Separate names with a comma.
Then again, who even can?
'Kay so, I'm turning 18 in July. How the heck did this happen so quickly??? Last time I checked, I was 12...
Well, anyway, at least this means I'll gain so much freedom!
1. I can get a tattoo! (and planning on it!)
2. I can vote!
3. I can watch por
3. I don't need parents/guardians!
Well, dang, that's it...
Honestly, it's worth it. I don't think I'll enjoy alcohol, and I know I won't smoke.
If you got tips on how to adult, or at least how to "fake it 'til ya make it", feel free to let me know.
I'm not dead just an fyi
cant wait for march 24th!
I used to think I wasn't really goth, or even punk, and I never would be so obsessed with those loud bands and whatever "Phantom of the Opera" was like my sister was.
I was so wrong, dude.
I've started having a harder time stuffing my darks into the washing machine than my lights. And I wear jeans & shirts multiple times in a row! I still haven't fully understood how wearing the same thing still leaves you with a huge pile...
Oh, and shoutout to Brandon Urie, leader of Panic! at the Disco. If ponies are your thing. I guess.
I love you
Ok, I'll do my best to organize the infinite thing I like now:
Panic! at the Disco
My Chemical Romance
ridiculous(ly hot) demons
Phantom of the Opera
Rick Riordan and his PJO and HoO series, and soon the Trials of Apollo!
Star vs. the forces of Evil
some dark stuff
Brandon Urie singing "double bubble disco queen"
Wander over Yonder
this new show called Lucifer (the name says it all)
The Big Bang Theory (the show)
and other stuff
IT'S NOT A PHASE, MOM
IT'S WHO I AM
Actually, "I'm surrounded by perverted idiots." is what I want my senior quote to be.
Yes, I'm back. Yes, I'm not dead. And yes, I'm in high school.
Yeah I'm not really likin' it.
So much that I found this post as a draft from the day before, and I was blowing off so much steam that it was totally unorganized. So I'm gonna organize the rubble of my explosion of rage.
I can't fully understand what makes the majority of these people around me tick. AND HOW THEY MADE IT TO HIGH SCHOOL.
I wouldn't say high school is worse than everything you've ever imagined, at least in my perspective. It's more... what is it... most annoying than everything you've ever imagined. Yeah, that fits.
I Hate It When:
-I can't tell if I'm being hit on or just being messed with by the athlete-rapstar-drugdealer-wannabe guys around me.
-I want to flip my desk at the guys who keep making random, sudden, unpredictable, and obnoxious dance moves
and at guys who mumble & murmur instead of speaking
and guys who cuss harshly every 5 seconds
and guys who say something extremely inappropriate (sexual, racist, etc.) every 5 seconds
and whoever thinks I won't go out with that guy just because he's black when I've told them numerous times that I just don't care about dating right now. I'm busy napping and eating Nutella
and the bit-over-dramatic staff that don't allow caps & beanies. OR MOSTLY ANY OTHER OBJECT THAT IS ON YOUR HEAD THAT BRINGS NO SIGNIFICANT EFFECT.
Oh, I thought up this funny joke:
"You know you're in Art class when you have discoloration of the skin."
I miss private school.
I will never, and I mean never, dye my hair any unnatural color ever again until after I graduate high school.
*sigh*... So I go to the first day back to school on the 13th (I'm now in the 8th grade. One year til high school and one year until I can get my learner's permit so I "can run over people on the sidewalk", as my brother wrote in my birthday card) in a cute and fabulous white dress with beige laces in the chest area with a denim jacket and denim-like TOMS with silvery stars and golden earrings, with of course, my partially magenta-dyed hair.
But the thing is is that I go to a public school, and the dress code doesn't allow unnaturally-colored hair because it's a "distraction". But another thing: although there was magenta dye in my hair, it wasn't permanent. Ever time I wash my hair, it starts to fade away, so the time the dye may wash away would probably be a couple of months.
Right after I walked into my 2nd period class, my home room teacher motioned me to the hallway. When I obeyed and followed her, she began to say in a "I'm a kind adult and this kid is in trouble but I'm gonna talk to this kid to teach them how the thing they did is wrong and all the not-so-efficient-ways-to-discipline stuff" voice, "Now, when we get back to home room, we're gonna discuss the dress code rules and..." So then I stopped her with "Oh, yes, yeah *this* fades away after every wash, so it'll go away soon." "Yes, but, you still can't have that. You need to get that out today." "... Ok." and I got back to class. And of course a few of my friends were like "Oh cool nice hair when did you dye that it's cute", etc. But when I got to 3rd period, my teacher said "Yeah, if you come back to school tomorrow with that, you'll most likely be sent to the office or sent home."
That was when my heart fell in fear. Getting sent to the office/home on the second day of school is a BAD title because there are these kind of parties throughout the years which are actually pretty great for getting enough "stamps" for being good and not getting in trouble. Sent to the office/home is probably the worst consequence you'll get for doing something bad. Then I thought: "Wait, TONIGHT?! How the hell am I supposed to do that?! The closest salon is closed today, and even though the owner is a family and church friend, what if she can't fix my hair?!" A bunch of other worries flooded my head, but I was able to calmly reply the teacher with "Yeah yeah, ok, I will."
When I got home, I found out that my dad was flying out of town soon, so that's another member of team Family to help me figure out how to get my hair fixed. But before he left, I was able to get him to call my mom about this, and she said she would figure out what to do. I was half relieved, but I was wondering how the results would turn out since it was getting late.
Now at the time, my sister-in-law had been in labor for two days yet was still walking around, but had occasional contractions and was in pain. When I saw her and my mom sitting on the couch along with small, rectangular papers with two or three small boxes with a picture of a dye bottle on the cover and the two women discussing and trying to figure out the papers, I knew that we were doing it at home. I thought that the dye bottles were something to bring my normal hair color back, but I found it that it was darkening dye when I sat down in front of my mom when she told me. Mom thought that the school would allow til Monday to get the magenta out, but was shocked that they wanted it out now.
Yes. The school was somewhat that strict. They coulda just patiently waited for the dye to wash out perfectly, but nooooo, they wanted it out now and stomping their foot in a toddler-hissy-fit. It was then that I had lost all respect for that school.
So my sister-in-law absolutely insisted to dye my hair for me, so we all agreed to let her. So everything went usual like in every salon: some tugging at the hair, brushing the hair with the nauseating smell and vapor of the dye, etc. I do have a sensitive head, so the tugging hurt. But I have learned and gotten used to it slightly, so I only make faces while she was tugging. But it went on. And on. And on. For over 30 minutes. I'm used to the normal 10-ish minutes, but not a flipping over 30 minutes. And my scalp started to get sore and hurt more. I had then started to cry -unlike me- and even get emotional and blubbering "I just wish the school wasn't so strict and this didn't have to be so painful and sob sob sob". It was horrible. And the Ibuprofen didn't help at all. But my sis-in-law kept on going even though she paused from an occasional contraction, then resumed quickly. We kept telling her that we could get someone else to do this but she kept replying with "I know I know but I want to do this just let me finish this already"
FINALLY she was done, and I went to the shower and rinsed my hair, then mom had to put this other lotion to help with the dye and to "help with the pain on my scalp" (pure lies) into my hair, causing pain again. I began to cry, and she asked "Are you crying?" (My back was facing her) I whimpered "Yes." "Well, I'm sorry I'm hurting you, sweetie." "I know." "I love you." "Love you too." (This part of a conversation is completely normal in our family. You can't not expect it) She finished and I rinsed my hair again, and the fixing-my-hair process was complete.
And it was ash brown. Nearly black. They said I looked so gothic, and I agreed. And didn't like it that much, but I couldn't care less about it. Then my bro (husband of laboring sis-in-law) recommended that I blow dry my hair. Another thing: I hate irons and blow dryers because the heat bothered my ears, face, and head. I immediately said "No my scalp's had enough ;-;" and went to sleep somewhere at 11:30.
I was so tired that morning. So tired. I was 99% close to completely fall asleep on the bus, which has happened never. A kid woke me up when the bus stopped by the high school and asked if I drop off here. This has happened a few times before, yet I still have no idea why people think I go to high school, I mean, I'm short. Are you blind or something. But as usual, I said no and went back to sleep. Then another kid whacked my feet with a magazine-or-something when we got to the middle school and ect.
I got to my home room and told the teacher about dying my hair last night, and said that it was very painful and don't send me to the office if you see any red (which there was 2 slivers of) out of tiredness, and I was about to go on in an angry manner until she interrupted me and said Ok and to go to my seat. My eyelids weighed 1,000 pounds, so I was in a constant battle to not collapse in slumber. But I forgot my sleep deprivation later on, only to be sleepy again near lunch time. My slightly overly-hyper friend sitting behind me slightly helped me during lunch by smacking my cheeks 2-3 times. Just slightly helped. Then she asked pleadingly if she could braid my hair. I thought "Eh... screw it." and let her. That's when I found out that my head was STILL sore, so I shortly explained to her about last night but continued to let her mess with my hair. But lunch ended and a monster grows on my scalp so she stopped, I put my hair back in a ponytail, and went back to class. I became sleepy again after school, and I found out that at about 2 AM last night, my sis-in-law gave birth. So some family and I went to the hospital to see the totes adorbs baby, then went back home. I hit the hay at about 9:30. The only hing I was happy about at school was that I didn't get in trouble.
I was STILL SLEEP DEPRIVED. That dyeing night must've thrown off my nearly complete new school-sleep-schedule. Even though I could sleep til 7 since Mom and I were going to the salon to get my hair fixed. But it appeared that Dad did not know about that. He called one of the home phones that was in my room at 6 (the usual time to wake up) telling me to get ready for school. I thought "Crap, I'm seriously tired and I just can't get up" then realized the visit to the salon "Oh thank God " and slept again. Then 30 minutes later, my dad barges in and says "C'mon, it's 6:30, get up!" and clapped his hands audibly. I tried to tell him about the salon, but my thoughts were slurred from suddenly being woken up and said "N-no I don't have to cuz the..." "Oh right, you're visiting the salon. I'm sorry." "It'sh ok..." and left. I was honestly ticked off, but was too tired to continue to be angry about it and fell asleep again. That must've been why I was still tired.
So we went to the salon and couldn't get the dark out and could only add some highlights to lighten my hair, and learned that I had to let my hair grow out the dye. And I already started to miss my natural hair color. I felt devastated.
So remember kids, NEVER dye your hair with unnatural colors until you graduate high school. EVER.
It was when I was in elementary school. Like, 1st or 2nd grade, or something.
So in the dream, Charlie Sheen was my older brother (my family casually watched Two and a half Men, so I've watched it with them). And he was a rockstar with the leather jacket and stuff, as I saw what seemed like a scene of me in the large crowd cheering on the rock band playing, and Charlie being the leader of the band, I think. Pretty cliché. I've had thousands of cliché thoughts as a kid. I pray I'm not the only one.
So one night Charlie and I went out to the "electric house". It was a one-floor factory-building-thing completely covered in steel, and completely surrounded by a tall, barbed-wire-top fence. It was my version of what I thought the places that delivered electricity to the city looked like. And if you touched the building, you would be electrocuted. Because, well, electricity :I.
So yeah one night we went out with 3 of my "friends". 2 boys and 1 girl. The "leader"-ish kid (who was a boy and was kinda fat, had a red shirt and blue pants and brown hair. The other boy wore something yellow, and I have no idea about the girl) chuckled mischievously and said "Hey, let's go and touch it." and the other 2 were all like "Heh heh yeah let's do it" and all that. Then I was like "But we can't or we'll get electrocuted!" But as I was saying that, I just happened to be swinging on a swing that was a part of the fence. And swinging towards the electric house. I swung higher and higher, my feet getting closer to the building. I could even feel my toes tingle/slightly vibrate when they got close to the wall.
Right when I was about to get too close to the wall, Charlie shouted at me to stop, which I did. Immediately. Like, in a physically impossible way. Like swing, swing, sudden stop. I didn't even drag my feet on the ground. DreamLogic.avi. Anyways, I got off and stood next to my brother. He sighed and looked at the building in thought. A second later, he turned to me, and right when he put his hands on my shoulders with the expression that he was gonna have a "talk" with me, my dad touched me and woke me up for school.
Though I have already told a few people of this story, I thought, "Eh, what the heck, I'll just make I blog post so I don't have to repeat it over and over."
I remember it like a video...
It was probably when I was 3 or 4, and the memory began with me waking up in the van with my family as we were going up the driveway while having no memory of before. It was late at night, so that let me know why I had been asleep and felt tired after I woke up. When we parked, we got out of the van, I held a family member's hand as I rubbed my eye from sleepiness and as we walked to the porch stairs.
Now let's pause here for a moment while I explain something:
We have a dog. When she was a puppy, we used to let her go outside without a leash, so she would go roaming the neighborhood. Everything was perfectly fine, until the neighbors were complaining about her being on their yards and dumping. So we had to stop that and put her on a leash tied to a tree when we let her outside. But every now and then she would suddenly get that slim chance of escaping -either by running out when we opened the door, or when the leash would give way and somehow became unattached to her collar. Then one or two member's would get a car -with or without dog treats- and catch her. It always worked, so afterwards we normally punished her by giving her no treats and making her stay in her bed. But every time she escaped, she would bolt off like a bullet.
I hope you can see where this is going.
So as we were going up the porch stairs, we were in a line-ish fashion because we weren't dumb and trying to get in all at once for no reason, and I was near the caboose. The member who reached the door first opened that door, and our dog ran out. The stairway was kinda packed, but she was able to tumble through, causing me to fall over the side of the stairs. There were of course railings, I was just small enough enough to fit through.
The fall wasn't bad -about a foot or so- and my arm landed on some small stumps where there used used to be decor bushes. We kinda live on a hill, so the front pawn slopes downwards. So after the stumps, I rolled down halfway through the lawn, arms tucked close to my body, before I stopped. Thankfully I don't remember how the pain felt, but I remember my reaction meant that it was absolutely horrible.
Now think about this for a second:
I was hit on the side by my dog and my head knocked on the top of the railing when I fell through:
My arm landed on some stumps:
And I rolled down the lawn:
Add those up, and on a scale from one to ten, one meaning not crying at all, how much should have I been screaming and crying in pain by then?
But I surprisingly hadn't cried out at all.
That... was until a second after I stopped rolling that I had burst out screaming.
It was about 3 seconds later 'til 75% chance my dad and 25% chance my mom who raced over to me, picked me up, ran to the car, buckled me in, then Mom and Dad quickly drove off with me.
So we drove for a while until we stopped at this place that sorta looked office-like with cubicles and stuff. It wasn't exactly like it, just more different, but whatever. So we stopped there, 75% chance my mom and 25% my dad picked me up piggy-back-ride style -me over their back as they're hunched over and holding onto me by grabbing my hands/wrists when my arms are over their shoulders- , carried me into the building, went to this computer-thing, and typed and did stuff I didn't understand. I think that was a bad idea, as I'm now thinking that style of carrying me increased the pain in my arm, but... whatever.
Now let's pause here again:
Up until the point I stopped rolling, I had been screaming bloody murder. That's right. I screamed through the whole car ride, and while my mom was on the computer. In public. I didn't care that there were workers there staring, and I don't think mom cared about it either, though I think I saw her glancing at the people around her. After the computer stuff, she quickly got us out, buckled me in, and we resumed driving. Of course, still screaming.
Now after this I don't remember... the next thing I knew was probably me being rolled through the hospital hallways on a gurney, some more I-don't-remember, then I woke up in a hospital bed and some family members at my right side. I think I was in this curtain-entrance room, and the only light in the room was from behind the curtains and maybe a TV. A member/nurse then asked me what I wanted to drink. I replied in the "poor, weak, frail, dry, and innocent puny human" voice. I think it was 75-85% from just simply suffering pain and tiredness, and the rest on purpose. I have no idea how or why I would've purposely acted like that in a situation like this, but I didn't care.
So I said "Sprite... please..." or "Can I have some Sprite please..." or something close to that. After a while/a second, a/the nurse came back with one of those teeny tiny plastic cups with Sprite in it. I drank it pretty quickly/practically inhaled it, and put the cup down/gave it back to the nurse.
And that's all I can remember. YEARS later, my parents said that they took me to Hutcheson-or-something, but it wasn't so great there. One of the nurses wouldn't give my parents the paperwork explaining how to help me with this new broken arm to take care of, so they asked another nurse why, and she replied to them in a mean way because she was dehydrated and cranky. That got them so much that they just snatched the paperwork from the other nurse, got me out, and took me to Erlanger Children's Hospital. That's where it was much better. The nurses and docs were helpful to my parents, calmed me down, and all that happy jazz~ My mom (who's an RN there now) has said that they even have some people who work there who even have a college degree in helping children with stress and anxiety in the hospital. For example: the majority of the insulating-ceiling-tile-things were painting on with drawings made by kids who went to that hospital. So when they rolled me through the hallways, I could look at the drawings. It was fun, calming, and distracting. AND when I went here another time when I got appendicitis and they had to insert a tube into my arm, a couple of nurses kept telling me to breathe deeply as I read a Where's Waldo book, and I barely felt a thing. Well, my mom says it was a Waldo book, but I don't believe her. It was this kid's book series about a detective-ish dog named Ike. I liked the book so much that they let me read another one AND gave me a free Ike plushie. I was so happy. I think I still have that toy somewhere in the house.
So that's how I broke my arm now go home you're drunk