Friday, May 29, 2009
So, I started thinking about this in the shower this morning. I often start thinking really deep whilst in the shower. Anyone else? No? No? Are you sure? You’re lying.
Anyway, I started thinking about this cute worker at a local store. He’s flirted with me a couple times. Totally harmless, and very slight. But it’s there.
So what’s the problem with that? Well, he has to be at least nineteen, if not a bit older.
Le gasp. Mass hysteria. A nineteen year old flirting with a sixteen year old? That pervert. Someone call the police!
See what I did there?
I see nineteen year olds dating twenty-five year olds all the time. Never mind, the barely legal girls dating the creepy forty-year olds. That’s fine. No one says anything about that. She’s nineteen. So who cares?
But when you get a seventeen-year-old girl dating a twenty-year-old, or a sixteen-year-old dating an eighteen-year-old everyone freaks out.
So why is that?
Really, what difference does one or two years make? What is it about eighteen that makes anyone younger off limits? Who in America decided you became an adult at eighteen anyway? Do we have to run a maturity poll or something?
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying we should have 12 year olds dating 50 year old guys. I’m not saying we should go back to the old times where young girls got married at 13 and had two or three kids by age fifteen.
I’m talking about teens dating teens. Teens having fun with teens. Teens having S-E-X with teens.
If you pay much attention – you’ll realize that this whole ’18 makes you an adult’ thing is everywhere. Even in most teens. We’ll take my friend Bunni for example. Last year she dated a guy for a while, and eventually they broke up. She’s roughly a year and a half older then him. So when if dating him came up in a conversation she hurriedly exclaimed that she could never date him – seeing as she’ll be 18 this month, and the age difference would be ‘creepy’.
Huh? So being a year or two older is okay until your eighteen. Then it’s illegal and scary. Am I right?
So, of course this is more of a problem for girls. Most parents don’t ask their son’s how old his girlfriend is, it’s a question that comes up a lot more often for teenage girls.
So why is that?
Are parents just protecting their dumb, naive, teen girls from the horror’s of what could happen if they decided to one day wander off and play with the big boys?
And what about those girls that lie? Or disrespect their parents wishes? How could they?!
Don’t they know that as soon as a man turns eighteen he becomes bent on nothing else then raping and deflowering young naïve teen girls while they clutch desperately to- oh wait, sorry, that’s not true is it?
So how did this whole ‘no touching until your 18’ business start anyway? Are we as a country just being sexist? Thinking girls aren’t smart enough to make decisions such as these until that fateful day when they turn eighteen and magically grow a brain?
Oh! Of course. I get it now. It’s because, we as teenage girls – don’t know what we’re doing! That must be it. I mean, they teach us all about reproductive systems and STD’s in school, Sex in everywhere – from billboards to TV. It’s free allllllll over the Internet. We’ve all seen it, heard about it, or read it. And we’re lying if we say we haven’t. We know all about it. We just aren’t smart enough to be involved in it.
Especially with someone older then ourselves.
Because we don’t know what we’re doing.
We aren’t smart enough to lie about our ages. We aren’t smart enough to dress older, or act older. It’s not like we’re allowed to dress like sex on legs, talk about sex, or think about it. Wait… for god sake what’s wrong with us? We’re only teenagers! Where are our one-piece smocks? Where are our Catholic Abstinence only daytime cartoons?
No wait. Everyone calm down! It’s okay. We can act like that.
Because we don’t know what we’re doing.
Because we can’t be held responsible.
After all, if we end up dating and sleeping with that 18 year old neighbor we’ve known for who knows how long – it’s because he lied, and was too crafty for our slow teenage minds. It’s not like we knew what we we’re doing.
So it’s not our fault.
So we aren’t going to be held responsible for our naïve female actions…. wait, your kidding right? We ARE being held responsible? Since when?
Ahhhhh, Okay, the whole ‘sexting’ thing. So, we don’t know what we’re doing when we have sex – but we do when we take naked pictures of ourselves and send them all over the interwebs? Make up your mind already!
Sorry girls, you can’t be a porn star until your 18! Off to jail with you. Manufacturing Child pornography. What’s wrong with you girls? Sending it to boys all over school. Soiling they’re once clean minds. Shame on you!
All I’m saying is, lets all take a step back. Look around us. What does putting a bunch of 18 year olds in jail do for us anyway?
Does that make us safer?
Safer from what?
If you don’t want your teen girls to have sex, you should talk to them about it. If you don’t want them having kids – you should encourage in everyway you can the use of birth control and condoms.
But putting away her poor boyfriend?
Am I really the only one that thinks that’s a bit extreme?
And lets not forget those porn-sta- I mean students. What does putting them in jail do?
Save a kid from getting a hard-on in class?
Save the girl from future embarrassment as an adult?
After all, she must have all those shameful acts pushed firmly to the back of her mind – so far back she couldn’t find them if she tried.
That must be what juvi’s for.
It’s like a purification retreat.
Only without the vegan lunches and the meditation.
So, lets all take a step back here. Is this whole ’18 or older’ craze real? Is there any real reason for it?
Or are we, as a family, as a state, as a country –
Just completely and utterly brainwashed?
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
I don’t remember what I did yesterday. But I know I got a lot done. I know I went to a thrift store…. found some pretty cute stuff. I’m trying to bring the whole John Lennon era into my wardrobe. You’d be surprised how hard it is to find vests these days that aren’t horrid and covered in floral patterns. I did find a nice vest though - more pirate-like then anything.
I think I did some chores…. I’m ecstatic over the fact that I’m finally getting a dishwasher. I’m a terrible dishwasher, I always manage to get myself wet, I’m never able to really get the dishes fully spotless, and my hands have been getting chapped from all the hot water. Defiantly one of my least favorite chores.
I had my music lessons today. Guitar went pretty well. But I’m working on a song in my voice class, which has a high F note. This is at the top of my vocal range anyway, but for the last three or four weeks my throat has been bothering me. My voice teacher says it’s half stress and half posture- and I always thought I had pretty good posture!
I went to the barn today, mostly to get some of my stuff. It’s almost disgusting how quickly a place can change. I haven’t visited in about a month, and the farm itself seems like it’s dying.
Fences have already started being removed. Most of the horses are gone, and the grass – that’s usually kept short is almost completely overgrown. The spirit of the place seems sad. Lonely even.
Maybe I’m just too emotional.
Or maybe I’m right.
On a lighter note – it seems like I’ll be attending warped tour this year after all. A friend of mine is using it as her birthday gift and offered me a ticket. Yay.
I’ll be honest when I say I’m not expecting much. I always thought Vans was a rock show. What’s with all the screamo/scene bands this year?
Seems like my concert schedule is filling up pretty quickly.
I’d like to see Anberlin and Taking back Sunday in July.
Did anyone know Anberlin was Christian rock? I had no idea.
But when I found out last week all of their music videos and lyrics suddenly made a ton more sense…. Am I the only one this has happened to?
Warped is in July, But I’d also like to go see Boys like Girls with NeverShoutNever.
I know I’ll get a ton of flaming for this – but I honestly think Christofer Drew (NSN) has the potential to become one of the John Lennon’s of our generation. If the boy gets any more into love and peace he’ll start singing about being happy and holding peoples hand- oh wait. Huh.
Then we have the Blink-182 reunion tour in August. Who else is excited? Soooo they’ve only been on hiatus since 2005. That’s plenty of time for us to miss them, and you have to admit – while they’re new bands (Angels & Airwaves and +44) are good. They aren’t Blink.
So…there goes about 70 dollars for the next three months. I should really start saving…
It’s gotten to the point where this is totally a stream of consciousness writing type thing. So you’ll all have to deal with my odd ramblings for a bit. There’s no other way for my to blog for a certain amount of time (or pages) without just writing what comes to mind. It kinda upsets me that my life isn’t exciting enough for me to have three pages of stories to tell each day. Maybe if I bring my font size up to 14….but that would somehow feel like cheating….
Oh! I ended up making business cards yesterday (Thank you VistaPrint),I got sick and tired of having to write all my contact information out for people (Think Raven from questionable content) Call me lazy.
So I’m hoping to see the other Brianna Saturday at EarthFest, and I would like to wear the outfit she drew me in on my paper child. But it may be cold. Can’t wear short skirts and belly shirts when it’s cold. Eh - I’m sewing together a pair of fingerless gloves for it either way.
So that’s about all that I’ve done/thought about in the last two days. My iPod is officially dead, and when that fact truly sinks in I very well may cry. Not a little cry either. Think sobbing.
I’ve got a ton of chores and work tomorrow, then my last lesson at this barn. Hopefully Hopi won’t go into shock when he sees the saddle, he’s only been ridden three times this season. That’ll change soon. Think 5 days a week! Or….you know…3…at the least.
Thankfully I can take my trainer with me. It’ll be a longer drive for her – but she seems willing to do it. Thank god. It’s awful finding a trainer that’s both friendly, knowledgeable, and not a total basket case.
So, that’s about it for today, hopefully tomorrow will be more exciting.
Monday, May 25, 2009
So, I’ve been praying to God, Jesus, Aries, Medusa, The Great Pumpkin, Elvis, John Lennon, And whatever God takes care of computer problems – to save my photos.
After taking a ton of photos Saturday at Anime Boston – I get home last night, plug my micro-chip in – follow all those on screen instructions, and let all my photos download to my computer, then delete all of them off the chip. Turns out something went wrong with the download and Windows didn’t notice. Fuck you Bill Gates! After all the people with all the problems that come with using Windows, I am honestly surprised his life hasn’t been threatened.
Anyway, all my photos have been corrupted.
I’m running a program called Photo Rec or something, that’s trying to get everything back from the chip – so far it’s gotten stuff that I took over a year ago. Not helpful.
On a different spectrum of technological hell – My beloved iPod Crowley is slowly dying. We all know those things are made to break down within a two year period, and frankly I’m surprised this one survived to the one year, six month mark. After all, I’ve gone through five since those things came out. I’m not even hard on them. Thank you Apple for forcing us all to be little consumers.
Unfortunately, I can’t afford a new iPod at the moment. So I’m gonna have to work out my guitar lessons, my voice lessons, and my ENTIRE life – without my music. Pretend I groaned just there – cause I really did.
As for what I did today – I woke up around 11, because my mother wanted to know if I wanted to go out to breakfast. I said sure. Then promptly fell back asleep. This misstep resulted in a very disheveled appearance at a local Ihop.
I also realized how really gross pancakes smell. Has anyone else noticed that? I personally, can’t stand pancakes. I would really like too – kinda like eggs. They’re something I’d LIKE to like, but can’t. Anyway, back to the smell – it’s pretty gross.
After breakfast-, which consisted of myself, my mother, my dog, a neighbor and a bunch of onion rings – we drove out to Guitar Center to pick up a new amp.
I love Guitar Center, and I’m going to be totally honest when I say I don’t know any of my female friends that don’t.
Trina – who plays no instrument, believes the stores sole existence is to allow a place for girls to go watch attractive males play guitar.
We’ve yet to find any evidence that she’s wrong on this front.
I myself, find equal interest in both the cute boys, and the wall of Gibson guitars.
Have any of you ever been there? It’s really hard to pick what to look at.
Really. Really, REALLY hard.
So anyway, after Guitar Center my day turned pretty nostalgic. I was really hit with how much my life has changed since the same time last year.
Earth Fest in Boston is this Saturday. It consists of a bunch of local bands, and a bunch of new eco-friendly vendors giving away free samples. Last year I alone walked off with at least two hundred dollars worth of free stuff.
I went with several very close friends; all of us had a wonderful time, and vowed to go again this year, only with more tote bags for more stuff.
We don’t talk anymore. Well, they don’t talk to ME anymore. There was a big falling out in my group of friends late last summer. And only one or two have talked to me since, and only when they can get away with it – all secret like.
So maybe I’m not going after all this year. Or maybe I’ll bring some of my new friends. Either way – thinking about it completely ruined my day.
I’ve never truly understood how someone can let someone else influence them into treating other people like shit.
What’s with that?
So... right now I’m supposed to be spring-cleaning. But I’m still exhausted from my weekend, so I’m being lazy.
I hung my paper child up today. Took a certificate from Panda’s international I had gotten for one of my before- mentioned friends out of its frame. It was one of those deals where you donate a certain amount of money and it pays for food, or vet visits, or a certain toy for a year for one Giant Panda. I had bought it before last summer with the intent of giving it away as a birthday gift to my panda-crazy friend along with a stuffed panda and a tube of plastic panda’s in different positions. All three have been hanging around my bedroom for the last year…anyone want a tube of pandas?
So anyway, my adorable paper child (seen here) is now hung up behind my desk in a wonderful bamboo frame! I love it.
On a totally different note - I own a horse, he’s an appy and his name is Hopi. And I’ll be the first one to admit owning a horse is way too much trouble then what its worth.
Horse people are completely insane.
Don’t get a horse unless it’s staying on your property.
It’s like high school with whips, and way more therapy. Seriously.
So, I’ve gone to a ton of barns in RI so far. For the above mentioned reasons.
I started out in Escoheag, Rhode Island almost an hour and a half away from my home in Providence. (YES! I know! RI isn’t that long if you go in a straight line! But it is if you take a ton of back roads! ^_^)
I bought my horse from a ranch up there, not only did they sell me problem-pony over here but they also ended up using him as a lesson horse even though he was privately owned. Not knowing a close cousin of mine took trial rides there.
Off to Cranston Hopi Traveled.
The barn in Cranston was huge, and the owner was a typical Cranston women. Loud. Italian. Stubborn. Generally bitchy. But Hopi stayed there for about a year, before I decided to move him to a barn down the road that offered half board, because when you feed your own horse – they learn to respect you.
So we went, happily unaware of the living hell we were going to walk into.
You know how in a pack of wolves – they all fight for the dominate position?
Think that. Only with 40 year old women. One of which is bi-polar without meds and has a gun.
Soooo, back to the before mentioned Cranston barn we went one night – when we were almost physically attacked by a group of old, senile horse women who couldn’t ride to save they’re own lives.
As I said before, don’t get a horse without your own property.
Hopi and I got thrown out of Italian lady’s barn shortly after because “Those people down at Mikes are spreading rumors – and I don’t want to deal with the drama”
Oh wow. Thanks.
So, off to Foster Hopi went. He stayed in one barn for one night only, when after really looking at the stalls more closely, it was made very apparent that broken legs were easily a threat.
We then moved to a lovely place called Nordland. Where we’ve been for a little over a year now. It was one of those places you used to see on the Saddle club or similar TV shows. Everyone got along (mostly) the owner mothered everyone, taught everyone, the trainer was amazing – never freaking out or screaming, and everyone basically just went and enjoyed their horses.
But now, with the mix of a failing economy and several personal issues, the barn has to close.
Took me forever, but I finally found a place to go, I can afford it. I’ll be the only boarder at what once was a really high-class show barn – which still has all its equipment. It’s a good match for Hopi and I.
But its sad to have to leave a place you feel so close too. Even if you really aren’t.
So, anyway, they close in six days, and I’ve yet to find someone to transport Hopi. Or get a hold of the owner of my current barn for grain types and schedules.
Guess I know what I’ll be doing tomorrow.
Anyway, My program recovered everything it could. Got 19 photos out of over 300 back.
That’s Insanely depressing
Enough of my ramblings, I’m off to vacuum!
I’m gonna start this blog by saying, I’m a terrible blogger. I really am. Want a 40 page story on a serial killer? Yeah, okay. I can do that.
Want random notes about my thoughts and life?
Nooooot gonna happen.
But seeing as I’ve finally gotten around to getting this thing up I see it a shame to not use the blog feature, so here’s my first and possibly (although I’ll try to remember to update) only blog.
I stayed this weekend at Bunni’s house. Bunni is a complex, hyper, random, enthusiastic, sarcastic, obnoxious, multi-hair colored college student who lives up Northern MA.
She’s one of my best friends, and spending time with her is always an interesting (although sometimes a bit painful) adventure.
We never really plan what we’re gonna do when I’m up there. Most of the time I stay up there so we can both go to a Homeschool party that’s thrown once a month by a Local-Homeschoolers Co-op. So we hang around till its time to leave, party till its time to go home, make a lovely pot of Vodka pasta that we (usually) are kind enough to share with her amazing, and quirky family, then spend the next day in bed playing Kingdom hearts because we hurt to much and are way too sleepy to be bothered rising to meet the day.
Either that or we Concert. Bunni is my official ‘Concert Buddy’ who’s braved many a mosh pit alongside me.
This weekend we did neither. Fortunately or Unfortunately, I do not know.
Friday, I got to Bunni’s roughly around 3PM. Bunni lives in the woods.
Actually, Bunni lives in one of those houses that have horror movies happen to them. Yes. Happen. To. Them.
This is something I never fail to mention.
I walked up her long-ass driveway, which, until that moment, I had only driven up and met up with her amazing dad who was on his way out. We talked for a bit about the chickens, Bunni, and Darla, the resident cow who was always getting stuck somewhere, and I proceeded up to the house.
What is it with people who live in horror movie houses? Never locking they’re doors.
“OMG BRIANNA YOU DIDN”T KNOCK! YOU ARE SO RUDE!” Was how I was greeted when I walked up behind Bunni without her noticing.
We talked for a bit, and Bunni convinced me to put on her Formal dress or her ‘pretty, pretty princess dress’ as she calls it, it’s hot pink. And fluffy. Then she sits me down to a movie that she has picked special for this occasion. “it’s ten hours long!’ she informs me. To which I laugh. Thinking she’s going overboard. Bunni always goes overboard. Who would have thought that THIS was the thing she was being honest about?
Anyway, back to the real story.
This weekend was Anime Boston, largest Anime Con in New England, and while Both Bunni and I were wayyyy to broke to actually buy tickets so late, or stay in the hotel our friends ‘conveniently’ forgot to mention to us till Saturday afternoon (thanks, assholes) we decided to venture into Boston anyway, to meet up with a few friends, and generally enjoy the con experience, and laugh at bad cosplayers.
It started Saturday morning at South Station, where after purchasing half a dozen donuts for the trip, Bunni mixed up the weekend and weekday train schedules. And I realized I’d lost some of my con-intended cash. Great way to start the day eh?
But not all was lost!
Turned out that wasn’t at all a problem, and for an extra two bucks we could take a much more comfy and much less dirty bus.
When we got into Boston, Bunni decided she wanted to run real quick over to China Town to buy some Asian Candies, I wanted her to wait till we got to the con, but noooooo, Asian Candy was needed. Before I continue with this story I’d like to mention that I have very slight OCD about certain things. Like restaurants, and smells. I’m pretty high maintenance when it comes to where I’ll eat and sleep. Anyway, My OCD has led to the nickname of “Dommers” which is a cross between Hanners of the Questionable Content webcomic, and a Dominatrix (we’ll cover that story another time). Anyway, lets just say, dirty places and Dommers don’t mix well.
China Town + Dommers = Hell.
But anyway, what’s a little dirt and a couple nasty smells right?
Nothing Dommers can’t handle.
I’ve failed to mention up to this point that I’m also a die-hard vegetarian, fully for environmental and animal-rights purposes.
So, lets see.
Terrible smells, dirty food places, dirty….things, and live chicken/fish killings.
I was wrong before.
NOW it’s hell.
After about ten minutes of walking around China town and fighting with Bunni about my increasing J-walking (“YOU’RE GONNA GET ME KILLED! THE LIGHT DOESN”T SAY WE CAN CROSS!” “The nearest cars almost a mile away!” “But it sayssss!”)
I finally pull out my Verizon cell phone that has Verizon’s handy-dandy built in GPS system. (This is very important for the future of this story) do a local search, and find the store Bunni had been so looking for.
So, it’s also a fish market.
A small, crowded, dirty, smelly, live fish market.
Two panic attacks later, and several ‘BUT THE POOR FISH!”, Bunni finally has found all of her candy, and we check out. I later decided that the smell of China Town is something you don’t get off your clothes.
Unless you set them on fire of course.
So, after China town, we’re off to the Hynes center, with the help of the before-mentioned handy dandy GPS.
An hour and a half later and 2 miles we get to the convention center,
Or so the handy-fucking-dandy GPS says.
How Verizon in it’s infinite wisdom confused the Boston Convention center and the HYNES Convention center –which are separated by 3 miles and a bridge, is totally beyond me. But I digress.
Another 45 minutes later over 20 ‘don’t cross!’s, 50 ‘fuck’s, , 30 minutes of talking about how terribly angry we were at several different friends and acquaintances, we find ourselves on Mass Ave. May I also mention I’m still carrying that fucking box of donuts?
Back to arriving at Mass ave…
Thank the gods.
After another 30 minutes of aimless wandering, we found the convention center (which we knew was there all along, really).
Actually Bunni found it, she described it as follows:
‘And suddenly, I look up, and I see a very phallic shaped tower, pointing us home!’
Anyway, I call the other Brianna. Who, in my circle of friends is known as the other Brianna, to avoid lots of ‘Hey! I never said that!’s and ‘I never touched him!’s.
We told her we were in front of one of the various stores in the mall, and she said she’d meet us in a few.
While sitting in front of Franklin Covey, I’m randomly screaming at every really good cosplayer I see. (“stay cute!” “you’re the best Riku I’ve ever seen!” “You are beautiful!” *heart signs, heart signs, heart signs*) Because, in those situations, I have no shame, and I’m not at all shy. Unfortunately, this is also the same for Bunni.
I’d like to mention at this point that my friends are always trying to set me up. I’ve been single for a really long time and it’s ‘unnatural’ and apparently I’m ‘desperate’ wow. Thanks guys.
I’d also like to mention my extreme attraction and weakness for emo boys. I really, really, really really, like emo boys. Really.
So, as we’re leaning up against the glass windows of Franklin Covey, (much to the discomfort of the girl working inside) a very adorable emo boy walking by with a few friends. I point him out to Bunni, and comment off handedly about how hot he is.
Several minutes later (as we’re still waiting for the other Brianna) said emo boy, walks by again. Bunni, being too much like me for her own good yells, ‘SHE LOVES YOU!’ at the top of her lungs, and when the poor boy turns around she points to me. He made a heart at me and walked away.
Oh. If only that was the end of it.
But that comes later.
So, The other Brianna finally arrives in a wind of black lace and corsets. She then joins us in a mini-hate fest (yes, we ARE STILL sitting in front of Franklin Covey, only now there are three of us.) The other Brianna is an amazing artist, a talent that I myself will never possess; she rummaged through her bag as I was yelling ‘YOUR ADORABLE!’ at a random Riku, and pulled out two paper children, one of myself, and one of Bunni. They were absolutely adorable, and she got everything from facial expressions, to outfits perfect. Paper children are awesome. Brianna’s paper children rule.
After several minutes someone suggested we move closer to the actual con and maybe run-into someone we knew. I was still carrying a box with four donuts left. This sprouted an idea.
Less then ten minutes later, I’d given away 3 of the donuts that were left to cosplayers because ‘Your cute and deserve a donut!’ This was amazingly fun and I ended up buying another dozen donuts, because I really like meeting new people, and sometimes scaring them. We sat directly outside the convention center’s entrance to the mall, and handed out donuts
Brianna, (who had been TRYING to get me to sit still so she could draw another paper child) was given my camera and was put in charge of taking pictures of cosplayers with donuts. While Bunni, the other Brianna, and myself all decided who was adorable and needed a donut.
11 of those donuts went to girls. Just an FYI, you male cosplayers seriously need to step up your game.
About an hour and a half into our donut-escapade (come on we were VERY particular, and several people refused donuts, especially when Bunni tried to hit on them…I did mention Bunni is bi right? No? Well, it doesn’t matter much. But she did end up pouting because ‘all the good girls are taken!’) before mentioned cute emo-boy was walking by, and Bunni, who has no shame, took our box of donuts over to him.
The following conversation ensued.
Bunni: I’m bribing you with a donut, what’s your sexual preference and your relationship status?
Emo boy: Oh. Donuts. *picks donut* Straight and single.
Bunni: (at this point I’m behind her, curious as to what she’s doing): Good. Can you write down your number for *grabs me* my friend here. (Somewhere behind me the other Brianna is in hysterics)
Emo boy: Sure thing, do you have a pen?
Bunni: YES! I do! You can write on the donut box
(at this point I decide to be somewhat involved in my ‘love life’)
Me: You might…also want to write your name on that.
Emo Boy: oh. That’s right.
Bunni: Thank you! She’ll call you!
Emo boy-now-known-as-Tyler: Just so you know, I would have given you my number anyway; you didn’t have to give me a donut.
I now have a Donut box with a random boys name and number on it. Normally I would have been thrilled. If my crazy-ass friends hadn’t meddled. Darn Crazy ass friends.
So, At this point, the other Brianna is finishing up a second paper child of me (she’s agreed to do every emoti-con of me including captions) and is talking about what time she needs to get back inside for a swap meet, Bunni is making wedding plans. No. Really. Wedding. Plans. And I’m getting over the whole joy of donut giving, so I find 2 adorable 10 year old’s dressed as L from death note, and whoever the albino is from Death note. And give them what’s left of the donuts (apparently this crossed a line of creepy as Brianna decided I WAS that stranger giving candy to small children) Where WERE they’re parents anyway?
After another hour of hanging with Brianna and commenting on cosplayers, it was time to head back to south station before we missed our bus. On our long walk back, Bunni and I stop into a costume shop, which didn’t let you try on wigs without buying things (faillll) and stopped for lunch at Spikes Hot dogs, who at some point lost our order, Bunni, who at this point in the day was for some reason really P.O’ed ended up getting us free hot dogs, or veggie hot dogs in my case. Either way. It was free.
Hell has no fury like an angry Rabbit. I mean Bunni. Angry. Bunni.
So, after a small drama about which bus we were taking (I WAS RIGHT, just for the record) I ended up sitting next to a guy with the Boston Phoneix, and while he was pointedly ignoring me, and flipping through the pages I noticed a half page add for a ‘Boy’s like girls’ concert, featuring NeverShoutNever. Both of which are big favorites of Bunni and myself.
Plans were made by the end of the bus ride.
Bunni’s Brother, who at this point I had never met (he’s always away at college and doing high IQ smart once-was-a-homeschooler stuff) picked us up. Brid, who was still angry about whatever she was angry at, introduced us. “Brother, this is Brianna, Brianna – Brother”
An hour later we find ourselves back at Bunni’s house, after making a large pan of Vodka pasta, We sit down for the rest of the ten-hour movie. And eventually ended up going to sleep.
Sunday, I dealt with 6 hours of Bunni trying to get me to call emo-boy-now-known-as-tyler. And Bunni dealt with 6 hours of me trying to get her to let me use her computer to inter-stalk emo-boy-now-known-as-tyler.
“YOU DO NOT NEED TO STALK SOMEONE BEFORE YOU CALL THEM! It’s creepy and weird!”
“it’s like doing a back round check on a boyfriend!”
“Which is also CREEPY AND WEIRD”
“What if it’s a coworker?”
(Just FYI: His numbers unlisted, and I can’t find his last name.)
Inter-stalking is what led me to write this blog.
Well, everyone knows it’s easier to stalk someone via myspace then facebook. So I started up my myspace account, and after NOT finding emo-boy-now-known-as-tyler, I decided to actually start using myspace to help me in the future if I need to inter-stalk.
Is that weird?
Well, it’s 11PM now, I’ve gotten maybe eight hours of sleep the last two nights and I’m about to fall asleep. Next two me are the four bags I bought with me on my 3 day trip (pack light? That IS packing light.), the cover of a donut box, some wrappers from asian candy, my bus ticket, and several empty energy drink cans…I’ll pick it all up tomorrow. When I decided to get up.
Anyway here’s my first blog. Pray I keep with it.
So, who thinks I should call the-emo-boy-now-known-as-tyler?