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euphratesdx
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Birthday: 3/24/1984
Gender: Female
Interests: National Public Radio, New York Times, politics, liberal politics, blogging, weightlifting, running, working out, reading, writing, webcomics, the Daily Show, grilled cheese with pickles on rye sandwiches, Dance Dance Revolution, Baldur's Gate I & II, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, comic books (I mean "graphic novels"), manga, anime, computers, electronics, two monitors at once, bittorrent, robots, lasers, any music from the 90's, high school marching band, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Spike, James Marsters (::droooooool::), the first and third Indiana Jones movies, Pride and Prejudice, breeder porn, the Onion, Dan Savage, Germany, England, Japan, general obnoxiousness, biting sarcasm, Dungeons & Dragons, roleplaying, Ravenloft
Occupation: Student
Message: message me
Member Since:
9/8/2004
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| My Menstrual Cycle Has Not Been Outsourced to My Colon*
I've been needing to resurrect my semi-regular blogging - definitely
miss the whole catharsis aspect plus the long-winded, uninterrupted
exposition about me, myself and I.
So I was just poking around on eHow for no other reason than I am
tired, slightly grumpy, and disinterested in my homework, when I found
the most wonderful article and opportunity to kickstart this baby on up
again: "How to Write a Deep and Thoughtful Blog Post People Will Want to Read."
My personal favorite is Step 5:
Start with a sentence that captures people's attention, no matter how
confusing. Use sentences like "At times, I'm trying to be a person who
I want to be, but I find that trying to be that person makes me be who
I am not.", not "I don't know who I am."
I initially thought - and still think, in the deep, dank, unpleasantly
moist and squishy recesses of my mind, where I store my massive biases
against fat men in the humanities
- that this article was/is/should be a complete joke. I read most
blogs to reassure myself that everybody is as massively defective as
me. I base most of my own entries on (a) the sucking black hole
that is my moral compass, and (b) Schadenfreude.
I keep waiting for my moral compass to enter puberty; it's currently
stalled around "toddler," where its initial reaction to most things
involves either a knee-jerk "But I don't WANT to!" or an unpleasant
lapse into pre-toilet training stage. Currently it still needs to
be supervised, Parental Unit-Like, by some other neurological entity
(damned if I know what, but I'll call it the Superhypochondria-beta)
which periodically subjects my whole central nervous system to guilt
trips. My moral compass has learned - sorta like a reverse
Pavlov's dogs experiment - to avoid these guilt trips, and has adjusted
its behavior over time to either avoid them or ignore them.
I am tired!
* Step 8: Title your post. You can name it the title of the song you listened to,
the title of a book or movie that coincides with your topic, a saying
or idiom that relates to your post, or something that you make up
yourself. | | |
| So it's late and I should have gone to bed two hours ago because
tonight, /tonight/, was the night that I would Go To Bed At a
Reasonable Time so that I may Get Up At a Reasonable Time and
accomplish many important things in the lab during the morning, leaving
me free to workout, pump cash into the American economy for Jesus, and
other respectable things. Instead I've been doing what I've done
every night during break: lie in front of the heater post-multiple
hours of gaming...reading. I'm not entirely certain why ellipses
were required for that sentence; my intention was not at any point to
make it a dramatic revelation that I sprawl in my living room sleepily
reading. Anyway.
Sometimes I get these somewhat absurd but still somewhat plausible
situations that pop up fully formed in my mind, and a moment ago while
I was much more horizontal I had one: Ishan and I were at the Starbucks
in Dublin - it must be during winter break, because it was fully dark
outside and Ishan was wearing his black pullover - and a fellow Dublin
Coffman graduate, Stephanie, came on up to me with that same
trademarked smirk to do the smarmy, pseudo-friends thing that made me
cower all throughout the second half of eighth grade. In this
scenario I stood up and, at right at that instant, there was this
sudden blast of Choose Your Own Adventureness - I could either:
(a) get right in her face, waaaaaaayyyyy too close, to do the
creepy overly sexual Spike-like thing of lightly biting my tongue as I
tell her to "fuck off." I don't like this scenario as much as the
next one, because I could see it ending awkwardly with her not fucking
off immediately, never to be seen again, plus I don't like quite the
melodrama "Seventeen" feel of "former shy girl gets to tell off total
bitch from teenage years in front of former shy girl's hot
boyfriend."
(b) Actually, the second one is even more melodramatic, but I
like it because it's full of white-hot rage in which I cripple her mind
and body shortly before I suck her soul out, a la Soul Reaver II.
For which I receive 2 x Potions of Extra-Healing and an incredibly
flattering Girdle of Strength.
Stephanie was a bitch. If I was feeling patronizing and
pseudo-mature I'd make some token statement right now about how I'm
certain she's grown out of it and hearts her some Jesus now, but
frankly, I get the feeling that she'll probably always be one of those
unpleasant, rather unhappy people who will make the type of coworker
that drives everyone- including men - into extended maternity
leaves. She had the personality and sufficient brains to be a
Type A popular girl but was, alas, blessed with a body reminiscent of
the Giza pyramids and breasts that were more theoretical than
actual. Less lyrically, she was a dog, and knew it, and also knew
that this relegated her to the role of spear-carrier for the hot crowd,
but discovered that one of the ways to make herself feel better was to
torment the shy, quiet girl in her eighth grade history class.
Very Judy Blumeish.
High school didn't treat her kindly, though. All of the non-band,
non-honors kids - in other words, the ones who had time and gerbil-like
school spirit energy - decided that one of the best ways to raise money
for a dance was to auction people off to be slaves to one
another. This was Very Exciting for all of the hot girls and guys
because your hotness was in direct proportion to the number and
magnitude of the bids you received. Stephanie, unfortunately, did
not realize that only hot people should ever put themselves up for
slave auctions nowadays; she stood alone on the auction block, unbid
for, until she finally bought herself and sat down. I remember
overhearing this discussion between two of the girls she spear-carried
for while I was coding a game on my TI-83+ during physics. That
made my quarter. The best moment was during my senior year;
occasionally "Rock News," our morning news show, hosted "debates" about
pressing school issues or politics, i.e. whether the Democrats should
be burned on the cross or simply piled around it. Stephanie took
part in one and, frankly, it was like watching someone shoot themselves
in the foot while riding a train into the local nuclear power plant,
except that you loathe that person and all of their victims; I even
stopped playing Balderdash long enough to watch it. The sweet,
sweet sprinkle-coated icing was listening to all of the male types in
the class afterwards talk about how much they couldn't stand her.
This was the second-cattiest thing I have ever written. Go me!
| | |
| For some reason I just thought about the 2+ hour long discussion I had
my freshman year of high school with some random boys on the bus on the way back from
Findlay. That's over 180 minutes of my life that I spent
analyzing the likelihood, physiological implications, and social impact
of an alleged midget with testicles that were so big they dragged on
the ground.
This literally made me laugh so hard I slipped out of my chair and
whacked my head on the sliding keyboard portion of my desk. It's
reassuring to see that I haven't changed that much in 7 years or so.
| | |
| So for German 103 we're required to write an essay at the end of each
unit (in German, naturally); out of curiosity I Babel Fishied mine, and
nearly laughed my ass off at the result. Hopefully it's a little
more coherent to native speakers. -_^ Incidentally, the
essay topic concerned my desired future in the year 2020, and
"Forscherin" means "(lady) researcher."
I have naturally many expectations and desires for my lives in the
year 2020, and I will be lucky whether will become only half correct!
What will make I in the year 2020? I hope that I will have a
graduation, or that I will have soon those, and I will operate
interesting experiments and research in an excellent university.
Because my interests computers, Technike and medicine are now, I
believe that I will study electro-technology for my graduation. I will
operate research over medical Technike and computers. Why can I become
a Elektrotechnikerin? Before three years I believed that I wanted to
study only medicine, and I might have become a lady doctor. But I
worked as Forscherin before a summer, and this place pleased me more
than medicine. After I mean biochemistry conclusion get, I will work
as biochemistry Forscherin three to four years. I hope that I will
study electro-technology approximately in the year 2010.
Perhaps I
become with my man and children in the proximity university, at which
I work, live. Hopefully that will please me, if as in Seattle or
Boston will live, and to become we a house, whose will be to large
comfortably, not too small and not, to have. I hope also the fact that
I will have two cats because cats determines my dearest animals is!
What for cats will I have? That makes now nothing, and I believe,
which will not make anything in the future.
My other desires are very
uncomplicatedly, because I good health, spare time, friends and family
will have, but natural!
| | |
| I realized today that, after approximately 3.25 years of college, I
have fully mastered the art of socially acceptable farting on the
treadmill. Farting is one of my body's many cunning tactics in
its nonstop battle to make me end this exercising nonsense and go lie
on some pillows while eating fried cheese; it is very wiley, my body
is, and its manifold weapons against running include not only minor
physical manifestations but nausea, gasping, blacking out my vision,
and draining the entire contents of my sinuses down whatever internal
body cavity is most convenient. For some reason my body has much
fewer objections to lifting, which is a bit ironic and short-sighted of
it given that the sole purpose of lifting is to sufficiently tear the
muscle that the ensuing immune response will prompt the growth of more
muscle. Silly body. But anyway, farting on the
treadmill...I almost wish I could put this on my resume because,
believe me, it takes one helluva lot of willpower and lower abdominal
control to pull off a stealth fart while your body is essentially
trying to convince your brain that, woe, you are dying and you have not
reproduced yet today!
Ninja topic shift!
I'm all out of liberal happy heart 0 grams trans fat butter made from
sexually liberated happy cows; my toast definitely tastes different
when I use something called "FMV Mantequilla" butter, which I believe
is Spanish for a concept involving butter that draws upon
extra-dimensional lard to increase the trans fat concentration beyond
what God ever intended man to consume. For some reason I've been
on an uber-toast kick lately - I've always been a big fan of toast
(something which I have inherited along with a predisposition towards
treadmill farting from my dad), but this whole
getting-a-craving-for-toast-at-9-PM thing is a little bit odd, even for
me.
I need to do more physical chemistry now, on top of learn and take 6
exams for 2 chapters of German before this quarter ends
oiawjelrwalkehwerj
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