tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6677791899486229342024-03-21T12:16:27.439-07:00Zombie ProgenyI'm a sheep. You're a sheep. We're everyone of us a sheep, sheep.
Read on to hear this sheep's blatherings.ForLackOfABetterWordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14518490419907569960noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-667779189948622934.post-19113907654842511752012-01-04T06:48:00.000-08:002012-01-04T08:05:05.079-08:002 am epiphanies<a href="http://photobucket.com/images/sleepy%20dog" target="_blank"><img src="http://i1143.photobucket.com/albums/n622/hcstitebok/dog1.jpg" border="0" alt="Sleepy dog Pictures, Images and Photos"/></a><br /><br />I had a realization really late last night. But, instead of blogging it, I decided to read Effing Dykes instead.<br /><br />www.effingdykes.blogspot.com<br /><br />Yes, I have officially read every post. Although my queer pride is greatly increased, I am left feeling like I'm out of the lesbian club. (Can I still be in the club if I find lesbians attractive? Can I keep my boyfriend? Please? He's British! He likes Doctor Who! He makes me toast! With beans on it! DoyouhaveanyideahowEFFINGDELICIOUSthatis??)<br /><br /><a href="http://photobucket.com/images/beans%20on%20toast" target="_blank"><img src="http://i241.photobucket.com/albums/ff146/Geordiegirl14/breakfastmenu004.jpg" border="0" alt="Beans on toast Pictures, Images and Photos"/></a><br /><br />But, seriously. Seriously, now. *puts on serious face* Read Effing Dykes if you haven't already. Okay, maybe just a post or two. I realize not everyone is as fucking obsessive as I am and finds a blog and then reads the whole damn thing like it's a book.<br /><br />I HAVE NOT LOST MY TRAIN OF THOUGHT. I was just caught up in the rainbows and butterflies and glitter that is being a card-carrying member of the LGBTQ community.<br /><br />Breeeathe in that glitter. Breeeathe it out.<br /><br /><a href="http://photobucket.com/images/glitter" target="_blank"><img src="http://i391.photobucket.com/albums/oo353/_-KennedY-_/rainbow-1.jpg" border="0" alt="glitter Pictures, Images and Photos"/></a><br /><br />(I'm never blogging caffeinated again.)<br /><br />H'okay. So about that 2 am realization. I'm pretty sure it's because my friends back home seem to be rather sheltered. Or else they are goody-goodies by choice. (Or else I'm totally deceived and "potluck at the church" is codeword for "we gonna rage our brains out on Jell-O shots.")<br /><br /><a href="http://photobucket.com/images/jello%20shots" target="_blank"><img src="http://i605.photobucket.com/albums/tt133/thecellartavern/jello-shots.jpg" border="0" alt="jello shots Pictures, Images and Photos"/></a><br /><br />I have transformed into a bad girl. The kind that has "accidentally lost" her purity ring and makes her father shake his head with a, "But you were <em>baptized."</em><br /><br /><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/purity ring/thefrayismylife8/waits.jpg?o=5" target="_blank"><img src="http://i200.photobucket.com/albums/aa182/thefrayismylife8/waits.jpg" border="0"></a><br /><br />After checking to make sure (for the umpteenth time) that this blog is indeed NOT linked to my Facebook (my family is big and Baptist and veryveryvery active on Facebook), I thought it was time to have a little heart-to-bloggy-heart.<br /><br />I posted a posty post a waaaay long time ago about how I felt like I was hiding from my family. It was a rather emo little post. I was trying to be all deep n' shit (that's deep <em>and </em>shit, not deep <em>in </em>shit, although the latter may be up for debate). It's all like, "Baaaaah I'm not Christian and baaaah I sort of wish I was raised Jewish and baaaaah I'm a liberal and nobody would like the real meeeee. *sniffsniff*"<br /><br /><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/emo crying/KILLER_SHADOWS/Emo/crying.jpg?o=3" target="_blank"><img src="http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b23/KILLER_SHADOWS/Emo/crying.jpg" border="0"></a><br /><br />I'm going to try to not get that emo. Because emo's not cool anymore. Hipsters are cool, and hipsters are ironic. <br /><br /><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/hipster/gamecockmcgee/hipster.jpg?o=62" target="_blank"><img src="http://i70.photobucket.com/albums/i99/gamecockmcgee/hipster.jpg" border="0"></a><br /><br />Hipsters also don't seem to grasp the definition of the word "ironic." So, maybe you can try making this post hipster-ironic by reading it out loud in a funny voice. I do a rather good Mr. Burns from <em>The Simpsons</em>, personally.<br /><br /><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/mr burns/jamury/mr_burns.jpg?o=1" target="_blank"><img src="http://i87.photobucket.com/albums/k139/jamury/mr_burns.jpg" border="0"></a><br /><br />I've realized that I can't tell my family about shit. Le duh. I think most people have that realization when they're about six and playing doctor with the hot neighbor girl in the Mary Janes. Although, I have admittedly started flying my liberal flag in front of my family. But that's just because I like riling up Republicans. Dear God, it's amusing.<br /><br /><iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/c1sVTXWFu_U" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />What I hadn't realized is that I've morphed into the aforementioned "bad girl" of Dixie standards. That I am what I was warned not to become in Sunday school.<br /><br />Yes. I'm the one that has a friend or two that hangs out with me to "be the example." I am no longer the purest little nerd. I am no longer the golden child. I am no longer the special little snowflake.<br /><br /><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/angelic little girl/Angelluvztoo/Angelic/prod_767_25051.gif?o=0" target="_blank"><img src="http://i149.photobucket.com/albums/s61/Angelluvztoo/Angelic/prod_767_25051.gif" border="0"></a><br /><br />I feel like I should do something with this new status. That my propensity towards horror movies and oggling boobs freely and dropping the fuck-bomb all over the place and not believing in Jesus gives me some sort of right to do <em>something</em>.<br /><br />I dunno. What's the next step? Epicureanism? Hedonism? I mean, I'm already going to hell, right? May as well get there thoroughly.<br /><br />BUTBUTBUUUUUTT!!<br /><br />My definition of a good night is watching reruns of <em>Buffy the Vampire Slayer</em> and <em>Doctor Who!</em> Snuggled warm in bed with a bag of Sour Patch Kids! I have a penchant for funny hats! <em>I watch the news!</em><br /><br />(Admittedly, I mostly keep up with BBC because I am an Anglophile that likes to feel British. I also watch Fox News because I like seeing Republicans get their red little panties in an elephant-sized wad.)<br /><br /><iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/FkVz359ASMU" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />Sigh. If I'm going to be the "bad girl" that gets her soul and her (lack of) salvation discussed over Sunday dinner, I feel like I should actually be more of a bad girl. Maybe I'll get a tattoo. Maybe I'll take up smoking. Or maybe I'll stick with my Sour Patch Kids. And I'll definitely get back on campus and realize yet again that, to most of the world, I'm a harmless little lump of measily nerdflesh.<br /><br />Have any of you found yourselves in this kind of situation, especially when leaving home for the first time?ForLackOfABetterWordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14518490419907569960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-667779189948622934.post-85266583536035110992012-01-03T13:35:00.000-08:002012-01-03T16:06:35.642-08:00Three cheers for long absences!<a href="http://static.dramastyle.com/images/casts/United_States/21637/Eli_Roth_21637_59.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 384px; height: 575px;" src="http://static.dramastyle.com/images/casts/United_States/21637/Eli_Roth_21637_59.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />...No? No cheering?<br /><br />That's okay. I don't deserve it, anyway.<br /><br />School's been busy. I've still been blogging, but for blogs affiliated with schoolish things. Por ejemplo, I've sort-of-half-way been blogging for Sappho at Yale. And some other stuff that's sort of secret. I'm trying to work up the nerve to talk to Dodson and Ross to blog for them. Wouldn't that be awesome? Yes? I'm glad we agree.<br /><br />No updates, really. Well, sure. There's plenty. But they're all college-y and pretty predictable. I mean, maybe you're shocked that I'm involved in slam poetry and have been fundraising to help the trans community in Uganda. I'm kind of having the stereotypical college experience of the bleeding-heart liberal, but I am enjoying it thoroughly.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZaSRgK54OtDqSAS5p-JsMMi8RplBgfLnsnXMmOVspt0htr4Z0GnekGX0hDUTr9aln7DUa8fnPvzehWZ7BNquPkzLtdXkCGm_DDbwAgWGF2wygrE7IDFv51NdK09_lZPytN1upEEMyAE/s1600/morning+after+002.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZaSRgK54OtDqSAS5p-JsMMi8RplBgfLnsnXMmOVspt0htr4Z0GnekGX0hDUTr9aln7DUa8fnPvzehWZ7BNquPkzLtdXkCGm_DDbwAgWGF2wygrE7IDFv51NdK09_lZPytN1upEEMyAE/s320/morning+after+002.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693532628173889186" /></a><br /><br />None of this, however, has anything at all to do with what I want to talk about today. What I would like to talk to you lovely people about today is *cue the drumroll, maestro*:<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;">B</span><span style="color:#ff6600;">A</span><span style="color:#ffcc33;">B</span><span style="color:#009900;">I</span><span style="color:#3333ff;">E</span><span style="color:#330099;">S</span>.<br /><a href="http://www.andrea-schroeder.com/nimmm2/geddes232.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 360px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 432px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://www.andrea-schroeder.com/nimmm2/geddes232.jpg" /></a><br /><br /> Please. Do not be deceived by my penchant for cheesy Anne Geddes photos. Or even the fact that I do love babies.<br /><br />I'm embarrassingly ridiculous around kids. I wave at them in public, and they usually wave back and giggle. I love playing games with kids. I love babysitting. Kids are adorable. They're too adorable.<br /><br />I think this is their tactic, and I will not allow myself to be deceived.<br /><br />You see, I do not want to have children. I've known this since I first started thinking about kids and realized at about age 15 or 16 how many girls around me were dropping out to have kids. When I was a little girl, I was never one to fantacize about getting married or having kids. When I realized that other girls did, well, I thought, "Maybe I should give this some thought."<br /><br /><a href="http://www.discountweddingbridedresses.org/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/fantasy-wedding-dresses.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 297px; height: 414px;" src="http://www.discountweddingbridedresses.org/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/fantasy-wedding-dresses.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />The result was that I scared myself shitless about both matrimony and motherhood.<br /><br />Dear God. No desire for either one of these. I don't know if that is going to change any time soon, but at the age of 19, they are the farthest farthest things from my mind. And when they're not the farthest things from my mind, I'm usually thinking about them in a panicky, please-Mommy-hide-me kind of way.<br /><br /><a href="http://cdn-images.hollywood.com/site/DrewScream2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 432px; height: 367px;" src="http://cdn-images.hollywood.com/site/DrewScream2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Matrimony is a separate issue that I shall talk about, y'know, separately. I'd like to focus on parenthood here. Now, I'm not knocking anyone that wants to have kids. Jesus, I find that damn noble of you. You want to squeeze a baby out of <em>where?</em> You're okay with staying up <em>how late</em> to try to get it to stop crying? You mean you <em>wouldn't</em> drop the f-bomb in the most creative ways when it spit up on your favorite Led Zeppelin t-shirt?<br /><br /><a href="http://sammi-joe.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/bitch-please.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 302px;" src="http://sammi-joe.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/bitch-please.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />The main reason that I don't want to have kids, folks, is because I'd be an awful mother. I mean, truly awful. I was talking to my boyfriend recently about things that I would do to my kids, and that conversation went something like this:<br /><br />"They're probably not going to be vegan like I plan to be, at least while they're growing. But I'll offer that as a preferable choice when they're, oh, 13 or so. But they won't be allowed to eat anything processed. No preservatives. And no beef or pork, and limited amounts of meat. If they eat anything that's not organic, I'll have a motherly cow. If it's a boy and anyone even tries to mention circumcision, I'mma kill somebody. They're not going to be raised in church. They're going to come out of the womb open-minded and liberal, dammit. No TV. For Godssakes, no TV. And no annoying toys that have bright colors and flash and honestly make my baby seem dumb. And they're going to be able to speak at least three languages by the time they start school. At least. No Barbies. No GI Joes. No toy guns or swords or weapons in general. And no Twilight."<br /><br />Boyfriend listened patiently, and then I asked, "They're going to hate me, aren't they?"<br /><br />"Probably," he said.<br /><br />The thing is, I would get so frustrated as a mother raising them like that. And it would be mostly for selfish motivations. I mean, yes, that would be mostly for their own good (I think). But I'm not going to lie. I'm basically putting the lifestyle on them that I wish I had had when I was a kid. That I wish I had now.<br /><br />Also, I don't really want kids because, frankly, I still feel like a kid.<br /><br />"Oh, that's great. Never grow up. Never." Yeah, I hear you, you Peter Pan freaks.<br /><br />(It's okay. I love Peter Pan, too.)<br /><br /><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/peter pan/EmilyinChains714/GIFs/pp2.gif?o=0" target="_blank"><img src="http://i974.photobucket.com/albums/ae225/EmilyinChains714/GIFs/pp2.gif" border="0"></a><br /><br />But the fact of the matter is this: Kids love me because I think they realize that, internally, I'm a kid, too. I love Sour Patch Kids and watching cartoons in my pajamas. I make sound effects when I push buttons. I have a penchant for bright colors. And no, I never intend on growing up.<br /><br />Therefore, I love babysitting. I love playing with kids. But the issue that always comes up is this:<br /><br />DISCIPLINE.<br /><br /><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/drill sergeant/Runaway1956/drill_sergeant.jpg?o=2" target="_blank"><img src="http://i217.photobucket.com/albums/cc226/Runaway1956/drill_sergeant.jpg" border="0"></a><br /><br />Jesus Christ on a cracker. I'm horrible at discipline. And not in the pushover kind of way. Oh, no. I'm no pushover. But the issue arises that any showdown between me and a little kid is less like something between an adult and a kid and more like something between two kids at recess on the playground.<br /><br /><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/kids arguing/rezexistence/best captions/kids-arguing-1-1009-mdn.jpg?o=3" target="_blank"><img src="http://i954.photobucket.com/albums/ae23/rezexistence/best%20captions/kids-arguing-1-1009-mdn.jpg" border="0"></a><br /><br />I can usually get around this whilst babysitting. I just tickle the hell out of the kid until I can pick them up and play with them a bit until they forget that they were being a little snot in the first place. But something tells me that this isn't the best tactic for 24/7 motherhood.<br /><br />Okay, so those are my less-shallow-more-reasonable reasons against motherhood.<br /><br />I have more, folks. Good God, I have more.<br /><br />Being pregnant doesn't really scare me. The thought of the after-effects on my body don't scare me. Hell, the birthing process itself? Mildly terrifying, but the pain itself is no big deal.<br /><br />What does scare me is one word: <em>episiotomy.</em><br /><em></em><br />In other words, you wanna cut me WHERE?!<br /><br /><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/shocked woman/Quatsch1/1078.gif?o=7" target="_blank"><img src="http://i239.photobucket.com/albums/ff148/Quatsch1/1078.gif" border="0"></a><br /><br />Oh. Okay. It's to prevent vaginal tearing. So, you're going to cut me to prevent tearing of my vag. You're going to CUT me.<br /><br />As my mother cheerfully says whenever I think of this, "From stem to stern."<br /><br />Really. Just say the word "episiotomy," and you have me cringing. Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't really want to be pushing something out of myself that's so massive that my poor, poor birth canal is going to have to look like a scene from a horror movie. NO. NO NO NO.<br /><br /><a href="http://photobucket.com/images/eli%20roth%20hostel" target="_blank"><img src="http://i123.photobucket.com/albums/o300/reiko7176/boysboysboys/eli%20roth/tumblr_kpojyvZlAX1qzclpso1_500.jpg" border="0" alt="eli roth hostel Pictures, Images and Photos"/></a><br /><br />"But none of that matters when you're holding your little bundle of joy."<br /><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/eli roth hostel/reiko7176/boysboysboys/eli roth/l_7649f575f78e53320dc667abf831c4b7.jpg?o=7" target="_blank"><img src="http://i123.photobucket.com/albums/o300/reiko7176/boysboysboys/eli%20roth/l_7649f575f78e53320dc667abf831c4b7.jpg" border="0"></a><br />Bull. SHIT. MY POOR VAGINA. <br /><br />"So, have a C-section."<br />Okay, great. So I either have to choose between episiotomy *shudder* or vaginal tearing *shuuuudder* or reenacting the chestburster scene from <em>Alien</em>, only about 12 inches downwards.<br /><br /><iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/xXG-e9gFJvE" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />All of this in mind, I'm pretty sure I'm going to become the old cat lady on the corner lot that hands out raisins on Halloween. But that's okay. I'll still be watching cartoons in my pajamas and eating Sour Patch Kids, all with my vag intact.<br /><br /><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/cat lady/matzamafia/Crazy_Cat_Lady.jpg?o=14" target="_blank"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v154/matzamafia/Crazy_Cat_Lady.jpg" border="0"></a><br /><br />Do you have any phobias of social customs that seem to be expected of you?ForLackOfABetterWordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14518490419907569960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-667779189948622934.post-62301448915820763592011-06-19T08:33:00.000-07:002011-06-19T08:44:28.411-07:00Realization.I haven't blogged in a while. And the opening greeting post thingy to the site is me bitching about Charles de Gaulle.<br /><br />(I don't really hate the French, by the way. They're lovely people. And I want to go to France for a longer period of time than a six-hour lay-over. And I am mildly in love with Melanie Laurent.) <br /><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/melanie laurent/EmilyinChains714/Leading Ladies/melanie.jpg?o=8" target="_blank"><img src="http://i974.photobucket.com/albums/ae225/EmilyinChains714/Leading%20Ladies/melanie.jpg" border="0"></a><br /><br />Don't have too much to say, really. School's out. I graduated as valedictorian of my class and gave a big, scary speech to a big, scary crowd. I'm going to Yale in the fall.<br /><br />I've been noveling and listening to George Watsky and generally being a lazy ass.<br /><br />Oh, and happy Fathers' Day, to all of the padres out there that (probably don't) read this blog. I'm sending good vibes out to you and stuff. :DForLackOfABetterWordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14518490419907569960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-667779189948622934.post-2404589632333563312011-02-18T12:15:00.000-08:002011-02-18T12:22:32.785-08:00I hate the French.Or at least, the Parisian airport.<br /><br />I have about a million things I should be doing right now (cleaning, working on an essay due midnight, studying for an academic competition), but instead, I feel like I should publish this somewhere. A sticky-cheese truth I've known since I last flew to England.<br /><br />Charles De Gaulle International is rotten. Rotten, rotten rotten.<br /><br />Do you want to know why?<br /><br />When I left for England, they departed 45 minutes late and made me miss my connection, stranding me in Paris for a few hours. Not a big deal, but terrifying for me, seeing as I had never travelled on my own before that.<br /><br />Not good enough for you?<br /><br />Okay. Allow me to elaborate what has happened today.<br /><br />Danny (boyfriend) is flying from the UK to here. Made his flight into Paris on time. But you know what? KLM had a form that he needed to fill out. <br /><br />One that he didn't know about.<br /><br />He's had the tickets booked for a month. No news about this form at all.<br /><br />So he had to stay in Paris a little longer to fill out the forms, besides the fact that his plane arrived late.<br /><br />He missed his plane, long story short.<br /><br />And CDG tried to charge him 2000 pounds for a new ticket.<br /><br />Well, he and his father got this sorted. Thankfully.<br /><br />But he's staying at the airport and will be leaving for here in the morning, missing a day of our trip.<br /><br />So yeah. Sort of pissed.<br /><br />Thought I'd share.ForLackOfABetterWordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14518490419907569960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-667779189948622934.post-9093898131124120412011-02-06T20:02:00.000-08:002011-02-06T20:29:41.395-08:00So I thought I'd make that list.I mentioned in the last post that I had a list of my favorite bands. This is true. I used to be able to put it in order. I can no longer do this. But I can give a list.<br /><br />And seeing as I'm not ready to go to sleep and I'm sick of studying, I am going to give you this said list.<br /><br />My favorite bands are split into two categories. These are not the only things I listen to. I listen to a lot of things. A lot. My CD book is ponderous. And so is my milk crate overflowing with vinyl. But these next bands have been my favorites through the few years that I've lived thus far.<br /><br />When I am more mentally awake, I shall expound on why I love these so. For it is my blog, and I shall do as I please. Muahahaha.<br /><br />First are the CLASSICS. :D<br /><br />My first and foremost and absolutely favorite band of ever ever ever is Queen.<br /><br /><a href="http://s93.photobucket.com/albums/l60/2happy4emo/?action=view&current=mysterious_pembridge_rd_pic.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i93.photobucket.com/albums/l60/2happy4emo/mysterious_pembridge_rd_pic.jpg" border="0" alt="rare picture of Queen"></a><br /><br />My first love was Freddie Mercury. Long story, my friend.<br /><br />I also adore the Beatles.<br /><a href="http://photobucket.com/images/the%20beatles" target="_blank"><img src="http://i1223.photobucket.com/albums/dd519/BeatlesBabe1991/THE%20BEATLES/sodamncute-2.jpg" border="0" alt="THE BEATLES Pictures, Images and Photos"/></a><br /><br />Okay. Neeext up is LE ZEPPELIN OF LED. =D<br /><a href="http://photobucket.com/images/led%20zeppelin" target="_blank"><img src="http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b177/BigBladerShendue/Led-Zeppelin.jpg" border="0" alt="Led Zeppelin Pictures, Images and Photos"/></a><br /><br />And theeeeen...<br /><br />DAS WHO.<br /><a href="http://photobucket.com/images/the%20who%20band" target="_blank"><img src="http://i33.photobucket.com/albums/d80/peter11592/cool%20band%20pics/281766.jpg" border="0" alt="the who 3 Pictures, Images and Photos"/></a><br /><br />And I also love David Bowie. I know he's not technically a band. But I'm counting him.<br /><br /><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/david bowie/teamtactile/david_bowie.jpg?o=23" target="_blank"><img src="http://i29.photobucket.com/albums/c262/teamtactile/david_bowie.jpg" border="0"></a><br /><br />And now for the MODERN bands. :D I know I probably could have been more creative with my category names.<br /><br />FRANZ FRIGGIN' FERDINAND<br /><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/franz ferdinand/franzymandy/Franz Ferdinand/franzferdinand4_420.jpg?o=18" target="_blank"><img src="http://i235.photobucket.com/albums/ee113/franzymandy/Franz%20Ferdinand/franzferdinand4_420.jpg" border="0"></a><br />Omnomnomnom.<br /><br />And The Arctic Monkeys.<br /><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/the arctic monkeys/eva_peternel/arctic_monkeys.jpg?o=21" target="_blank"><img src="http://i537.photobucket.com/albums/ff335/eva_peternel/arctic_monkeys.jpg" border="0"></a><br /><br />Aaaaand MUSE (saw them liiiive and you know you're jealous)<br /><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/muse/sexXy14_4ever/muse.jpg?o=18" target="_blank"><img src="http://i413.photobucket.com/albums/pp212/sexXy14_4ever/muse.jpg" border="0"></a><br /><br />Also Green Day. Can't forget Green Day. <br /><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/green day/revenge479/Green Day/green-day-tickets_10.jpg?o=14" target="_blank"><img src="http://i725.photobucket.com/albums/ww253/revenge479/Green%20Day/green-day-tickets_10.jpg" border="0"></a><br />(Seen them TWICE. Got shot in the face with Billie Joe's Supersoaker at one of them.)<br /><br />And The Bravery.<br /><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/the bravery band/bracemaniac/the-bravery-band-1-1.jpg?o=4" target="_blank"><img src="http://i191.photobucket.com/albums/z207/bracemaniac/the-bravery-band-1-1.jpg" border="0"></a><br /><br />The White Striiipes.<br /><a href="http://photobucket.com/images/the%20white%20stripes" target="_blank"><img src="http://i425.photobucket.com/albums/pp339/KONSUMNUTTE/white-stripes.jpg" border="0" alt="white stripes Pictures, Images and Photos"/></a><br /><br />And last but not least, The Raconteurs.<br /><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/the raconteurs/bsanzen/The_Raconteurs.jpg?o=17" target="_blank"><img src="http://i635.photobucket.com/albums/uu75/bsanzen/The_Raconteurs.jpg" border="0"></a><br /><br />So. Did I do that just so I could sift through my favorite pictures of my favorite bands so I could relax enough to get some sleep? ...Yep. That's exactly what I did.<br /><br />But I'll write about them more as things come up. <br /><br />Love you guuuys. :DForLackOfABetterWordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14518490419907569960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-667779189948622934.post-65954512907689972392011-02-06T19:35:00.000-08:002011-02-06T20:00:13.479-08:00The End of an EraAnd by saying that this is the "end of an era," I mean that it is the end of a pretty big piece of my own, personal musical adolescence.<br /><br />And that of millions of people around the world.<br /><br />I know this is old news in the music world by now, but I wanted to discuss it here.<br /><br />Last week, the White Stripes broke up.<br /><br /><a href="http://photobucket.com/images/white%20stripes" target="_blank"><img src="http://i1192.photobucket.com/albums/aa335/smartmusicve/ws_announcement_full.jpg" border="0" alt="The White Stripes Pictures, Images and Photos"/></a><br /><br />When I found this out, I was scanning the New York Times website for news, and I saw a picture of Meg and Jack. Clicked. Read. And then proceeded to flip my proverbial shit.<br /><br />And why did I flip, you ask? Well, the reason is this: The White Stripes were the Band That Was Never Supposed To Break Up. Meg and Jack, through the band's history, have been friends, lovers, husband and wife, divorcees, and "brother" and "sister." Meg even remarried on Jack's land, and Jack long ago opted to take Meg's surname.<br /><br />They're tight, needless to say.<br /><br />So I was reading about why they broke up, and the statement released from the press said that they had not broken up for, say, petty differences.<br /><br />Or even artistic differences, for that matter.<br /><br />They broke up because they thought that they had pretty much gone as far with their two-part band as they could without compromising the artistic integrity of the band.<br /><br />They will be releasing no new albums (their last was released in 2007), and they'll be doing no more live shows.<br /><br />To be honest, my first reaction to this was disappointment that I'll never be able to see them live. The White Stripes and their raw, delicious sound has made them one of my favorite bands (yes, I have a list) for the duration of my teenagerdom. I wanted nothing more than to see Meg and Jack batter away at their instruments on stage.<br /><br />Surprisingly, I didn't cry about it.<br /><br />I usually cry over everything. <br /><br />Disney movies. Missing Led Zeppelin at the 02. Stubbing the hell out of my toe. My dog dying. Failing a quiz. Coming close to making a B in school.<br /><br />I'm a cry baby.<br /><br />No tears over this one, despite the disappointment.<br /><br />I started to think about what this breakup meant, and realized that there's still The Raconteurs. And The Dead Weather. And Jack and Meg are still alive and well and doing amazingly.<br /><br />So. They broke up. But there's still the music of the past, and there's still more music to come. And I'm okay with that.<br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="640" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/U3E-a_IJpsw" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />PS: Sorry if this seems under par compared to the rest of my posts, but I'm at that point of tired where you're exhausted but can't sleep for the stress. It's a party, guys.ForLackOfABetterWordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14518490419907569960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-667779189948622934.post-89461333965400180962011-01-29T08:33:00.000-08:002011-01-29T09:16:17.956-08:00Not done yet!<div>I started blogging today, and went off on a total tangent. Instead of posting a mega-super-single-page-stretch-BAAAAAH-MY-EYES-ARE-BLEEDING-CUT-IT-OUT-JAY-HERNANDEZ (Remember that scene from Hostel with the Asian girl and Jay Hernandez where they're about to escape but her eye's screwed up and he...? Nevermind.), I decided to post this as a separate post.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So, allow me to switch from horror-movie-fangirl mode to Tyler-Durden-society-is-whacked mode.</div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 485px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 567px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://community.spiceworks.com/images/users/0000/5709/tyler_durden.jpg" /></div><br /><p>(On Bing, one of the first suggestions that came up when I was searching "Tyler Durden" was Brad Pitt's workout for the part, followed with a title like, "Get Ripped Like Tyler Durden!". I find this ironic in one of the worst ways possible.)</p><p>First off, I want to make a comment about Margaret Sanger.</p><p>Now. For those of you that don't know. Ms. Sanger was a lovely, lovely lady during the Progressive era of the United States that founded Planned Parenthood and strove to give women power over their bodies to be able to have sex without getting pregnant when they weren't ready. She fought over the years to help fund the Pill, and then to make it accessible to all married women, and then to all women.</p><p>Margaret Sanger, in short, is a lady that I very much so look up to.</p><p>I am a feminist. I don't think this is a bad word. I embrace it. My heroes are counted among Betty Dodson, Betty Friedan, and yes, Margaret Sanger. And don't get me started on my love for Ms. Susan B. </p><p>(I could have done without the whole Carrie Hatchet phase of feminism in the 1920's.)</p><p>ANYWAY.</p><p>I am a feminist, and I think it's fantastic that I can choose when I want to have a child, or if I want to have a child at all. My choice. Not the choice of a man. Or the choice of an unsafe circumstance. We can be protected from STDs and have any career (almost--sexism does still exist, contrary to what most people seem to think) and choose motherhood whenever we want.</p><p>We have access to birth control in all its forms--condoms, the Patch, the Pill, etc. </p><p>So why the hell are there so many pregnant teenage girls at my school?</p><p>At any given time, out of a population of about 2000 at my school, there will be anywhere from half-a-dozen to a dozen girls doing the waddle. </p><p>Then, they'll usually drop out. This pretty much dooms them to a life of poverty. No education = no money. And while materialism is a no-no, I'd say it would be pretty nice to be able to feed yourself.</p><p>Well, I asked you why this happens.</p><p>That was more rhetorical than anything.</p><p>I know pretty well why there are so many young girls that get pregnant too young.</p><p>They get pregnant when they are too young because they are not educated.</p><p>Now, in the South, the sex education that I've received from school can be summarized thus:</p><p>Don't have sex. EVER. Unless you're married. If you have sex before you're married, you'll get pregnant a bajillion times and catch a bajillion STDs.</p><p>There's a problem with this, friends.</p><p>We're teenagers. We're stupid. We're hormonal. And, whether you want to admit it or not, we have sex. Get over it.</p><p>Most people are aware of the presence of condoms. Or the Pill. That's not <em>really </em>what I mean about not being educated in regards to birth control.</p><p>What I'm talking about is guilt.</p><p>Pure, unadulterated, guilt.</p><p>The US of A is a country where condoms are locked away at drug stores so you have to ask for a clerk to get them for you. Planned Parenthood clinics are staked out by anti-abortionists that will hassle anyone entering the building, even if not for an abortion. By many Christian groups, birth control is seen as a way of interfering with "G-d's plan," and girls wear purity rings and swear to be abstinent.</p><p>Now. Abstinence isn't necessarily bad. Can be good. But where abstinence becomes dangerous is when people are unprepared for sex.</p><p>That's when STDs and pregnancy happens, folks.</p><p>We're being raised in a guilt culture. A guilt culture where women are refusing to embrace what the women before us have given. A guilt culture where we are still allowing ourselves to be second-class citizens by not taking responsibility for not only our actions but also our bodies.</p><p>I don't give a damn how devout you are. I don't give a damn that you've been wearing a purity ring for years. You're still susceptible to that one moment of temptation. If you want to put it religiously, G-d made it that way. Adam and Eve. Song of Solomon. The urge is there. It will never go away.</p><p>So, instead of being in a situation where that urge could ruin you, keep a condom in your purse. Abstinent or not.</p><p>There's no reason for so many girls to be ruining their lives.</p><p>A lot of people ask me why I still consider myself a feminist. As though this became unnecessary once we gained the right to vote. As though modern-day feminists are just a bunch of hairy-legged, hippie lesbians that should be shoved to the far political left and mostly ignored.</p><p>Well, I'll tell you why I still consider myself a feminist. It's because girls still refuse to step up and take control of their bodies and of their lives in general. Not all girls. But a lot of them. Until we are all in control of ourselves, I'm still calling myself the "F" word.</p>ForLackOfABetterWordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14518490419907569960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-667779189948622934.post-86713331360010156002011-01-29T07:34:00.000-08:002011-01-29T08:31:53.385-08:00Feeling like today is going to be a Basterds kind of day...<a href="http://photobucket.com/images/inglourious%20basterds" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="inglourious basterds Pictures, Images and Photos" src="http://i123.photobucket.com/albums/o300/reiko7176/ithoughtitwasfunny/brbshoshanna2.jpg" /></a><br />And then I'll probably read Angels in America and crank out a few pages on my novel.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />And when I can't put it off absolutely no more at all, I'll do my homework.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />=D<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Even the overachievers procrastinate, friends. Except that we procrastinate in the way that--if we were adults--we'd make everyone jealous.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Consider the following scenario:<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />ME (in 20 years, aged 38): Just relaxing at home. Big cup of coffee with hazelnut creamer, watching some Tarantino, and reading a Pulitzer prize winning play. Later, I will be working on my own novel. :)<br /><br /><br /><br />(Let's assume this is a Facebook status update, although I doubt that--with as fast as Myspace tanked--we'll really be using Facebook in twenty years)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />AS OPPOSED TO: lol Farmville update.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Just saying. :) Not having a life now means I'll be a badass adult. (hopefully)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Speaking of being a badass adult: Columbia interview tomorrow, and my Yale and Harvard interviews were last week. To say the least, they went schwimmingly. Especially Yale. Thirty minute interview turned into a two-hour chat. With a former chemistry teacher that graduated with George Bush and used to be drinking buddies with him and that met Asimov. ASIMOV. And we talked about everything from Seinfeld to how my interviewer took a class with William Penn Warren.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Oh, yeah. Badassery, here I come.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY3iedvNAbveZu77Yvks7BAzzsbMFPMzKNppEb97HO3FenNXVbPriPqJUfNsJtoAeB2l3IH0N6GKyAT7sNT3Uod_j8DM3AEjSsOgNE0xl-FeKqHH10mdbcUUVSz2dN6aaKYVASxt3ES_A/s1600/eliroth.bmp"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 197px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567638875956103746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY3iedvNAbveZu77Yvks7BAzzsbMFPMzKNppEb97HO3FenNXVbPriPqJUfNsJtoAeB2l3IH0N6GKyAT7sNT3Uod_j8DM3AEjSsOgNE0xl-FeKqHH10mdbcUUVSz2dN6aaKYVASxt3ES_A/s320/eliroth.bmp" /></a><br />OH. OH OH OH. Why, no, that isn't a Satanist Santa Claus. That is me having an Eli Roth-induced coronary.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Eli "the Bear Jew" Roth--also known as my future partner in crime (it's going to happen, I tell you!)--is currently in China (Shanghai mostly, I think) working on a martial arts film that will be staring Russell Crowe and Lucy Liu. He co-wrote it with RZA. It shall be called The Man with the Iron Fists.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Click ye mouse pointer here:<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.eli-roth.com/">http://www.eli-roth.com/</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Some people have questioned my Eli Roth love. So I want to step into my fangirl shoes (do I ever really step out of them?) and say why I love him so.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />So time for a segment called LAS RAZONES PARA MI AMOR DE ELI ROTH.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Razon el primero:<br /><br /><br /><br />I have a fairly simple trifecta of reasons for why I will crush on any given guy. And those general reasons are this:<br /><br /><br /><br /><ul><br /><br /><li>He's English/Irish/Welsh/Scottish. (Although I teeeend to prefer le Englishman.)</li><br /><br /><li>He's a musician. </li><br /><br /><li>He's Jewish.</li></ul><br /><br /><br /><p>Now, any given guy does not need to fall into all three of those categories. My boyfriend of three-plus years is English and a musician. Billie Joe Armstrong of Green Day is a musician. Alex Kapranos of Franz Ferdinand is Scottish (with an English father and Greek mother--I'm not a stalker, I'm just thorough) and a musician.</p><br /><br /><br /><p>And Eli Roth is a Jew.</p><br /><br /><br /><p>I cannot explain to you why I like Jewish men. </p><br /><br /><br /><p>But there's just something about a man being man enough to rock a kippah that I think is really pretty snazzy.</p><br /><br /><br /><p>RAZON EL SEGUNDO</p><br /><br /><br /><p>Eli's just pretty to look at. Full lips. Nice muscles. (Thank you Donny Donowitz--Eli put on 40 pounds of muscle for this role!) And OHMYGRAVY his EYELASHES. Oh, and his eyes. Baaaah.</p><br /><br /><br /><p>RAZON EL...dammit...I don't know how to say "third" in Spanish.</p><br /><br /><br /><p>Eli is batshit bonkers. And he's not afraid to admit it. And he admits it in terms of psycological catharsis that he learned from his father who is a retired psychology professor at Harvard.</p><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMkCRj5wR0IfEaITuYGtjnmJbAKO-NE7ghpd5m9a-j9F5VWvTkqDTDrhm6IEb11KhzCiZ2Ce-xC3PGKGOW_NvkU85kL_RjxiW08-uxzHgwra-G9gfnAPtiDzrHzDMfXETU4H03Cvz0IIY/s1600/elihostel.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 238px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567639420874674498" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMkCRj5wR0IfEaITuYGtjnmJbAKO-NE7ghpd5m9a-j9F5VWvTkqDTDrhm6IEb11KhzCiZ2Ce-xC3PGKGOW_NvkU85kL_RjxiW08-uxzHgwra-G9gfnAPtiDzrHzDMfXETU4H03Cvz0IIY/s320/elihostel.jpg" /></a></p>If you ever want to have some fun, look up some interviews on Youtube or something of Eli talking about his films. And talking openly about his cathartic craziness.<br /><br />To the side is a picture of a girly girl from Hostel 2. Not only is she being touched by the man himself, but she's also about to die in one of his movies.<br /><br />If I got the privilege of dying in a horror movie, I would love love love it to be one of Eli's. And I wouldn't mind if it was me hanging upside down from a meathook, as pictured at left.=D<br /><br />ANYWAY. I'm not done giving you my reasons, fool.<br /><br />REASON THE FOURTH (Spanish is a hassle, yo)<br />He's a nerd. Total, total nerd. Notice the Cannibal Holocaust shirt that he is wearing in this picture. This man's love of horror movies runs deep. If there was such thing as being a horror movie scholar, Eli would be the epitome of this.<br /><br />REASON THE FIFTH<br />He's a faithful devotee of--and friends with--QUENTIN EFFIN' TARANTINO. I don't think this needs explanation.<br /><br />REASON THE SIXTH<br />He's really intelligent. He often gets painted--being a member of the Splat Pack--as sort of a mediocre torture porn director. (If I hear one more person use the term "torture porn" in tandem with a horror flick, I'm going to send them the goriest S&M thing I can and say, "No, friend. THIS is torture porn. Horror is art.") But this maaan. He graduated top of his class at NYU film school. Writes prolifically. Wrote Hostel as a commentary on the Bush administration. Keeps a journal of his dreams and analyzes the dreams of others (saw that on an interview last week). But he seems approachable. Which leads me toooo<br /><br /><br />REASON THE SEVENTH<br />He's approachable. He has a Twitter and communicates with his fans. He had an incident two-ish years ago where he had cyber sex with a bunch of his fans. (I would say "Three cheers for the Blueberries!" here, but they turned to megabitches when he started dating Peaches Geldof--they've broken up since.) He seems like the kind of guy that you could have a really intelligent conversation with, and yet feel fine with going somewhere to just have a drink with him. (In this hypothetical situation, I'm talking about Europe. I'm fully aware that I'm too young to drink in the States. So I don't drink in the States.)<br /><br />So. In short. He's a super-awesome, super-crazy, super-hot, super-wicked smart, super-Bostonian, super-Jew.<br /><br />And I would love to be killed in one of his movies.<br /><br />BTdubs. Not sure why the formatting on this post got effed. Sorry about that, folks.<br /><br />Follow Eli Roth here:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.twitter.com/eliroth">www.twitter.com/eliroth</a><br /><br />And go here and bid on him for charity. (I can't do it; no money. BAAAH.) He'll follow the highest bidder on Twitter and Skype them for 15 minutes.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.twitchange.com/">http://www.twitchange.com/</a><br /><br /><p></p>ForLackOfABetterWordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14518490419907569960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-667779189948622934.post-37549679658378207122011-01-12T14:05:00.001-08:002011-01-12T14:59:37.929-08:00Just musing :)And while that title was not originally supposed to be a pun, I want to say off the cuff that OH MY GRAVY MATT BELLAMY IS GONNA BE A DADDY.<br /><br />(I like me some Muse. Yes, indeedy.)<br /><br />He and Kate Hudson have been dating for nine months, and Kate is 14 weeks pregnant. So says Wendy Williams.<br /><a href="http://photobucket.com/images/matt%20bellamy" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Matt Bellamy Red Hair Pictures, Images and Photos" src="http://i1115.photobucket.com/albums/k548/Xx-CyDoNia-xX/Hot%20Famous%20Guys/Matt%20Bellamy/Bellamy28.jpg" /></a><br />+<br /><a href="http://photobucket.com/images/kate%20hudson" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Kate Hudson Pictures, Images and Photos" src="http://i59.photobucket.com/albums/g284/Tsuruka/kate_hudson.jpg" /></a><br />=<br />Beautiful interfaith baby. =D<br /><br />Anyway. While I collect my breath from my fangirl outburst, allow me to tell you what I was "Muse"ing about. (Why, yes. That time, it was an intentional pun. You clever reader, you.)<br /><br />I'm aware that people change as they get older. This change, I suppose, is referred to as "le coming of age." And it has spawned many gag-nasty novels and movies about young girls/boys coming into their own in a world that wants to do nothing but embrace them.<br /><br />Well, I had never really given much thought to how much I had changed in my own coming of age until recently. And I thought it deserved to be written about, especially somewhere on the web where no-one ventures and there's the occasional tumbleweed and no-one to join me in the puke-fest that is my own coming of age.<br /><br />Allow me, therefore, to paint for you a picture.<br /><br />Physically, I haven't grown since about fourth grade. I've lost weight - and struggled to keep what I've got so as not to make my parents ask me awkward questions about my nonexistant anorexia - but I have remained the same height, the same stature, etc. etc. etc. since about age 11-ish.<br /><br />(Being occasionally mistaken for a child does have its perks, I have to admit.)<br /><br />Intellectually, I've always been a nerd. I learned to read when I was three. Ish. I used to annoy the hell out of my teachers because I always made 100%s on my spelling tests (I had one that made me write out my own spelling lists before finally excusing me from them altogether). Even now, I'm ranked number one in my class (senior in high school and I can't wait to get the hell out of that place).<br /><br />So the changes to me have been a tish more subtle. Or not.<br /><br />Let's address the obvious.<br /><br />I was raised a Christian. I went to AWANAS and earned every badge available. I was in a Baptist church nearly every Sunday, and I read my own Bible cover-to-cover. I was "born again" when I was seven and tried to convert all of my little friends. The first story I ever wrote was a retelling of the birth of Jesus when I was four - complete with stick-figure illustrations. I was baptized when I was 10, and I have worn a purity ring since I was 12.<br /><br />Only now I wear that purity ring because I don't want to get weird questions from my family on why one of my beloved rings is missing.<br /><br />Now, I call it my "I'm down with Jesus" ring.<br /><br />Not my "Jesus is my forever friend" ring.<br /><br />Just a nod towards a Jew that became this Messiah figure around the time of Paul when formerly all of his followers were Jews and would have balked at the idea of being called anything else.<br /><br />That being said.<br /><br />Now? Well, I'm not exactly Christian, to put it lightly. If anything, I'm considering Judaism. I'm dating an Atheist, and I have to gnaw my tongue at church. (I still occasionally go to a baptist one with my grandmother, who doesn't know about my slip from Happy Happy Jesus Time.)<br /><br />I am now a vegetarian; this was my first big step away from my big, Southern family's norm.<br /><br />I dabbled in everything from Evangelism to Hinduism to Krishna Consciousness to Wicca to Druidism to Catholicism before finally landing on Judaism - no Jews in my family.<br /><br />My boyfriend of three years is English. And being in a long-distance relationship, one of us has got to move eventually. And it's probably going to be me, and I'm probably going to get some sort of English citizenship, eventually.<br /><br />When I go to college, I will become a vegan.<br /><br />And when I vote for the first time (I couldn't bring myself to vote in my state's gubernatorial election; a choice between Good Ol' Boy #1 and Good Ol' Boy #2 isn't a good enough choice for me.) it will be as a liberal.<br /><br />So I started out as a meat-eater. Conservative. Christian. A patriotic American.<br /><br />Now? I'm a vegetarian-in-transition-to-veganism. A liberal. A maybe-Jew. And I'm finding that I fall short of patriotism.<br /><br />I hate to sound emo, folks, but my coming of age led me away from my family.<br /><br />Now, thankfully, the family to which I am closest understands this. My mother is my dearest friend. My father "gets" me better than most people (although he's not so chill with me possibly becoming a Jew).<br /><br />But otherwise? Man, my family had issues swallowing down my decision to dye my hair blue and to forego the Thanksgiving turkey. If they found out I was liberal?<br /><br />And not baptist?<br /><br />Or even Christian, for that matter?<br /><br />Family reunions in the future are going to look something like:<br /><a href="http://photobucket.com/images/mushroom%20cloud" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="mushroom cloud Pictures, Images and Photos" src="http://i702.photobucket.com/albums/ww25/gingermansfield/mushroom_cloud.jpg" /></a><br />Not quite sure on how I feel about this.<br /><br />So, no. My coming-of-age, while not altogether even close to being rotten, is certainly not what I would have imagined as a child. If I had been asked at age eight where I'd be in ten years, I probably would have described the opposite of my feminist, animal-rights-loving, gay-marriage-toting, foul-mouthed (and yet trying to remedy that), vegetarian self.<br /><br />I'm the same height. I have the same IQ. But I couldn't be anymore different.<br /><br />And while I'm not sure on how I feel about that - whether good or bad - I am certainly fine with it.<br /><br />PS: I have this image of me trying to get my English citizenship and showing some stuffy customs official my paperwork.<br /><br />"This says you're a Harvard grad. Jewish ethnicity. And your last place of residence was in Boston?" (My Harvard interview is coming up. Just cross your fingers and roll with me, folks.)<br /><br />"Why, yes, ma'am. That's just about right." I'd giggle here, trying to lighten the situation. And of course I'd say this in a strong Southern accent that I just can't seem to completely shake.<br /><br />"...I don't believe you."<br /><br />"Pardon?"<br /><br />"Get out. I don't believe you."<br /><br />And that would be that.ForLackOfABetterWordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14518490419907569960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-667779189948622934.post-70386294668263218212011-01-04T06:58:00.001-08:002011-01-04T07:36:58.189-08:00Long time, no see.And I must say, sorry about that, folks.<br /><br />I've been busy - working on a novel, applying to colleges, generally keeping afloat in my classes. I can't wait for high school to be over.<br /><br />Anywho.<br /><br />For a while, I've wanted to make a post about long distance relationships. (How's that for a segway? Nonexistant - the best kind!)<br /><br />I have been involved in an LDR for just over three years now. My boyfriend is a certain tall drink of water named Danny, and he lives in Britain where he calls french fries chips and he drives on the wrong side of the road.<br /><br />Things have gone remarkably well with him. To put it short.<br /><br />However, seeing as I just got home from a visit with him and his family in England, I wanted to make a list of the pros and cons of having an LDR.<br /><br />Let's start with the pros, shall we?<br /><br />PROS<br /><ul><li><strong>We communicate. A lot.</strong> We know each other inside and out. Basically, this is because the main way that we are together is through communications, whether that comes in the form of letters, phone calls, or messaging on the computer. We are really open with each other as a result, and arguments are resolved easily as we know how to talk to each other as civilized human beings.</li><li><strong>I don't have to worry about what I look like. </strong>This is a wonderful thing. I don't want to wear makeup? That's fine. Go for a while without trimming my hair? Who cares? Webcam shows me in crappy detail, anyway. The downside of this is that, in my short-haired-no-make-up-jeans-and-tshirt get-up, I oftentimes get mistaken for the wrong gender (I've had straight girls and gay guys make eyes at me before I open my mouth and they hear my seven-year-old-little-girl voice. On my most recent visit to England, I was mistaken as a Dutch little boy. Twice.)</li><li><strong>I DON'T HAVE TO SHAVE MY LEGS.</strong> Seeing as I mostly wear jeans. And you never see my legs. And romantic interludes with a lovely British young man patting my leg are rare. So I don't shave. TAKE THAT, MISOGYNISTIC SYSTEM. =D</li><li><strong>The little things really, really matter.</strong> If I get an email from him, I dance on the inside. A letter? That dance rips into an all-out Irish jig. When he visits and I find that he's left a personal item at my house, I hug it for ages and cry. When I'm with him and he holds me, I feel like a little girl with a crush, even though we've been together three years.</li><li><strong>Trust.</strong> This is something that we've built up and perfected to a friggin' art that would make da Vinci proud. Oftentimes, I have people ask me if I'm afraid of him cheating. The answer? Hell no. This sort of ties into the communication thing; I know him very well. He knows me very well. And I have no fear of him cheating. We both have friends of the opposite sex with whom we are very close; this is not a problem with either of us. When you have three years and 4,000 miles between you and all of the possible freedom in the world and yet you still remain faithful, you come to really trust your partner.</li></ul><p>Alright. And now the cons.</p><p>CONS</p><ul><li><strong>I'm a sap. </strong>I never was a sap before I fell in love with Danny. I thought romantic love was sort of silly. That I just wanted to focus on my studies. Sure, I thought about romantic love. Wondered what it was like. But I wanted nothing to do with it until I met ze Dannyman. This almost made it into the pro section. But then I thought of how many times I've sat at home and not wanted to go out with friends because I was still in my pajamas - icecream in hand - looking at old pictures of Dan and myself and crying. I never used to really cry. Thanks a lot, Dan. >:[</li><li><strong>I'm bitter. Very, very bitter. In regards to other couples, that is.</strong> I consider myself a kind, humane person. I don't get angry easily. I've been a vegetarian and animal activist for a long time. I support various humanitarian organizations. I make funny faces at cute babies at the grocery store. I talk to old ladies and let them have my place in line. But when I see other couples - especially of the super lovey-dovey kind that you KNOW aren't going to last more than a few months - I want to go all Bear Jew and break out my baseball bat and Bostonian badass accent. I know they aren't, but I feel like they're making a personal affront, almost. When I'm in a particularly sour mood, I'll even walk between a couple, rude comment at hand. Now, if you're a normal couple - been together a while, hold hands in public but not much else - you're cool. Fine. I might avoid you if I'm having a bad day, but most likely not. It's when people are making out right in front of me and using baby names that I want to go apeshit.</li><li><strong>I might act like it's fun, but prom on my own sucks.</strong> And mostly, it is fun. I love dressing up and going with my friends places, and not having a date has some sort of freedom to it. But once the slow dance songs are broken out and everyone gets all coupley, I magically disappear to go drown in my sorrows (and usually fix my makeup).</li><li><strong>And being alone sucks in general.</strong> I'm an independent chica. I have my own political views and I am quite the loud-mouthed feminist. But even I have to admit, not being able to be with my boyfriend, especially when special occasions come up (holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, etc.) is smelly. Uber smelly. Like the chunky milk that you forgot you put in the back of the fridge six months ago. Yeah. That bad.</li><li><strong>My eating habits iz all mixed up, yo.</strong> When I'm sad, I eat enough to deprive an entire African village. When I'm anxious, I can hardly drink water. And I feel both of these when I'm being a lonely little emo girl. I go between, "BAAAAH LIFE SUUUCKS," and, "Ohcrapohcrapohcrap not going to see him for eleven months." Usually I maintain a healthy, salad-and-soy filled diet, but if I decide to be emo even just a little, my body goes into this weird mode where either I eat like a whale or not at all. And then my weight fluctuates so I either have some chub or I resemble an anorexic.</li></ul><p>And there you have it. The good, the bad, and the unshaven ugly that is (at least this) the long distance relationship.</p><p>Have you ever been in an LDR? What are your opinions on it in general? Worth it? No?</p><p>Oh. And if you were wondering. Danny has a blog as well. He focuses on school and medically thingy things in his. It's a pretty good read, if I may say so myself. :) </p><p><a href="http://www.thedannymancan.blogspot.com/">http://www.thedannymancan.blogspot.com</a></p><p> </p>ForLackOfABetterWordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14518490419907569960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-667779189948622934.post-90125467970019941582010-08-30T13:42:00.000-07:002010-08-30T14:03:11.547-07:00I should be doing my homework......or something else responsible, like reading my Bible or flossing my teeth.<br /><br />But I'm blogging instead. =D<br /><br />It's been a little while since my last blog. School has started. I've already found the one class I can't stand (it seems like EVERY YEAR, there's one), Writing Club is kicking ass and taking names, and I'm procrastinating.<br /><br />What is the subject of this procrastination, you ask?<br /><br />Well, dear curious reader, I will tell you.<br /><br />Lately, I've realized an abundance of adorable animal commercials. You know. The kinds that make you stop whatever you're doing, sigh, and go, "Awww."<br /><br />You know what I'm talking about. The Geico gecko. The Cottonelle puppy. ELI FRICKIN' ROTH (Why, yes. He is a cute animal.)<br /><a href="http://photobucket.com/images/eli%20roth" target="_blank"><img src="http://i123.photobucket.com/albums/o300/reiko7176/boysboysboys/eli%20roth/eli_1.jpg" alt="eli roth Pictures, Images and Photos" border="0" /></a><br />I tend to find that the ability to be able to pull off a face-full of blood is incredibly sexy in a man.<br /><br />ANYWAY.<br /><br />I want to take the time to post some of my favorite cute animal advertisements. Do you have a favorite? Anything that makes your icy void of a soul melt for the 60 seconds that the commercial is playing, giving you just long enough to begin to contemplate not throwing your TI-84 at that idiot teacher of yours?<br /><br />...Maybe that's just me.<br /><br />Anyway. =D Here be some cute critters for ya.<br /><br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/tAbWpZ552Xk?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/tAbWpZ552Xk?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />Now, I'm not the biggest PETA fan in the world--even as a vegetarian, I think they're a bit whacked--but the combination of adorable puppet snake and adorable Eli Roth is just too much. Seriously. I'm leaking gray matter from my nose.<br /><br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/T3cz2F8rSNM?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/T3cz2F8rSNM?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br />(In case you're like me, AKA, obsessed with this man.)<br /><br />Aaand for another ad:<br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/8F_G2zp-opg?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/8F_G2zp-opg?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />My inspiration to go vegetarian initially was an adorable picture of two pink piggies (yes, on PETA). I still want a pet pig. (If you make a crack about eating pork in the comments like my dad does every time I say I love pigs--he does this weird lip smacking thing and looks at me like I'm an idiot--I will delete your comment. =D)<br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Y85JQEAFGMo?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Y85JQEAFGMo?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br />And of course, the Gecko.<br /><br />Alright. I need to get into my homework. But please.:)Do you have a favorite? Anything that warms the cockles of your heart? (Yes. I really just said "cockles.") Comment. =DForLackOfABetterWordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14518490419907569960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-667779189948622934.post-17647363762776892782010-07-20T13:45:00.000-07:002010-07-20T16:03:39.923-07:00Rules for Vampire LoveI saw Eclipse yesterday. Spent $10.50 on the ticket alone, and bought a gargantuan Cherry Coke for $4 (it was supposed to be a "small," but I could barely wrap my hand around it).<br /><br />First of all, I want to ask this: Why is it that nancy boy Edward, with his I-just-swam-five-hundred-laps-through-an-Olympic-sized-swimming-pool-of-glitter skin and wiry chest hair poking through his shirt in a way akin to Simon Cowell, is seen as the ideal boyfriend?<br /><br />"Oh, he's gentlemanly. He's hot. He loves Bella so, so much."<br /><br />Before I go into a rant about how stupid I think Twilight is (and yet, yes, I paid to watch the movie; it's like cotton candy, tasty for a little while and then it makes your jaw ache, it's so sweet), I shall post this, for the Almighty Oatmeal sums up my feelings.<br /><br />http://theoatmeal.com/story/twilight<br /><br />Okay. So. My own main problem with Twilight is this:<br /><br />TEAM JACOB VS. TEAM EDWARD<br /><br />And the little empty shell caught in between.<br /><br />What is my problem with this? One, I just can't find it within my Anne Rice- and Joss Whedon- loving soul to give a damn for Meyer's damned. I had better daydreams when I was 8 than what this woman has penned.<br /><br />My other main problem is that Edward is a controlling, potentially abusive prick, and he's what is setting the standard for tween love. And Jacob isn't much better.<br /><br />I think I just choked on my own vomit.<br /><br />Anyway. I digress.<br /><br />If you're going to love a vampire, first you should know some things about who they really are. Because Stephanie Meyer's demon spawn splattered on wood pulp is not Nosferatu of the Night. No. They are Glitter Monsters. They puke glitter. Crap glitter. Eat glitter shakes in the morning. Wear glitter mascara on their fake glitter eyelashes, which are, in fact, attached with glitter glue.<br /><br />So here are the guidelines for real vampires until they were bastardized, ripped up and left in the sun with Holy Water as sun block by Stephanie Meyer and all of her horrible "AMAGAD VAMPIIIIIIRE!!!" followers that now clutter the YA section of Borders.<br /><br />For this following example, I will use Joss Whedon's Spike and Stephanie Meyer's Edward to epitomize my point.<br /><br />1.) Vampires do not glitter in the sun.<br /><br />In fact, they set on fire. This is the way it has always been. Creature of the night and all of that.<br /><br />Take Spike. He has to run around Sunnydale with a blanket over his lovely bleached head in order to travel in the day. Why? Because he's bad ass enough to pull off a blanket.<br /><br />Lestat was the same. How was he almost killed? Fire. Fire = sun = day.<br /><br />This sparkle crap is a campaign to sell books similar to when Barbie wants to sell a faerie doll.<br /><br />2.) Vampires do not like Italian food.<br /><br />Duh. This is as old as the Transylvanian version of the myth itself. Vampire + garlic =<br /><a href="http://photobucket.com/images/mushroom%20cloud" target="_blank"><img src="http://i589.photobucket.com/albums/ss339/heathman46_2009/mushroom-cloud.jpg" alt="Mushroom cloud Pictures, Images and Photos" border="0" /></a><br />This does not even merit a Spike vs. Edward comparison, except to say that when Edward took Bella to an Italian restaurant in Twilight, he either a.) has bigger vampire kahones than Dracula, or b.) he's vampire castrated.<br /><br />3.) Vampires don't dig on the religious.<br />Spike hugged a cross and his skin burned. Buffy killed a psycho vampire by tricking him into drinking holy water. Angel burns his hand when he touches Buffy's crucifix. God and vamps don't mix.<br /><br />This was semi-addressed in Twilight; Carlisle's (I don't care enough to check how to spell that) dad was a priest or something, but Carlisle left the church when he was changed. However, he has a nancy boy obsession with souls and such which is very reminiscent of the religious (and a little too reflective of Meyer's own beliefs). Meyer leads us to believe that vampires have souls in the fact that they care about souls, which leads me to this point:<br /><br />4.) VAMPIRES HAVE NO FREAKING SOULS.<br />Unless you're Angel. And Angel is the prime example of the suckage that is born from vampires having souls. He whines. He cries. He can't get it on with the Buffster.<br /><br />Spike again. William the Bloody. When he is changed, he tortures people with railroad spikes. Kills slayers. Generally tears across continents, wreaking havoc, all while having beautiful hair and perfectly chipped black nail polish.<br /><br />When he gets a soul--something he fights to earn--he is miserable. He goes insane. He tries to claw the soul out with his fingernails.<br /><br />It's not natural. At least not in vampy land. Maybe it is in soccer-mom-sexy-fantasy land.<br /><br />Vampires are demons. That doesn't really vary from mythology to mythology. Demons are opposed to good. That means they have no soul. Gold star on the Sunday school chart for you if you figured that one out.<br /><br />And my fifth and final point,<br /><br />5.) Vampires have to be invited before they can come into a home.<br />Angel. Dracula. Lestat. Spike. Come on, guys. You're not going to have a creepy, amber-eyed glitteratti staring at you from the base of your bed, unless you want him to be there.<br /><br />(Aren't there laws against that sort of thing? Laws that involve chains, moldy bread, and a large woman with a mustache named Bertha? No? There should be.)<br /><br />This is all without me addressing stakes, diet, sexual habits, changing, and so on and so forth.<br /><br />Point is this. Vampires aren't these fluffy little glitter bunnies that hop around giving awkward teenage girls self-esteem boosts.<br /><br />They are the bad asses that take your local virgins, seduce them, and rip their throats out so that they can make Bella Blood Martini.<br /><br />Case closed.<br /><br />Liberal use of phrase "nancy boy" brought to you by my insane love for William the Bloody that surpasses the normal and borders on the Freudian.<br /><br />Here's a video num num for you.<br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/2BQHpTPF6oM&hl=en_US&fs=1?color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/2BQHpTPF6oM&hl=en_US&fs=1?color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />(PS: Werewolves change during a full moon and use Bella bones for toothpicks. They don't turn into cute little puppy dogs that hate vampires. Dracula actually sometimes turned into a wolf. But I digress. I super digress. Before I start ranting again.)ForLackOfABetterWordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14518490419907569960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-667779189948622934.post-28832007355686866042010-07-15T20:13:00.000-07:002010-07-15T20:22:41.057-07:00Excuse me while I rant. :)Nanowrimo, for those of you that don't know, is a month-long frenzy during November in which you write a 50,000 word-long piece of work, which you claim is a novel, but is actually a novella if you want to get technical.<br /><br />www.nanowrimo.org<br /><br />ANYWAY.<br /><br />In my pre-Nano life, I had already written two novels. Two crappy novels--both handwritten--in spiral notebooks. One was 250 pages long, and the other was 374 pages.<br /><br />I thought that I knew the meaning of having my soul stolen by a work.<br /><br />My third novel was a Nano work. It was more of a personal thing that I needed to get out--I swear to God, I might cry if anybody ever reads it. And not pretty crying. More like angsty-teen-had-a-baby-with-Keith-Moon crying. You know. The kind where your eyes are puffy, you're making those death-scrape sobbing noises, and oops, you've just thrown the TV out the window.<br /><br />My fourth novel? Oh, I committed a cardinal sin.<br /><br />I told my muse that he was my muse. And my muse is my boyfriend.<br /><br />(Yes, we're still dating.)<br /><br />He got so excited. He couldn't believe that he--HE--had inspired a character in one of my novels. Well, I got excited, too. So excited, in fact, that I told him that the novel would be his Christmas present. I met my 50,000 word goal by the skin of my teeth, but I was nowhere close to finishing the novel.<br /><br />I'm still not. After last years Nano, I felt completely drained.<br /><br />I jumped into poetry. My writing style completely did a 180 from what it used to be (even my mom doesn't like it now). And I have no idea how to finish my boyfriend's novel.<br /><br />It almost feels unfair. I promised him something. I didn't deliver. I feel stupid for telling him that I'd do this. But, psh, I thought. I've written three before. Whatevs. You want a novel? Here, lemme crank one out for you.<br /><br />Okay. So I've been (in)Fertile (in)Myrtle for ages.<br /><br />And then I had an idea for another novel. And it's been eating me up from the inside.<br /><br />I was planning on using it for Nano. I was so excited. I've been planning out characters, outlining the story, everything--this is a big step for an impulsive writer like me (probably 80% of my prose is stream of consciousness, and I still don't know if that's good or bad).<br /><br />But I feel like I'm cheating on last year's Nano. The file that squats on my jump drive, staring at me.<br /><br />The thing is, I still love that idea that I had for that last novel that I never finished. But...I don't know. It ran out of steam. Kaplooey.<br /><br />So that is my rant. Just wanted to say it.<br /><br />I know I feel better. =DForLackOfABetterWordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14518490419907569960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-667779189948622934.post-6470806731383520692010-07-15T19:33:00.000-07:002010-07-15T19:48:44.907-07:00Okay. So I'm back.And the blog is much less annoyingly pink.<br /><br />I've really, really missed blogging. I'll look around me and say, "Hm. I could blog about that. BUT NO. DON'T. BAAAAH IT DOESN'T FIT THE ANNOYING, PINK GET-UP OF YOUR STALKER BLOG!!! BAAAAAH!"<br /><br />(For those of you that blessedly do not know of the Internet's tumor that I'm speaking of but are absolutely dying to find out, go here: www.greysqueenfest.blogspot.com )<br /><br />Blogspot is very different now. Kind of...shiny. I like it.<br /><br />So. Like I said. Starting afresh.<br /><br />Because I got through puberty years ago, and hopefully my blogging style has as well.<br /><br />Is there a theme to blog? Of course not. I'm too selfish for that.<br /><br />Will I say things on here that will embarrass me very much? Possibly. Possibly.<br /><br />Okay. In case you were wondering how I've changed--or you didn't know in the first place and you don't really care enough to go look at my profile--I am Grey. Is that really my name? Well, no. I'm actually Eli Roth in a female body. And twenty years younger. But with the same dashing good looks and twisted brain.<br /><br />Yes. That is really my name. Or at least the one I want you to call me.<br /><br />(At least I didn't make up some weird, pseudo-Japanese name. Yes. It COULD be that bad.)<br /><br />I'm a vegetarian. A rising senior. A novelist. A poet. The girlfriend--for three years this October--to a beautiful, beautiful young Briton. A frequent dyer. A nerd. A Joss Whedon fanatic. A zombie freak. A Twilight-hater (I'm aware that this is a trend now, but I just can't help myself, dearies). A Grammar Nazi. A gay man trapped in a female body (No, Eli Roth isn't gay. If Eli Roth was gay, I'd cry. The gay man is Eli Roth's neighbor in my brain. They have tea together and watch gory films.). A Tarantino worshiper. A Pastafarian. Monty Python devotee, music junkie, blah blah blah...<br /><br />Ha. Ha. You have to buy a new keyboard now. I caught you drooling while you were sleeping while you were reading this blog while I was eating ramen while I was laughing at you.<br /><br />So. Long story short. This is me. This is new blog. That is you.<br /><br />Hello, you. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.ForLackOfABetterWordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14518490419907569960noreply@blogger.com0