs.
Yours,
Alamo
Because it needs to be adressed, if you're suffering from depression, anxiety, thoughts of suicide or self-injury, please contact someone for help. Help is Out there , just ask for it. It will get better.
24-hour Crisis hotline
1-800-784-2433
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Lost Girl
No, it's not a new emo-laden craze. It's the girls' version of the lost boys (J.M. Barrie forgot us. Dick.) Basically, a lost boy is a boy who has found his way to never never land and lives there forever fighting pirates and clock-ingesting crocodiles, chilling with Peter Pan and Tinkerbell and also, there are mermaids. Yeah. I'm thinking I'd like a piece of that.
Who wants to grow up? It's boring, it's tedious, it's heartbreaking. Screw that! Since I've "grown up" (I'll counter that statement in a minute) I've had to pay bills, become responsible for my finances, get jobs, wear "normal" clothing, and wake up before noon. Not awesome. I would much rather prefer to play all day with no consequences. But, truthfully, as my grandmother always said, you're only as old as you feel. (She felt 25 until the day she died. Go g-ma!) So, in some ways, I'm still about 12. Awkward, weird, goofy, loud, hyper, ridiculous, and full of cute but kinda sad goals and aspirations that will never come true. In other ways, I'm about 65, with chronic back pain, and weird patches of dry skin, and my "damn you young kids and your rap music" attitude. Wtf?
Most days, I'm tweenie awkwardness. I argue (though now, with myself instead of my parents) about when bedtime is. I still harbor the secret belief that one day I will be either a rock star or an actress. (Yep. I so just admitted that.) And I still get mad butterflies in my stomach and a wicked fast hearbeat when I see someone I think is cute. (Sa-woon!) The mean old lady half of me tries to beat her way out every now and again, but I'm pretty good at suppressing her. (Wow, this all sounds like an episode of United States of Tara...)
Though, that being said, I'm pretty stoked that I'm not actually 12 year old me... For many reasons. Namely, the music. I was a raging Hanson fan at 12. I wallpapered my bedroom with their pictures from Tiger Beat, I swore to my uncle that I would call them my favorite band forever, and apparently, I once told my mother that they were going to be bigger than the Beatles. Yeah. That all happened. Now, I like a much wider and, er, better range of music. (But I can probably still sing you every word of "Weird" if you play it for me.) I'm not a snob about my music, per se. I'll give everything a chance, but I definitely have my preferences. Truthfully, there are only two genres that I'll almost always say no to. One, gangster rap. And, ok, I'll admit it, just about any rap/r&b song. It's just not my cup of tea. No, my head won't explode if you force me to listen to 50 Cent, but I promise you, I will be glaring at you the entire time. The other is modern country. Again, there are a few exceptions, but I'm never going to want to listen to Toby Keith. It's just not going to happen. Oddly enough, however, classic country (Merle Haggard, Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn) is totally my bag. As goes with my age, I'm also not a huge fan of current pop music. Lady Gaga does nothing for me, not to speak of the evil Bieber. *shudder* I'm a fan of all kinds of random bands. Thrice is a big favorite. Everything from industrial rage soundtrack to ethereally haunting pieces, this band makes my soul happy. Another fave, Gogol Bordello, is self-described as gypsy punk and it is amazing.
Realistically, this is going to go a lot quicker if I just read off the bands in my recently played file on my iPod, so... Yeah. Lots of variety there. A few farcical comedy groups (The Lonely Island, Conchords, Infant Sorrow), a LOT of 70s rock (Beatles, Stones, The Who, Styx, Journey, Zepplin, Queen), Some punk (Ramones, The Clash, Adam and the Ants, and I'm going to lump Gogol in here), Some ladies with beautiful voices (Adele, Kina Grannis, Amy Winehouse), Some Delicious Grunge-y goodness (Everclear (No apologies. Fell in love with them in 7th grade and haven't looked back since. So Much for the Afterglow & Sparkle and Fade make my favorite albums by anyone ever list.)), some emo/hardcore/anger yummy-ness (Dance Gavin Dance, Enter Shikari, Brand New) and a whole lot of random. (Matisyahu, Mumford and Sons, Cake, No Artist (but upon inspection, this appears to be several disney songs. Yup. Told you: 12.), T.M. Revolution (They do the first season theme song to my fave anime.. Shut up! I'm a nerd!), Awolnation, the aforementioned Thrice, Hugo, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess OST, The Black Keys, some random, no artist bluegrass, and Metric.) So... that's the playlist of a crazy person. Maybe that's what I should have titled this post. "Playlists of INSANITY!" Well, it's not far off. Putting my ipod on shuffle will resort in a lot of painful side effects. (Not the least of which is speaking Japanese, as I have an entire Japanese language course on there. God, I love technology. Dattebayo!)
Well, this has been fun, random, and a bit like the ramblings of a shizophrenic off their meds, but I need to go. I have to do the "Grown Up" thing and take my laundry over to my parents' house. Because I'm an adult.
Toodles!
---Alamo
Who wants to grow up? It's boring, it's tedious, it's heartbreaking. Screw that! Since I've "grown up" (I'll counter that statement in a minute) I've had to pay bills, become responsible for my finances, get jobs, wear "normal" clothing, and wake up before noon. Not awesome. I would much rather prefer to play all day with no consequences. But, truthfully, as my grandmother always said, you're only as old as you feel. (She felt 25 until the day she died. Go g-ma!) So, in some ways, I'm still about 12. Awkward, weird, goofy, loud, hyper, ridiculous, and full of cute but kinda sad goals and aspirations that will never come true. In other ways, I'm about 65, with chronic back pain, and weird patches of dry skin, and my "damn you young kids and your rap music" attitude. Wtf?
Most days, I'm tweenie awkwardness. I argue (though now, with myself instead of my parents) about when bedtime is. I still harbor the secret belief that one day I will be either a rock star or an actress. (Yep. I so just admitted that.) And I still get mad butterflies in my stomach and a wicked fast hearbeat when I see someone I think is cute. (Sa-woon!) The mean old lady half of me tries to beat her way out every now and again, but I'm pretty good at suppressing her. (Wow, this all sounds like an episode of United States of Tara...)
Though, that being said, I'm pretty stoked that I'm not actually 12 year old me... For many reasons. Namely, the music. I was a raging Hanson fan at 12. I wallpapered my bedroom with their pictures from Tiger Beat, I swore to my uncle that I would call them my favorite band forever, and apparently, I once told my mother that they were going to be bigger than the Beatles. Yeah. That all happened. Now, I like a much wider and, er, better range of music. (But I can probably still sing you every word of "Weird" if you play it for me.) I'm not a snob about my music, per se. I'll give everything a chance, but I definitely have my preferences. Truthfully, there are only two genres that I'll almost always say no to. One, gangster rap. And, ok, I'll admit it, just about any rap/r&b song. It's just not my cup of tea. No, my head won't explode if you force me to listen to 50 Cent, but I promise you, I will be glaring at you the entire time. The other is modern country. Again, there are a few exceptions, but I'm never going to want to listen to Toby Keith. It's just not going to happen. Oddly enough, however, classic country (Merle Haggard, Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn) is totally my bag. As goes with my age, I'm also not a huge fan of current pop music. Lady Gaga does nothing for me, not to speak of the evil Bieber. *shudder* I'm a fan of all kinds of random bands. Thrice is a big favorite. Everything from industrial rage soundtrack to ethereally haunting pieces, this band makes my soul happy. Another fave, Gogol Bordello, is self-described as gypsy punk and it is amazing.
Realistically, this is going to go a lot quicker if I just read off the bands in my recently played file on my iPod, so... Yeah. Lots of variety there. A few farcical comedy groups (The Lonely Island, Conchords, Infant Sorrow), a LOT of 70s rock (Beatles, Stones, The Who, Styx, Journey, Zepplin, Queen), Some punk (Ramones, The Clash, Adam and the Ants, and I'm going to lump Gogol in here), Some ladies with beautiful voices (Adele, Kina Grannis, Amy Winehouse), Some Delicious Grunge-y goodness (Everclear (No apologies. Fell in love with them in 7th grade and haven't looked back since. So Much for the Afterglow & Sparkle and Fade make my favorite albums by anyone ever list.)), some emo/hardcore/anger yummy-ness (Dance Gavin Dance, Enter Shikari, Brand New) and a whole lot of random. (Matisyahu, Mumford and Sons, Cake, No Artist (but upon inspection, this appears to be several disney songs. Yup. Told you: 12.), T.M. Revolution (They do the first season theme song to my fave anime.. Shut up! I'm a nerd!), Awolnation, the aforementioned Thrice, Hugo, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess OST, The Black Keys, some random, no artist bluegrass, and Metric.) So... that's the playlist of a crazy person. Maybe that's what I should have titled this post. "Playlists of INSANITY!" Well, it's not far off. Putting my ipod on shuffle will resort in a lot of painful side effects. (Not the least of which is speaking Japanese, as I have an entire Japanese language course on there. God, I love technology. Dattebayo!)
Well, this has been fun, random, and a bit like the ramblings of a shizophrenic off their meds, but I need to go. I have to do the "Grown Up" thing and take my laundry over to my parents' house. Because I'm an adult.
Toodles!
---Alamo
Friday, February 3, 2012
Sticks and Stones
The weather here in Kansas has been ridiculous, of late. It's currently February and the weather was in the 60s today. It's been above 40 all week. In fact, I think it's been above 40 for like a month now. Not that I'm complaining (not really) as I am not missing the typical icy death trap that midwestern winters tend to be. But it's weird. And all the crazy fluctuation in temperature is taking its toll on my body. Ugh. Not only do I have this weird lung-y cough rasp thing going on (that I've had for over a month now.. Full disclosure, it would probably be a little better if I quit smoking...) but my old injuries are all flaring up with a passion. Double ugh. I should explain. While I'm not the klutziest person you'll ever meet, I'm still pretty high up there. I move with all the grace of a drunken walrus. That being said, I get hurt A LOT. Now, lots of my friends have all sorts of sports injuries, and extreme sports injuries that they acquired doing intensely physical activity. I don't have those kinds of injuries. (If we're talking in terms of Lord of the Rings characters (because that's how I describe EVERYTHING) I'm the fat hobbit Samwise minus all the rope climbing and misadventures in Mordor. Suck it, Gandalf. I'm staying home where there is beer and pipe weed and laziness to take care of. I feel for you, Frodo, I really do, but I got 99 problems and that ring ain't one.) I have the kinds of injuries that battered housewives make up to explain the bruises. The kind that don't sound believable. Go me. Just to explain this in detail for you, I'll run you through the list of a) what currently hurts, and b) what I did to screw it up in the first place.
Ahem...
LEFT ARM (And bonus: Right ribs!)
Source of Injury (-ies): Carpeting, Pickup truck, Seatbelt
This one is a two-parter. When I was seven, I went to a roller skating party. Yes, the fat hobbit went skating. How ill-advised I was... Now, I got through the thigh-clenching terror of wobbling across the laminate floor, terrified of falling and being passed by toddlers part just fine. Then I stepped off the slippery death floor of the skating rink itself and moved to the nice, soft carpet that flanked the area. And then bit it, HARD. I was seven, so a lot of this is constructed from my mother's memory and not my own, but bear with me. I suppose I must have hit a wrinkle in the carpet, or just lost my ever-present poise (can you sense the sarcasm there? Cause I meant it.) but regardless of what happened, I went down like the titanic in a sad, sad way. Now, I'm not sure how I managed this, but the best we can figure, I landed, braced on my left arm, but the momentum from my fall caused me to keep moving a bit. The impact plus quick turn equalled some lovely crushed carpal (wrist) bones, and one snapped radius. Good times. (Ok, the story really ends there, as far as why it's bothering me now goes, but the rest is worth noting in parentheses. When we realized it was broken, the manager MacGuyvered me up a splint, using a piece of cardboard, a skate lace, and some white cloth medical tape. We got to the hospital, they took off the tape to cast my arm, and, SURPRISE! I have a severe skin allergy to white cloth medical tape! Yay! So as if traditional casts aren't horrendously itchy on their own, add a scathing skin rash underneath it. Four months of pure, itchy hell, I tell you. Anyways, yeah. Not relevant to the issue at hand, but still an exciting addition.) Bringing my current tribulations into this, my wrist and arm have been a handy barometer ever since, aching like crazy at the slightest shift in temperature. Naturally, I'm all kinds of achy right now. But to compound it, we have part two!
When I was 20, I got in a car crash. Not my fault, some idiot ran a stop sign and I t-boned him. He was completely fine, I totalled my beloved pos car and a few body parts. My right ribs got a lovely snap thanks to the seat belt, but my left arm flew off the wheel in the impact and smacked real good into the doorframe. I re-broke one of my wrist bones, and fractured the top bone in my ring finger and acquired a lovely break in my 5th metacarpal (Handbone. Specifically, my break was a boxer's fractuer, right in the knuckle.) Since my wrist was already pretty much just gravel in meat casing to begin with, and my hand was swollen and purple, they casted me from the elbow down, with a brace on my ring finger & pinky to keep everything together. A few months later, cast came off and the whole arm has been a quagmire ever since. I have an interesting time moving my pinky (and for a writer/pianist, this is super fun) as more than a few minutes of movement and it starts to seize up and refuse to flex. My wrist healed weird, and, as a result of an error in how it was casted, my ulna (arm bone... Connected to the wrist bone.. wrist bone, connected to the... you get the idea) shifted forward by just enough to restrict the movement of my hand, a bit. (My doc called this "ulnar varience," which sounds like a bitchen name for a rock band, but is not so fun to live with.) So I have some super bizarre, but luckily not life altering, complications with my whole left arm, now. Back to the excitement it brings me in times of rapidly shifting weather, the fracture in my knuckle will actually catch at times, causing me to have to perform what I consider a manual reset, meaning I have to physically move my finger back into place so it will bend properly. This is extremely hard to explain, but let's just go with, it is painful, annoying, and seemingly permanent. So, that's the left arm... Moving on....
LEFT ANKLE
Source of Injury: Doormat, Masked children
This one is my proudest moment as a klutzy idiot. It was Halloween, 2001. I was 15. Literally the first trick-or-treaters showed up to my parent's house and I stepped out to give them candy and- DESTROYED my ankle. How, you ask? Remember the doormat I referenced as the source of this one? Well, the mat in question was one of those outdoor peat moss lookalike mats that everyone had. It was about an inch thick. The problem with it was, it liked to skid across the concrete stoop. On this particular day, it was situated halfway across the doorway, so its edge was front and center. I stepped down right on the edge, put all of my weight down, and my ankle kicked out sideways over the side. KRACKENBLASTSQUISHGRUNTMOANAGHHHHHHHHHHH (The sound it made is indescribable, yet, unforgettable. *shudder*) Needless to say, I was hurting. It immediately swelled up to almost twice its normal size and was completely useless. The hospital informed me that I had torn the muscle and strained the ligaments, but, miraculously, not broken the bone. The bad news? Sprains and tears hurt much worse than broken bones. A circulation restricting air cast and a pair of crutches later and I was good to go with my now evil ankle. Ever since, it's been a snap-crackle-pop kind of joint and likes to pretend it's going to quit working if I walk any further than about a half mile on it. (Not for lack of trying, mind you. I was in band. I got around.) And, with all my lovely misadventureing since, it gets tight and achy when the weather changes. Yay.
SCIATIC NERVE
Source of injury: 4-wheeler, Rock, Newton's laws of gravity
This one is a little unfair to blame on the weather, since it hurts in rain, sun, snow, sleet... It's a lot like the mail. It's there through it all. When I was 19, we went to visit my cousins in Vegas. And then, promptly left Vegas to go up to my family's property in the mountains in Utah. While up there, my cousin convinced me to get on one of their 4-wheelers and try taking it out for a ride. (We've talked about me and anything resembling a sport.. Don't do it!) Having never driven a stick before, I decided that, of course, I could drive something with a manual clutch. Sigh. When will I learn? I was halfway up a hill, stalled, and was trying to restart the damn thing, when I lost my balance and pulled an unintentional wheelie, knocking me flat on my back, only on a lovely rock. Tons of pain, screaming, crying, yada yada yada. (It was very dramatic... I laugh about what a nancy I was.) Get home, get to a doctor, and, diagnosis: Congrats! You've permanently damaged your sciatic nerve! You can now look forward to the following: Almost constant pain! (But not enough to be on the good drugs.) Occasional shooting pain that arcs from your middle back all the way down your leg! Occasional (but extremely temporary, thank god) loss of the ability to stand on said leg! And the inability to be comfortable almost ever. So, yeah. As stated, not a weather related flare up, but a constant (literal) pain in my ass from now until forever. Sigh. And no, it doesn't really stop me from doing much. But it makes day to day movement that I used to take for granted a painful experience. Standing up from almost anything is tricky as turning the wrong way can cause a flash of pain to shoot down my leg and cause the leg to go on strike for a minute. And occasionally, it just goes batshit crazy and decides to cripple me. Then I'm in a living hell until it works out it's daddy issues (I assume that's what causes nerves to flare up, maybe I'm wrong) and decides to allow me to walk again. But, it is what it is. I can walk, I do manage, and (sadly enough) I've gotten used to being in pain. What fun life can be.
I suppose that will do for my whining today. Join me next time when I promise to talk about something light and fluffy. Like my Cats! Or video games... Mmmm... Video games...
Much love, nobody!
--A
Ahem...
LEFT ARM (And bonus: Right ribs!)
Source of Injury (-ies): Carpeting, Pickup truck, Seatbelt
This one is a two-parter. When I was seven, I went to a roller skating party. Yes, the fat hobbit went skating. How ill-advised I was... Now, I got through the thigh-clenching terror of wobbling across the laminate floor, terrified of falling and being passed by toddlers part just fine. Then I stepped off the slippery death floor of the skating rink itself and moved to the nice, soft carpet that flanked the area. And then bit it, HARD. I was seven, so a lot of this is constructed from my mother's memory and not my own, but bear with me. I suppose I must have hit a wrinkle in the carpet, or just lost my ever-present poise (can you sense the sarcasm there? Cause I meant it.) but regardless of what happened, I went down like the titanic in a sad, sad way. Now, I'm not sure how I managed this, but the best we can figure, I landed, braced on my left arm, but the momentum from my fall caused me to keep moving a bit. The impact plus quick turn equalled some lovely crushed carpal (wrist) bones, and one snapped radius. Good times. (Ok, the story really ends there, as far as why it's bothering me now goes, but the rest is worth noting in parentheses. When we realized it was broken, the manager MacGuyvered me up a splint, using a piece of cardboard, a skate lace, and some white cloth medical tape. We got to the hospital, they took off the tape to cast my arm, and, SURPRISE! I have a severe skin allergy to white cloth medical tape! Yay! So as if traditional casts aren't horrendously itchy on their own, add a scathing skin rash underneath it. Four months of pure, itchy hell, I tell you. Anyways, yeah. Not relevant to the issue at hand, but still an exciting addition.) Bringing my current tribulations into this, my wrist and arm have been a handy barometer ever since, aching like crazy at the slightest shift in temperature. Naturally, I'm all kinds of achy right now. But to compound it, we have part two!
When I was 20, I got in a car crash. Not my fault, some idiot ran a stop sign and I t-boned him. He was completely fine, I totalled my beloved pos car and a few body parts. My right ribs got a lovely snap thanks to the seat belt, but my left arm flew off the wheel in the impact and smacked real good into the doorframe. I re-broke one of my wrist bones, and fractured the top bone in my ring finger and acquired a lovely break in my 5th metacarpal (Handbone. Specifically, my break was a boxer's fractuer, right in the knuckle.) Since my wrist was already pretty much just gravel in meat casing to begin with, and my hand was swollen and purple, they casted me from the elbow down, with a brace on my ring finger & pinky to keep everything together. A few months later, cast came off and the whole arm has been a quagmire ever since. I have an interesting time moving my pinky (and for a writer/pianist, this is super fun) as more than a few minutes of movement and it starts to seize up and refuse to flex. My wrist healed weird, and, as a result of an error in how it was casted, my ulna (arm bone... Connected to the wrist bone.. wrist bone, connected to the... you get the idea) shifted forward by just enough to restrict the movement of my hand, a bit. (My doc called this "ulnar varience," which sounds like a bitchen name for a rock band, but is not so fun to live with.) So I have some super bizarre, but luckily not life altering, complications with my whole left arm, now. Back to the excitement it brings me in times of rapidly shifting weather, the fracture in my knuckle will actually catch at times, causing me to have to perform what I consider a manual reset, meaning I have to physically move my finger back into place so it will bend properly. This is extremely hard to explain, but let's just go with, it is painful, annoying, and seemingly permanent. So, that's the left arm... Moving on....
LEFT ANKLE
Source of Injury: Doormat, Masked children
This one is my proudest moment as a klutzy idiot. It was Halloween, 2001. I was 15. Literally the first trick-or-treaters showed up to my parent's house and I stepped out to give them candy and- DESTROYED my ankle. How, you ask? Remember the doormat I referenced as the source of this one? Well, the mat in question was one of those outdoor peat moss lookalike mats that everyone had. It was about an inch thick. The problem with it was, it liked to skid across the concrete stoop. On this particular day, it was situated halfway across the doorway, so its edge was front and center. I stepped down right on the edge, put all of my weight down, and my ankle kicked out sideways over the side. KRACKENBLASTSQUISHGRUNTMOANAGHHHHHHHHHHH (The sound it made is indescribable, yet, unforgettable. *shudder*) Needless to say, I was hurting. It immediately swelled up to almost twice its normal size and was completely useless. The hospital informed me that I had torn the muscle and strained the ligaments, but, miraculously, not broken the bone. The bad news? Sprains and tears hurt much worse than broken bones. A circulation restricting air cast and a pair of crutches later and I was good to go with my now evil ankle. Ever since, it's been a snap-crackle-pop kind of joint and likes to pretend it's going to quit working if I walk any further than about a half mile on it. (Not for lack of trying, mind you. I was in band. I got around.) And, with all my lovely misadventureing since, it gets tight and achy when the weather changes. Yay.
SCIATIC NERVE
Source of injury: 4-wheeler, Rock, Newton's laws of gravity
This one is a little unfair to blame on the weather, since it hurts in rain, sun, snow, sleet... It's a lot like the mail. It's there through it all. When I was 19, we went to visit my cousins in Vegas. And then, promptly left Vegas to go up to my family's property in the mountains in Utah. While up there, my cousin convinced me to get on one of their 4-wheelers and try taking it out for a ride. (We've talked about me and anything resembling a sport.. Don't do it!) Having never driven a stick before, I decided that, of course, I could drive something with a manual clutch. Sigh. When will I learn? I was halfway up a hill, stalled, and was trying to restart the damn thing, when I lost my balance and pulled an unintentional wheelie, knocking me flat on my back, only on a lovely rock. Tons of pain, screaming, crying, yada yada yada. (It was very dramatic... I laugh about what a nancy I was.) Get home, get to a doctor, and, diagnosis: Congrats! You've permanently damaged your sciatic nerve! You can now look forward to the following: Almost constant pain! (But not enough to be on the good drugs.) Occasional shooting pain that arcs from your middle back all the way down your leg! Occasional (but extremely temporary, thank god) loss of the ability to stand on said leg! And the inability to be comfortable almost ever. So, yeah. As stated, not a weather related flare up, but a constant (literal) pain in my ass from now until forever. Sigh. And no, it doesn't really stop me from doing much. But it makes day to day movement that I used to take for granted a painful experience. Standing up from almost anything is tricky as turning the wrong way can cause a flash of pain to shoot down my leg and cause the leg to go on strike for a minute. And occasionally, it just goes batshit crazy and decides to cripple me. Then I'm in a living hell until it works out it's daddy issues (I assume that's what causes nerves to flare up, maybe I'm wrong) and decides to allow me to walk again. But, it is what it is. I can walk, I do manage, and (sadly enough) I've gotten used to being in pain. What fun life can be.
I suppose that will do for my whining today. Join me next time when I promise to talk about something light and fluffy. Like my Cats! Or video games... Mmmm... Video games...
Much love, nobody!
--A
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Simming to the Max
Soooo... I don't have much to add, but I just wanted to do a little tangent (from my wonderful canon of stories, so far) about how much I like to play The Sims 2. It is possibly the geekiest thing I do (and that's impressive) and I still have no intention of stopping.
This is yet another thing that is Shephard's fault. When we met in high school (back in B.C. times) she had the first sims game on her desktop at her parents house. And we played it. A lot. To the point that I would sometimes come over just to futz around with it. Then we got a little older, forgot about its glory, and moved on to other geeky persuits. And then The Sims 2 came out... And all bets were off. She got it, got sucked into it, and let me mess around on it a bit. And naturally, all the appeal of the first game remained with a ton of even more exciting features.
When 3 came out, she lent me all her cdroms for 2 and I was in pure nerd heaven. The first month I had the game, I don't think I did much else. And that's just sad. Because at its core, it's just building crap, dressing people in outfits, and messing with their lives- no I take it back, that's still awesome. I think you'll find I'm pretty unapologetic about my hobbies. Yes, I admit they're exceptionally nerdy at times, but they make me happy, so deal with it. I like playing the Sims. I like making graphic representations of people do strange and horrible things. It makes me laugh.
I like making characters from terrible stories I'm writing on the sims. Sometimes, the Sims helps me with plot points. (Which might be why my stories are terrible... The oven can only catch fire so many times before it's evident that the main character is mentally deficient.)
I think my two favorite things to do (apart from building huge, impractical, architecturally impossible housing) are:
1.) Making my favorite famous people into sims, getting my sim into relationships with them, and then having terrible nothing fights until it ends in pure, unbridled hatred for each other (it really is fun), and
2.) Creating people I strongly dislike on the sims and doing terrible things to them. When you use cheat codes on the game, you can gain access to all kinds of wonderful features. Like the Death Creator. This allows you to right click a character and then determine the horrible and hilarious way that person will die. (Personal fave: Drowning people in the desert. Sick, impossible, and awesome.) Yes, this is probably extremely messed up and not something I would recommend telling your therapist, but realistically, it's a lot safer to drown the boss you hate in a fake game environment than calling her a bitch on the sales floor. Just saying...
That pretty much concludes my love letter to The Sims. But for some reason, I felt the need to extemporate on all of it's glories. You're Welcome.
--Alamo
This is yet another thing that is Shephard's fault. When we met in high school (back in B.C. times) she had the first sims game on her desktop at her parents house. And we played it. A lot. To the point that I would sometimes come over just to futz around with it. Then we got a little older, forgot about its glory, and moved on to other geeky persuits. And then The Sims 2 came out... And all bets were off. She got it, got sucked into it, and let me mess around on it a bit. And naturally, all the appeal of the first game remained with a ton of even more exciting features.
When 3 came out, she lent me all her cdroms for 2 and I was in pure nerd heaven. The first month I had the game, I don't think I did much else. And that's just sad. Because at its core, it's just building crap, dressing people in outfits, and messing with their lives- no I take it back, that's still awesome. I think you'll find I'm pretty unapologetic about my hobbies. Yes, I admit they're exceptionally nerdy at times, but they make me happy, so deal with it. I like playing the Sims. I like making graphic representations of people do strange and horrible things. It makes me laugh.
I like making characters from terrible stories I'm writing on the sims. Sometimes, the Sims helps me with plot points. (Which might be why my stories are terrible... The oven can only catch fire so many times before it's evident that the main character is mentally deficient.)
I think my two favorite things to do (apart from building huge, impractical, architecturally impossible housing) are:
1.) Making my favorite famous people into sims, getting my sim into relationships with them, and then having terrible nothing fights until it ends in pure, unbridled hatred for each other (it really is fun), and
2.) Creating people I strongly dislike on the sims and doing terrible things to them. When you use cheat codes on the game, you can gain access to all kinds of wonderful features. Like the Death Creator. This allows you to right click a character and then determine the horrible and hilarious way that person will die. (Personal fave: Drowning people in the desert. Sick, impossible, and awesome.) Yes, this is probably extremely messed up and not something I would recommend telling your therapist, but realistically, it's a lot safer to drown the boss you hate in a fake game environment than calling her a bitch on the sales floor. Just saying...
That pretty much concludes my love letter to The Sims. But for some reason, I felt the need to extemporate on all of it's glories. You're Welcome.
--Alamo
Obsession
So, my typical day is not complete without visiting my favorite websites, watching some of my favorite anime, and playing some video games. For lack of anything better to write about, I thought I'd share my current daily "must-haves" with you, my non-existent readers.
WEBSITES
There are about 6 websites I visit every single day.
1.) Facebook
Everyone has to interact with other people, this is my (and the world's) favorite way. Unlike my friends, however, I was one of the last of them to leave the myspace behind and head on into the great unknown. I hated it, initially. Just like I hated myspace for the longest time. But, eventually, they got me, and I've been a slave to the status update ever since. Sigh. Makes me miss my Xanga (amiright?).
2.) Not Always Right
Totally one of those cheezburger-esque sites with weird little quips from random strangers. The difference? These are all about or pertaining to the experience of customer service jobs. As that's all I've ever really worked, it resonates with me. And I cringe right along with every mal-treated employee's submission. And then I laugh. A lot.
3.) Failbook
I don't know why I think this one is so funny. Basically, just really stupid facebook statuses, tweets, tumblr stuff, etc, etc. Regardless, I check it every day and shake my head at humanity.
4.) I Waste So Much Time
This one is basically just tumblr. Funny pics, vids, stories. Y'know. Procrastinator's paradise.
5.) The Daily What and The Daily Geek
These two are linked through the same website, but I still can't go a day without checking them. Just more pics/vids/stories. It's sad, really, how much of my time the internet steals. And how little that bothers me...
6.) Cracked
Cracked saved my life at my last job. Their mobile app gave me something to do when there was literally NOTHING to do for hours on end. If it weren't for Cracked for android, I might have died of boredom. Basically, all in list/article form, cracked does pieces on everything from sports, to movies, to random animals that might scare the bejesus out of you. (Oh, it's happened.) Cracked is never boring and there's always something that makes me laugh so hard I can no longer imbibe liquids while reading it.
So, that's my web list... On to the rest....
JAPANIMATION!
So, anime is a recent love. But one I've delved into whole-heartedly with the enthusiasm only a fangirl can muster. My roomie (the aforementioned Shepherd) got me started on a series called Soul Eater, which, as is fitting, completely ate my soul. I couldn't stop watching it. Unfortunately, it was a rather short series and after the end of the series, I was in the middle of a pretty serious withdrawl. So the roomie gave me a few options to get me started on my search for another obsession. Death Note (Dark, brooding, totally my cup of tea), Full-Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood (the Brotherhood version of this series (as opposed to its predecessor, FMA) actually follows the Manga it's derived from and therefore leaves you with a lot less filler crap to wade through and a lot more intense action), and Naruto. (Bite your tongues, anime fans. I'm not suggesting you watch it.) Ok, I did it. I jumped into Naruto. At first, I was completely unsold. She had raved about how interesting and dark this show was and all I saw was some douchebag preteen running around being obnoxious. (and I get plenty of that from work.) But, after really committing to watching it, I have to admit it grows on you. Like a fungus. Before I could do anything to stop it, I had become so sucked in that separation would have been impossible. I'll admit it, folks. I'm a total Narutard. (Feel free to mock me all you want, I won't apologize.) So right now, I'm about halfway though the existing episodes of the second part of the Naruto canon, Shippuden, which is the part of the series where the main characters are aged to about 16
and the situations tend to be less light and fluffy and more sweet-jesus-this-is-intense. It's good times. So, much to my friends' chagrin, I'm completly OBSESSED and have to watch about 100 more episodes before NakaKon in February. Ok. Enough on that... Moving on...
GAMING
I've been playing The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword. I was completely excited for its release and couldn't wait to get my hands on it. Finally did, started playing... And I'm a little annoyed. It's good, story wise. I don't mind the characters or the setup, any of that. I HATE the animation. It's cartoonish appearance is not my cup of tea. Yes, the colors are super impressive. Yes, the graphics are amazing... I just don't like it. It looks a bit like Link from Ocarina of Time and Toon Link (ala The Wind Waker & Phantom Hourglass) and then aged him up like the Link from Twilight Princess. I guess my biggest qualm with how it's all designed is that I have just come off playing Twilight Princess... TP is asthetically similar to Final Fantasy and the like, with much more realistic graphics and visuals. This just looks like a kid's game. Sorry, hXc LoZ fans, but that's my opinion. I'm not a big fan. Granted, I'm probably going to get used to it and adapt, and there are some things I love about this game so far. Flying? Totally shveet. Stamina fruits? Good times. The boy can run? Winnnn. But there are some things that really just annoy me. Visuals aside, the gameplay can be really obnoxious. Example: You have to read every line of dialog at the game's desired speed and no skipping. Ughhhhhhh. Fall down during a mission following a 4 page, 2 minute explanation from another character? Guess what? When you restart, you get to hear the whole damn thing again! It. Sucks. Coming from Twilight, where that magical a-button allows you to read everything as once, instead of scrolling, and then skip past it? FTW. This... Is getting on my nerves. And the whole-heart injury system is a bitchhhh. Get hit by ANY MONSTER and it's AT LEAST a half heart in damage. Granted, you start off with 6 hearts instead of the usual 3, but STILL. It's excessive. Yes, the challenge is nice and all, but it's a pain in the ass. So, anyway. That's how that's going. Meanwhile, I'm also playing through the Metroid: Prime trilogy. I know, I know, the second one is shit, but you gotta play all three. (At least, that's my perspective.) I've got a major fangirl hard-on for Samus, so it's worth the obnoxiousness.
BONUS! BOOKASAURUS REX
At the end of long day's geeking, I like to settle in to bed with my cats (oh, yeah. I'm THAT girl) and a good book to get me ready for sleep. I tend to alternate between what I call meaningful/respectable books (Things that people DON'T scoff at you for reading) and fluff. I won't lie to you, interwebs. I read a lot of adolescent books. Right now, for example, I'm re-reading some of my Rick Riordan collection. I just finished my 5th re-read of the first 5 Percy Jackson books (jealous?), and then decided to continue on chronologically with the Kane Chronicles book, The Red Pyramid. It's like Percy Jackson but with Egyptian gods. Aaaand totally addictive, just like Percy Jackson was. But, I always drop a re-read in favor of a substantial book of substance, so I'll be putting the Kanes on hold once Lulu lends me The Poisonwood Bible. Other recent reads include the Hunger Games Trilogy (Loved it, couldn't put it down, made me sooooo mad in places), A Song of Fire and Ice series (it's taking me a while... It's pretty screwed up), and a slew of Sarah Dessen teenage fiction. (I know, I'm ruining my mature, responsible adult image here.) Truthfully, I read just about everything. My favorites lie in so many genres, it's hard to keep track. But I'm ALWAYS reading something, even if it's just a gamer magazine. It keeps my brain from turning to mush.
Well, un-readers, I think I'm about done with this for the day. Off to slay some fictional beasts or watch some sweet ninja action.
Catch you on the flipside,
Alamo
WEBSITES
There are about 6 websites I visit every single day.
1.) Facebook
Everyone has to interact with other people, this is my (and the world's) favorite way. Unlike my friends, however, I was one of the last of them to leave the myspace behind and head on into the great unknown. I hated it, initially. Just like I hated myspace for the longest time. But, eventually, they got me, and I've been a slave to the status update ever since. Sigh. Makes me miss my Xanga (amiright?).
2.) Not Always Right
Totally one of those cheezburger-esque sites with weird little quips from random strangers. The difference? These are all about or pertaining to the experience of customer service jobs. As that's all I've ever really worked, it resonates with me. And I cringe right along with every mal-treated employee's submission. And then I laugh. A lot.
3.) Failbook
I don't know why I think this one is so funny. Basically, just really stupid facebook statuses, tweets, tumblr stuff, etc, etc. Regardless, I check it every day and shake my head at humanity.
4.) I Waste So Much Time
This one is basically just tumblr. Funny pics, vids, stories. Y'know. Procrastinator's paradise.
5.) The Daily What and The Daily Geek
These two are linked through the same website, but I still can't go a day without checking them. Just more pics/vids/stories. It's sad, really, how much of my time the internet steals. And how little that bothers me...
6.) Cracked
Cracked saved my life at my last job. Their mobile app gave me something to do when there was literally NOTHING to do for hours on end. If it weren't for Cracked for android, I might have died of boredom. Basically, all in list/article form, cracked does pieces on everything from sports, to movies, to random animals that might scare the bejesus out of you. (Oh, it's happened.) Cracked is never boring and there's always something that makes me laugh so hard I can no longer imbibe liquids while reading it.
So, that's my web list... On to the rest....
JAPANIMATION!
So, anime is a recent love. But one I've delved into whole-heartedly with the enthusiasm only a fangirl can muster. My roomie (the aforementioned Shepherd) got me started on a series called Soul Eater, which, as is fitting, completely ate my soul. I couldn't stop watching it. Unfortunately, it was a rather short series and after the end of the series, I was in the middle of a pretty serious withdrawl. So the roomie gave me a few options to get me started on my search for another obsession. Death Note (Dark, brooding, totally my cup of tea), Full-Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood (the Brotherhood version of this series (as opposed to its predecessor, FMA) actually follows the Manga it's derived from and therefore leaves you with a lot less filler crap to wade through and a lot more intense action), and Naruto. (Bite your tongues, anime fans. I'm not suggesting you watch it.) Ok, I did it. I jumped into Naruto. At first, I was completely unsold. She had raved about how interesting and dark this show was and all I saw was some douchebag preteen running around being obnoxious. (and I get plenty of that from work.) But, after really committing to watching it, I have to admit it grows on you. Like a fungus. Before I could do anything to stop it, I had become so sucked in that separation would have been impossible. I'll admit it, folks. I'm a total Narutard. (Feel free to mock me all you want, I won't apologize.) So right now, I'm about halfway though the existing episodes of the second part of the Naruto canon, Shippuden, which is the part of the series where the main characters are aged to about 16
and the situations tend to be less light and fluffy and more sweet-jesus-this-is-intense. It's good times. So, much to my friends' chagrin, I'm completly OBSESSED and have to watch about 100 more episodes before NakaKon in February. Ok. Enough on that... Moving on...
GAMING
I've been playing The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword. I was completely excited for its release and couldn't wait to get my hands on it. Finally did, started playing... And I'm a little annoyed. It's good, story wise. I don't mind the characters or the setup, any of that. I HATE the animation. It's cartoonish appearance is not my cup of tea. Yes, the colors are super impressive. Yes, the graphics are amazing... I just don't like it. It looks a bit like Link from Ocarina of Time and Toon Link (ala The Wind Waker & Phantom Hourglass) and then aged him up like the Link from Twilight Princess. I guess my biggest qualm with how it's all designed is that I have just come off playing Twilight Princess... TP is asthetically similar to Final Fantasy and the like, with much more realistic graphics and visuals. This just looks like a kid's game. Sorry, hXc LoZ fans, but that's my opinion. I'm not a big fan. Granted, I'm probably going to get used to it and adapt, and there are some things I love about this game so far. Flying? Totally shveet. Stamina fruits? Good times. The boy can run? Winnnn. But there are some things that really just annoy me. Visuals aside, the gameplay can be really obnoxious. Example: You have to read every line of dialog at the game's desired speed and no skipping. Ughhhhhhh. Fall down during a mission following a 4 page, 2 minute explanation from another character? Guess what? When you restart, you get to hear the whole damn thing again! It. Sucks. Coming from Twilight, where that magical a-button allows you to read everything as once, instead of scrolling, and then skip past it? FTW. This... Is getting on my nerves. And the whole-heart injury system is a bitchhhh. Get hit by ANY MONSTER and it's AT LEAST a half heart in damage. Granted, you start off with 6 hearts instead of the usual 3, but STILL. It's excessive. Yes, the challenge is nice and all, but it's a pain in the ass. So, anyway. That's how that's going. Meanwhile, I'm also playing through the Metroid: Prime trilogy. I know, I know, the second one is shit, but you gotta play all three. (At least, that's my perspective.) I've got a major fangirl hard-on for Samus, so it's worth the obnoxiousness.
BONUS! BOOKASAURUS REX
At the end of long day's geeking, I like to settle in to bed with my cats (oh, yeah. I'm THAT girl) and a good book to get me ready for sleep. I tend to alternate between what I call meaningful/respectable books (Things that people DON'T scoff at you for reading) and fluff. I won't lie to you, interwebs. I read a lot of adolescent books. Right now, for example, I'm re-reading some of my Rick Riordan collection. I just finished my 5th re-read of the first 5 Percy Jackson books (jealous?), and then decided to continue on chronologically with the Kane Chronicles book, The Red Pyramid. It's like Percy Jackson but with Egyptian gods. Aaaand totally addictive, just like Percy Jackson was. But, I always drop a re-read in favor of a substantial book of substance, so I'll be putting the Kanes on hold once Lulu lends me The Poisonwood Bible. Other recent reads include the Hunger Games Trilogy (Loved it, couldn't put it down, made me sooooo mad in places), A Song of Fire and Ice series (it's taking me a while... It's pretty screwed up), and a slew of Sarah Dessen teenage fiction. (I know, I'm ruining my mature, responsible adult image here.) Truthfully, I read just about everything. My favorites lie in so many genres, it's hard to keep track. But I'm ALWAYS reading something, even if it's just a gamer magazine. It keeps my brain from turning to mush.
Well, un-readers, I think I'm about done with this for the day. Off to slay some fictional beasts or watch some sweet ninja action.
Catch you on the flipside,
Alamo
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)