The neighbors probably think that we’re cooking meth

It’s stir-Friday!

Stir Fry Prep 1

I can’t take credit for that phrase; if you don’t already know where it’s from, you should watch Archer. It comes on FX at 10:00pm Thursdays, and the first season is on Netflix. /plug

So! Cuddles and I decided that we wanted to make stir-fry tonight. Well, I decided that I wanted to make stir-fry, and Cuddles went along with my shenanigans. We made a chicken stir-fry with onions, broccoli, zucchini, and red bell peppers. We followed the guide located here, and made the lemon sauce. Cuddles was not a fan of the lemon sauce, and I was only a fan of it after copious amounts of soy sauce, but other than that, everything went well. Cuddles prepped the chicken, I prepped the vegetables and sauce, and he cooked everything because I am deathly afraid of hot things which is why my newest hobby involves ovens.

Stir Fry Prep 2

Here is Cuddles frying some stir.

Stir Fry Complete

Behold! It’s real food that we put together and cooked. It has undergone a chemical change since we purchased it. I have never felt more like a real adult.

However, if you look at the recipe at the site, you’ll notice that the key to stir fry is keeping the pan hot. Really hot. You’re supposed to turn the heat on your pan before you start prep, then turn on your fan before you start cooking. Now, maybe in a normal house that has a real fan over their stove, this is no problem. Real stoves generally have a fan with an exhaust pipe in order to suck up smoke. Terrible apartments, on the other hand, just have a normal fan above the stovetop. Now, when you heat a pan up for about 45 minutes, then put oil and marinated chicken in said pan, a certain phenomenon occurs.

Me: Umm, the house is filling up with smoke. I think we’re going to set off the alarms.
Will: Don’t worry; the smoke alarm doesn’t work.
Me: Oh thank God.
Will: Ah, well, the one on our side of the apartment doesn’t. Y’all’s does.
Me: (runs to close door to her side of the apartment)
Will: I think we should open the door. (He opens the front door)

Three minutes later

Will: I’m going to put on the ceiling fan. (Turns on fan and closes door to the other half of the apartment)
Me: The police are going to show up. They’re going to think that we’re smoking the demon reefer. Or a bunch of hungry college students are going to show up, sniffing and asking for stir fry. Let’s face it: the neighbors probably think that we’re cooking meth.
Cuddles: I think the onions are burning.

It was quite delicious all the same.


Reasons why I should not mix with polite company

I inadvertently told my history class that I had breast lumps. Well, not inadvertently. See, I meant to tell them that I had breast lumps, and that’s why I should not mix with polite company. I tell people about my breast lumps because it seems relevant (It was, by the way. We were talking about doctors and differences in practices throughout time, and my teacher mentioned seeing a doctor if you have a lump on your chest). Of course, it did not occur to me that, no matter how relevant, breast lumps just aren’t the sort of thing you talk about to your history class. At least, it didn’t occur to me until about seven minutes after I said it, and then I got to feel vaguely embarrassed about it all day.

Socially Awkward Penguin - Had awkward conversation, replay it over and over in your head later

Thank you, Socially Awkward Penguin for understanding me. Anyway, instead of spending my time interacting with people and improving my desperately sad people skills, I decided that the best thing for me to do would be to bake. Everything. See, I’ve decided that baking is my new hobby. It is a delicious hobby, and I love it, but I can also go overboard and wind up making more baked goods than anyone could conceivably eat. So for this post today, I’m going to link to all of the recipes that I just tried in one night and talk about the exciting process of baking.

Grapefruit Cookies
Original Recipe

Grapefruit Cookies

I apologize for my inability to take a decent photograph. I will definitely work on that in the future. So, these are the grapefruit cookies. The original recipe is called “Summer Citrus Sparkles,” and they are lemon-lime cookies. I’ve made the original before, so I felt pretty comfortable subbing grapefruit. Like the original, at least when I make it, the cookies taste more like plain sugar cookies with a hint of citrus-y flavor. They’re a good, easy cookie, but a warning: Keep them sealed up if you don’t eat them immediately. They go quite hard quickly if you don’t. I would recommend eating them right after because they don’t keep that well.

Coconut Macaroons
Original Recipe

Coconut Macaroons

The ones at the source are dipped in chocolate, but I prefer my macaroons plain and am intensely lazy. Warning, warning, warning! If you use sweetened coconut flakes, reduce the amount of sugar you use. I assumed that, because the recipe didn’t specify and Walmart didn’t sell unsweetened, that the amount of sugar would work with sweetened flakes. I almost lost the crown on my back molar. That said, once they went a little stale and hardened up enough not to injure my mouth, they were quite good. Actually, they were good when they could injure your mouth. I just wouldn’t recommend chewing.

Original Recipe


OK, this one isn’t technically a baked good, but it’s practically a dessert, so it counts. I wouldn’t really consider this one an applesauce because you don’t puree it. It’s more like cinnamon apples cooked over the stove. It’s really good and easy to make; however, the recipe blog I got this from seems to have a different idea of how long it takes things to thicken than I do. The original states that the water will evaporate in ten minutes. I definitely cooked them for more than forty minutes. Still delicious.

Earl Grey Cupcakes
Original Recipe

Earl Grey Cupcakes

Once again, I have made a recipe that claimed to be for a certain number of cupcakes and wound up getting an extra cake out of it. The carrot cake recipe I use makes enough for twelve cupcakes and a cake, and that’s what this recipe does as well. The cupcake texture is really good. It has a nice, small, and fluffy crumb. Also, the little tea speckles make them really cute looking. Like the cookies, it doesn’t keep for that long, but the texture is so great, that I don’t want to play with using oil instead to keep them moister longer. The frosting is a lemon buttercream, but I did the cake with a lemon cream cheese, and it was really good too. In the future, I think I will open the teabags into the milk at room temperature so that they can steep. My cakes weren’t obviously tea flavored.

I ate a good portion of everything I baked. Man was not meant to consume four cookies, three macaroons, half a pot of stovetop-cooked apples, and two cupcakes. I practically felt the bony hand of death grip my stomach. On a last note, I’ve taken up embroidery. I’m terrible at it, but that has never stopped me before.

I have an idea for new blog posts that I would like you, my dedicated reader(s)’, input on. I’m considering trying to summarize Shakespeare plays in a humorous fashion. Does anyone think that they would like to read that? I promise GIFs!

PS: This blog is now a part of my Writing for the Web class! That means I will be updating regularly! Of course it also means that I just told another class about my breast lumps. Damn.

Diner and Pinterest

So, I don’t think I have as much to say as I normally do, but I’ve had several little blog ideas roaming around in my brain for a while, and I have a paper due tomorrow. This means it’s blog time! As for reviews go, all the new Supernatural has been bland. I enjoy the episodes, but I just haven’t felt up to a full review, and it would be pretty boring anyway. Also, I don’t know if I will ever be able to properly review Breaking Bad. Snoogally and I are into the second season, yet I still don’t think my thoughts on the show would translate into text. I suppose that I could bang my head against the keyboard while snarling angrily, but I feel something would be lost in the process. At some point, I might attempt a movie review if I ever watch a movie again, but that will be for another day.

First order of business is a delicious Athens-area restaurant that I love. It’s called Clocked. Clocked is set up like an old-school diner with retro posters, retro menu fonts, and general retro decor. They specialize in burgers which I, sadly, cannot review, as I haven’t actually had one yet. They look pretty good, and Snoogally seemed to like his. I have had their black bean burger which appears to be fried and is quite crispy and delicious. Their hot dogs are also great, and they are GIGANTIC. In fact, many things at this restaurant are GIGANTIC. The burgers are GIGANTIC and the milkshakes are GIGANTIC. The restaurant itself is not, however, GIGANTIC. I have never been there during a rush, but there isn’t much seating. If you go, definitely go during their off hours. On a similar note, the servers are always super friendly. I don’t know if this is in their training or if the diner just attracts this kind of person, but they always seem to call people “hun” or “sweetie” in that reassuring, Southern aunt way. And they always ask if you “need anything else.” It reminds me quite a bit of Mrs. Weasley in the Harry Potter series. You sit down and get 32 ounces of milkshake and a huge chili dog while a cheerful woman worries that you’re looking “peaky” and tries to feed you french fries. Occasionally, the service hasn’t been the fastest, but, and this is hard for me to explain because I have so many issues with service all over Athens, I haven’t really cared. And I’m never at this place with unlimited time to kill. I always go inbetween classes on Tuesday or Thursday, and yet I never mind if the food comes a little slowly. It’s almost like there is an air of chill in the place that makes me feel comfortable. My nonchalance could also be attributed to the niceness of the staff. They do seem to care if your food is taking a while, and they check up with you and stuff. It’s just a very calming place and it has really great and interesting food–they have a raspberry habanero pepper sauce for the sweet potato fries that is amazing. The price range is moderate. It’s a little pricy for a broke college kid, but I never spend more than fifteen bucks including tip, and I don’t eat as cheaply as I could. The giant hot dogs are only five bucks, and there are a few burgers for six to eight dollars. Nothing comes with fries, but the portions are pretty big, so it doesn’t bother me too much.

Anyway, you should all totally go there. It’s right next to the 40 Watt (two streets north of Gigi’s Cupcakes and to the right for the non-bar hoppers), and it’s just a really nice place to go.

My second order of business today is Pinterest. It’s basically a place full of pictures that people have “pinned” from other parts of the Internet. You can often click on the pictures and get links to tutorials, fun blogs, or recipes. Other times, you can click on a link and go absolutely nowhere and be pissed because that baked ziti looked really good, dammit why is there only a picture? Why have you shown me this beautiful hair style only to NOT have a how-to guide? I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with Pinterest. On the one hand, there are lots of nifty craft ideas, decorative ideas (for that house that I will someday own), recipes (Did I mention that I’ve taken up baking? I have made all the cupcakes.), pretty makeup, pretty nail polish, pretty hair, pretty clothes, and just lots of pretty stuff that I covet like the ginger magpie that I am. On the other hand, well, how do I put this nicely… Hmm.

Ok, you know the sort of person who gets one of those wall decals that say “Live, Love, Laugh” or “Live well and Drink wine” and thinks “Yes, that is what I’m all about. Put that right up in my kitchen on the wall between the rustic folk art I got at the Atlanta Dogwood Festival and my Pilates machine. The sort of people who have portraits taken of their family on the beach in all white outfits and send you out of date chain messages filled with emotions and cute animal pictures and possibly play tennis. Middle aged housewives who have a little more money than sense who all seem to share a generic taste for “deep” sayings and cutesy art projects with googly eyes, is what I think I’m trying to convey. They’re generally prudish Christians who seem to have forgotten all the shit they did in college. Pinterest is full of those people. I mean, there isn’t anything inherently wrong with those type of people, but they aren’t really my type of people. However, I like baking, needle crafts, DIY, and lots of other stuff that causes my taste and their taste to overlap. So, inbetween a lot of cool decor, you’ll find about a million affirmative bible verses. You’ll find walls of text explaining how all of your problems are relatively insignificant and how YOU ARE BLESSED. There was an interesting photo of a naked woman and a man doing some sort of strange pose. The man was standing on his head with his legs out in a split while the woman rested a pregnant stomach on top. Their genitals weren’t showing (though obviously touching due to the nature of the pose), and the picture was, naturally, in black and white. I really didn’t think too much about it but oh lord, the comments. People thought it was DISGUSTING! WHO WOULD TAKE SUCH A PHOTO? ICK! BECAUSE WE SHOULD RUN FROM NAKED BODIES, OH LAWD. There are also lots of exercise goals, comments about “ideal bodies,” and general sighing over thin/muscular ladies sandwiched (ha, ha, because sandwich is a food, you see) between recipes for crock pot chocolate cake and white Russian cupcakes (they were delicious but the frosting was ridiculously sweet). And, my personal favorite, quotes like “IF YOU CAN’T HANDLE ME AT MY WORST, YOU DON’T DESERVE ME AT MY BEST” or “I’M THE KIND OF GIRL WHO LIKES HER SWEATPANTS AND HER HEELS” and (on the front page as of writing) “A HEARTBREAK IS JUST A BLESSING FROM GOD. IT’S HIS WAY OF LETTING YOU REALIZE HE SAVED YOU FROM THE WRONG ONE.”

So I spend half of my time in happy land and the other half in judgey land. It also bothers me because it means more ~edgy~ stuff that I like will never be posted because it might offend people. So yeah. That’s Pinterest. Also, I am now fervently disagreeing with Matt’s assessment that it is “Reddit for girls.” Reddit for girls would have nudity, damn it.

…So, I said that this would be a short blog post, and that turned out to be a damn lie. If you made it through my Pinterest rant, more power to you. In the future. I will be taking photos of things I bake and/or craft and inflicting them upon your eyes. Probably. Maybe just when I have another paper due.

An open letter to those who would belittle studies within the liberal arts

People… people… look, we need to discuss something. It’s, well, comparatively speaking, it’s an incredibly unimportant issue; however, it’s an issue that has been weighing on my mind recently. This issue relates to liberal arts degrees. Specifically, everybody just needs to shut the hell up. No, really shut the hell up. Because, people of the world, I have heard that my degrees are going to be absolutely meaningless. In fact, I can’t seem to go anywhere without hearing how useless they are. I will never, ever, ever, ever, EVER be getting a job. And in this economy? Whew, engineers are having trouble getting jobs. I mean, those are smart people who do real things. What chance does someone like you have against intelligent people with actual skills? Sure, you study English. I’m certain that you will be called upon to explicate poems all the time in the real world. Oh yes, studying history means that you’ll always be welcome on the trivia team. It’s not like you learn any useful skills.

People, I have grown up hearing this. And do you know what’s funny? People still encouraged me to get the degree that I wanted. I was always told to study what makes me happy and to find a job that I enjoy. At the same time, I am currently studying what I enjoy, and, for some reason, I seem to be getting no end of shit for it. And I’m part of the problem. I’ve spent the last five or so years of my life joking about how useless my degrees are going to be. I’ve told everyone how I have no idea what I’m going to do with my future. I’ve made cracks about how easy English and History are compared to real degrees. Well no-fucking-more. From now on, anyone who condescendingly inquires what, exactly, are my plans for the useless piece of paper I am soon to receive? will be told to mind their own goddamned business. I don’t know what made me snap. Maybe I saw one too many of those “Math + Science = Success!” signs that encourage parents to teach their children important subjects. Or maybe it was that blog post I saw. It featured what appeared to be a whiny, privileged, little snot who had graduated from Stanford with an English degree and found himself unable to find a job. He whined about how he had no skills or work experience and how, when he took a year off to “find himself” and “work on his writing,” he wound up sitting on his ass all the time. Oh, he was in a frat back in college too. So, he decided to start a blog in order to do something. Look, if you spend all of college getting wasted and barely scraping by in your classes, I don’t think you can blame your degree when you can’t get a job.

And you know what else? My degrees in English and History ARE useful. Do you know what I can do? I CAN FUCKING WRITE. I can put ideas into words that other people can read and understand, and I CAN DO IT BETTER THAN MOST PEOPLE. Nobody seems to appreciate the importance of writing. And no, I do not want to be an ~author, nor do I consider myself a particularly creative writer. The fact is that, if you have a great idea or a magnificent breakthrough in science, and you cannot write, no one is going to care because POOR WRITING MAKES YOU LOOK STUPID. I’ve had people tell me: “Grammar and style don’t matter for this paper; the teacher doesn’t grade for that. It’s the ideas that matter.” Hell, I’ve had teachers tell me that. EVERYONE WHO SAYS THIS IS WRONG. DEAD. FUCKING. WRONG. Yes, some teachers don’t take off points for grammar or style. That’s true. However, anybody who reads your paper is going to be influenced by your writing. A well-written paper will be more positively received than a poorly-written one simply because it sounds better. A good writer is able to express their ideas more clearly and intelligently. That sort of thing ALWAYS affects the way a paper is graded. English and history also, surprisingly enough, encourage analytical thinking. Now, I’m not a super-smart science major or anything, but I would make the cautious assumption that engaging with texts and attempting to draw conclusions from them in an analytical fashion is probably good for your neurons.

“It’s soooo easy to get an English degree!” You might protest. Yes, it can be. It’s fairly easy to BS things or slam together a last-minute paper. It’s relatively easy to avoid reading things. And yet, I see a lot of people within the English department with poor GPA’s. I see people walk out of my classes clutching C’s. Maybe, just maybe, it isn’t quite as easy as everyone thinks. And what I don’t see are all of the holier-than-thou science majors being told that they have to write a six page paper on a six line poem, which is a shame because I think it would be funny. And no, there really isn’t an English equivalent to O Chem. Hell, a science degree, especially UGA’s, are harder than an English degree. That doesn’t make your degree inherently better than mine. It isn’t a pissing contest. The arts and the sciences are both important in their own ways. I went into the liberal arts because it is what I enjoy doing, and it is where my skills are. If your skills lean towards science and math, great. Just don’t act like you deserve more credit because your degree is somehow more “useful” or “important.”

And for the love of God, stop asking those of us with liberal arts degrees what we intend to do with ourselves–even if you are expressing genuine concern or interest. After hearing it for a while, you all just start to look like assholes.

PS: It goes without saying that this blog post was written in order to avoid working on that aforementioned degree. However, the work currently being avoided is Latin rather than my usual paper. My impending midterm is making me greatly miss the papers of last week.

It’s a Cool Story, Bro!

Do you know what time it is?

That’s right. It’s time for a Cool Story, Bro! Before I begin my Cool Story, Bro, I want to let my reader(s) know that I may or may not do more TV/Movie reviews in the future. I was planning on doing one for every new Supernatural episode, but I was really uninspired by the newest one. I mean, it wasn’t bad, but it didn’t have much that I wanted to talk about in it. The writers totally cockblocked Leviacas’s awesome, and it was bleh. ALSO the Snoogally one and I have started watching Breaking Bad, which I also may or may not start reviewing. It is supposedly one of the best shows on television right now, but it’s left me a little irritated, so we’ll see.

ANYWAY! Today was a great day. I went to work at ungodly in the morning (literally, as I would soon find out) and was assigned to dining room which means that I would not be pelted with large amounts of half-eaten food like I was on Saturday when I worked in the dishroom. As my shift shuffled along, I began to notice small, green bibles littering various tables. It turns out that, once the hour became godly, a whole bunch of old men in suits had migrated to every bus stop and important street crossing in order to spread the word of God to us collegiate sinners. I only passed one set of them on the way home from work, and it pretty much went like this:

AAAANNNDDD upon returning to campus, there was a man standing on the wall of the big-ass stairs on North Campus (For those of you who have not been to UGA, North Campus has some big-ass, marble-y/granite-y looking stairs that pass right between Park and LeConte Hall. He was elevated on a wall-type-thing. That is the moral of this story.) with a MEGAPHONE. AND HE WAS TALKING ABOUT JESUS-UH. HE WHO LOVED_UH US SO MUCH, THAT HE DIED ON THE CROSS-UH FOR OUR SINS-UH. WE MUST ACCEPT HIM INTO OUR HEARTS-UH IN ORDER TO BE-UH SAVED-UH. So, I got to enjoy lots of hilarious attempts at evangelicalism. My classes passed without incident, and I got a new bank account set up. Then, I finally bought something expensive (for me, you wealthy mofos) that I have wanted for ages. CHACOS!

AREN’T THEY BEAUTIFUL? I SHED A SINGLE TEAR. I also got them on sale for 55 dollars, so heck yes. So, I’ve just bought my shiny new Chacos. I debate briefly whether or not to put them on before deciding that I’ll wear my old shoes. So I call my Dad to tell him about my new bank account and shit, and basically to let him know that I am having a happy day where awesome things happen. AND THEN. SOME FUCKING HOW. I GET A VERY SPIKY PIECE OF MULCH. JAMMED BETWEEN THE SOLE OF MY SHOE AND MY VERY SOFT VERY VULNERABLE FOOT. I hobble over to the not-so big-ass stairs of Park Hall and pull off my shoe to assess the damage. While I wince and hate life, all I can think is GODDAMMIT, THIS WOULD NOT HAVE HAPPENED IF I HAD PUT ON MY SHINY NEW SHOES BECAUSE THE THICK SOLE REPELS THOSE CHUNKS OF WOOD WHO LURK AT TOE LEVEL. It looks as if I have two pieces of wood jammed into the bottom of my big toe, right where it bends. The first is small and comes out easily. The second one, well, the second one looks pretty fucking deep. A few tugs only seemed to cause pain, and the wood itself remained imbedded. Now, I must explain why this fucking splinter caused me to unravel. You know that time that you feel really happy. Like, you just feel comfortable. All the problems you thought were big seem small. And then– you hurt yourself or break something important. SOMETHING swoops down and knocks the good mood right out of you, and you get unreasonably upset because you fell from a high point of happiness. Yeah. That would be me.

The other thing is that, well, I have a thing with splinters. They freak me out. I haven’t had a problem with one since I was a little kid, because most of my recent splinters have been either easy to remove or easy to ignore until they become easy to remove. This one involved a relatively thin stick of wood actually hanging out of my foot. And pulling on it does nothing. So, I’m all panicy and feel like throwing up. After calming down, I talk to my Dad again, and then head into Park to try and make calm, rational progress. Neg. It continues to not move. Also, pulling out shit that is embedded in your flesh hurts. Like, I don’t think I’ve had anything close to a puncture wound before, so this was surprisingly painful. ANYWAY, I begin to get all sweaty and fainty because holy shit A TINY PIECE OF WOOD HAS STABBED ME, and I continue to feel this way all the slow, hobbling way to the bus and then to my car. By the time I make it to the apartment, I am shaking like a leaf (and also vaguely entertaining the notion of launching a preemptive strike against small chunks of wood) by the time I get back to the apartment.

I insist to my father that the splinter MUST be deep enough to need a doctor. Really, it looks like it’s a full millimeter below the surface. THAT REQUIRES LOCAL ANESTHESIA, RIGHT? So I call the health center. The poor nurse who has to talk to me recommends that I go to the urgent care center for a 36 dollar fee (because it was after 5pm) if I can’t get it out myself. My Dad also says that I should do this if I’m “too much of a wussy to just yank it out.” He also recommends that I calm the fuck down because I am reaching a point of hysteria. So, literally shaking and crying, I yank at the end a few more times before I have to pick up the Snogally. Thankfully, my glasses can disguise the fact that I am crying. Because if someone saw and asked if I was OK, I would have to admit that I was crying OVER A SPLINTER. Anyway, Snoogally also says to just yank it out and offers to do so himself. HE CLEARLY DOES NOT REALIZE THE INFINITE PAIN THAT I FEEL, so we go to the health center. I tell the lady at the front that I’m not sure if I need a doctor to remove it or not, so she sets me up with a nurse. I show the splinter to the nice nurse who seems rightly concerned about my panic, and, before I can finish explaining, leaves and returns with a pair of tweezers.

“Do you want me to try and get it our for you? It looks pretty close to the surface to me.”
“Erm” Panic, sweat, shake, panic, “No, um, not yet. I mean, it really doesn’t seem to give at all when I pull, and it hurts a lot.” Oh crap. Involuntary hysteria tears!

Nurse comforts me and tells me not to cry. I explain to Nurse that I am not really as upset as I seem. Really, I just have a thing about splinters and poking a needles and the whole day-ruined thing. These aren’t rational tears. Nurse looks even more concerned. Anyway, I wind up getting out my own tweezers and asking if I can try a little more before she does. She says fine, and I babble at her for a while as I yank.

“You’re turning awfully white. You might want to relax for a bit. Deep breaths.”
“Yes. I should, shouldn’t I? I mean, I don’t think that I’m about to faint. Although I did faint the last time I was at the doctor’s office when they tried to take my blood.”
“Please, don’t faint.”

So I decide that I might try and bring it to the surface with a pin.

“That’s a good idea, but all I have is a needle, and you said that you weren’t good with those.”
“Oh, I have a safety pin in my purse!”
“Is it sterile?”
“It was.” The safety pin comes out covered in varying shades of purse lint. “It’s OK. I have a lighter.”
“Why don’t we just use an alcohol pad?”

So, after more poking and pulling and traumatizing Nurse, I am informed that I stop breathing whenever I go to pull out the splinter. So, after a little more digging, I pull, making sure to take deep breaths. I look down, and the splinter is out. Nurse is very polite. I will not be charged a fee because I did not see a doctor, and I used my own tweezers. I thank Nurse profusely (“Really, I couldn’t have done it without you here.” and “I’m so sorry about this.”) before leaving. In other words:

1. Get splinter
2. Panic
3. Cry
4. Shake
5. Go to doctor
6. Allow doctor to watch you remove your own spinter
7. ???????

Both Snoogally and Father laugh at me, but I do not care. For I have CONQUERED the SPLINTER. And now my day is wonderful again. I do not care if I am ridiculous. I am splinter-free. Fuck yeah.

Now, I have eaten a sandwich and written a blog post. Although, now that I look at it, my day seems pretty lousy. I mean, I was happy about my new shoes, but I can’t think of what made me so pleased before I impaled my foot…


I have a take-home midterm due tomorrow. I haven’t studied for it or done any reading or, you know, actually taken the test yet either. I had built up my confidence while I was buying shoes until I spent more than two hours wrestling with a splinter. And then another hour or so writing a blog post about said battle.

… Well, it should be easy after the splinter, right? I mean, paper is wood pulp. That’s not even remotely pointy.

PS: That is not a challenge, paper. I would like my fingers unscathed. My last paper cut just healed.

OMG Supernatural! Have a cracked out review!

So… most of you probably know of this show that I watch.

Yeah. That one. And lately it’s gotten a little… well, terrible. I mean, I’ve never thought of Supernatural as quality television, but the last season (season six for those of you who aren’t counting) was absolutely terrible. I personally thought that season five was pretty weak, but it at least had its moments. I came into the season seven premiere of Supernatural a little blind because I had actually dozed off several times during six’s finale. Like, I sort of faded out when Castiel started talking to Balthazar, and when I woke up, Cas was stabbing him. I also missed the actual opening of Purgatory and Sam’s brain-wall-thing collapsing. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that it was pretty weak. Not only that, but I do not know what exactly happened to the directing, filming, and editing during the last half of season six, but MAN was it terrible. Like, “they gave a Red Bull and some Pixi Sticks to a seven year old boy and then let him shoot a couple scenes for the lulz” terrible. And the editing… well…


Anyway, I’ve decided that I should start reviewing things because I love over-analyzing and bitching and the people who I love are sick of hearing it. (Note: I’m pretty sure that the people who I love make up roughly 100 percent of my readers. Sorry.) SO! It’s time to discuss the season seven premiere of Supernatural!


“Meet the New Boss” begins with a little recap of that season that I really fucking hated, including the marvelously terrible and not actually shocking CGI of Sam in hell.

See, fans of the show (aka Delaney) will remember the season three finale where Dean winds up in hell. You know, looking like this:

See, one looks fairly bloody, dark, and disturbing while the other one looks like someone was trying to make some flaming text to put on their Angelfire fansite. ANYWAY, I DIGRESS. The first good thing I noticed about this episode is that the camera guy seems to have downgraded from ecstasy to cocaine. The camera movements are noticeable, but far less headache inducing, and, at least for now, they seem to be matching the emotion of the scene. Also, all of Sam’s new hallucinations look a lot more like that image of Dean up there. A few of them looked legitimately creepy. I’d like to take a quick look at things that are usually positives for me and see how they behave in this episode specifically:

Bobby: Bobby is one of the only long-lasting main characters to maintain a stable personality. He was the best thing about season six, and I particularly like his ability to smack some sense into Sam and Dean when they start acting like damn fools. Sadly, he doesn’t really get to do that in this episode. Nor does he to really shine snark-wise. Bobby is pretty neutral here.
Crowley: Much like Bobby, Crowley is just sort of there. He at least gets a little snark out, but he doesn’t do much except serve as a plot device. He is also pretty neutral.
Death: I fucking love Death. He is the best. I don’t know how anyone could not like him. Honestly, whoever they got to play him is so perfect. His appearance in this episode is all kinds of flawless. He manages to make exposition decent too.
Cas: I really like the way that they deal with Godstiel. He isn’t really bad, just way overclocked. His smiting was pretty great. I think that they walked a fine line between making him relateable (Well, I think it’s a word, spell check) and deplorable. Like, don’t we ALL want to shut up the Westborough Baptist Church or ridiculous politicians like Michelle Bachmann? But you can’t just go around smiting those assholes. It’s sort of like, everyone thinks that they’ll be able to run things properly if they controlled everything, but Cas finds out that, well, maybe you can’t. After all, smiting individuals does seem a wee bit petty. So yeah, good job there. ALSO! BEHOLD THE GLORY OF STAINED GLASSTIEL!

One thing that really makes Supernatural great is the lightheartedness. Sure, there is a lot of dark, soap-opera-y drama going on, but there has generally been an element of comedy to everything. Someone on ONTD pointed this out, and I can’t think of a better way to put it. Sam and Dean are so dead now. If you watch the first few seasons, they had so much life and banter. As the show has gone on, more shit has gotten real, and the two of them have gotten angstier and angstier. You’ll notice that most of the humor comes from side characters now rather than the protagonists. A nice part of this episode was getting to see at least a little life brought back to the characters. Dean’s cynicism seems to have doubled back around and become lighthearted. I mean, sure he and Sam had the same: “Why didn’t you tell me the truth, man?” argument that they always do, but Dean ended it by watching Asian cartoon porn instead of storming off or something equally asinine. So maybe, just maybe, the new season will be able to bring back some sort of brotherly dynamic.

HOWEVER! Someone really needs to call Dean out on his shit. His refusal to forgive Cas or see Cas’s side of things is grating on me. I mean, Dean has always been a bit of an asshole but man. He thinks his best angel buddy is dead, and all he can say is “I told you so.” He needs a smack upside his head like, yesterday. This is the guy who sold his soul to a crossroads demon. He and his brother started the damn Apocalypse! Why exactly does he have this self-righteous attitude toward one mistake of Cas’s? I JUST HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS, OK!

As for Sam, I’m looking forward to how they explain the mindfuck that is Lucifer just showing up and just taking him away. Like seriously, how does that work? I think it could be cool though. So as of right now, I would be giving the episode a positive meh. It’s certainly a surprising improvement over last season. Still, the episode itself was a little lackluster. You may, my astute little readers, notice that I said “would” rather than will. That’s because I have not talked about the best part of the episode.

Do you Harry Potter fans remember that scene in the Half Blood Prince movie where they basically just let Daniel Radcliff act like the crazy mother fucker that he is?


See, apparently, there were these things called the Leviathans which were the first beasts created by God. But they were totally running amok and being batshit insane, so God created Purgatory to keep them locked up. Cas accidentally a whole bunch of Leviathans when he was taking in the souls of Purgatory, and his attempts to throw them all back up (ew) failed because the Leviathans held on inside him. AND ALL OF THIS IS AWESOME. I LITERALLY MADE THIS FACE: :D I WAS SO EXCITED THAT I TURNED INTO A DAMN EMOTICON.

This is the damn truth. I really hope that they keep Leviacas around for more than one episode because this is going to be glorious.


PS: I have two papers due next week. I’m pretty sure both of them have a lower word count than this blog. I am, as always, a spectacular failure at time management.

PPS: I refuse to apologize for never posting. Almost every post would have to start with a damn apology because I fail at keeping a blog.

PPPS: Psst! Leviacas!

This post is very boring, but I have inflicted it on you anyway.

Hrm. I suppose that I should post something.

Well, I waited until two and a half hours before my paper (on Dr. Jekyll, Jekyll, Hyde, Jekyll, Hyde, Hyde, Jekyll) was due to even start it. I have no idea why. I mean, I made a blog and wrote a post to stall it. Then, I went to bed when I wasn’t even tired. THEN I snoozed the early alarm I had set for myself (so that I could write the paper after I had slept some) until my normal wakeup time, and THEN I did not start my paper during the thirty minutes before my first class (I felt that reading Wuthering Heights was a far more pressing concern), nor did I work on it during that class even though I had my computer out and was not paying attention. I do not even know what is wrong with me. I did get it done, though I’m not sure how quality it is.

Anywho, my life has been exceptionally lazy since then. The snoogally one and I went out for an early Valentine’s Day dinner on Thursday, and we went to a birthday party on Friday. I am currently at the home-home rather than the apartment-home or the dorm-home (aka, the storage unit with a roommate) because I needed to do my taxes, and I actually like my family. My Madre is in the process of making a daybed out of a futon. My Padre has been roped into helping her, and he had to help me do my taxes. Poor Padre. Also, I get 31 dollars back from the government because I make no money. I was informed that I might actually have to get a real, live job this summer that actually gives me hours (unlike every other goddamn job that I have ever worked.) I might also put in the effort (money) to get the AC in my car fixed so that I do not wind up driving in HEAT BOX OF DOOM for a third summer in a row.

I feel like I should have some sort of interesting story to tell. I do not think that I do. OH WAIT! Tonight will be a night of EPIC NERF BATTLES! IT HAS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I HAVE TAKEN PART IN AN EPIC NERF BATTLE! I WANT TO GO TO WALMART AND GET SOME MOTHERFUCKING DARTS FOR MY MOTHERFUCKING NERF BLOWGUN. WHAT? YOU DON’T HAVE A MOTHERFUCKING NERF BLOWGUN? YOU SHOULD INVEST IN ONE; my ring finger is getting sore, so I’m going to need you to just imagine that I am shouting (No I cannot just press capslock! Why? Because.) Also, this is my gun:

LIKE A BOSS. It’s a motherfucking Firefly (YOU CAN’T TAKE THE NERF FROM MEEEEEEEE!) It can even light up when it shoots! And yes, yes those are glow in the dark darts. I’m going to get some matching glowing darts for my blowgun. Because I can. I also have two less-legit guns:


I mean, I pretty much always lose, and I rarely do anything because I am ultra cautious, but dammit, there are forts and guns and under my sweet, girlish exterior lies a warrior ready to riddle the enemy’s skull with foam ammunition. Yes.

‘Cause I was Jekyll, Jekyll, Hyde, Jekyll, Hyde, Hyde, Jekyll…

Good evening dear reader(s)!

I should, even right now, be working on a paper (On The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll, Jekyll, Hyde, Jekyll, Hyde, Hyde, Jekyll), but I am not. I should be contemplating the question of Stevenson’s critique of Victorian society. Well, I technically I am doing that. It isn’t too difficult a question. The problem is that I have to squeeze four pages out of the idea that repression leads to even greater wrongdoing. I know, right, what a new and exciting idea. I am certain that no one has ever thought of it.

…And my vagina has now been compared to the One Ring. I do not even want to consider all of the complications that comparison will lead to.

On a less terrifying note, I am really disappointed with this paper’s limitations. My choices are all doable in terms of writing, but they are also a little blah, and I feel like there is so much more to talk about in these stories that we didn’t bring up. I really wanted to look into the language of the Doctor in the “Story of the Physician and the Saratoga Trunk.” Hell, the language of the Prince in all of The Suicide Club would be worth looking into as would the descriptions of the American man, Silas. Of course, this means next to nothing to you, dear reader(s). After all, I tried to discuss this with friends over lunch, but none of them have read The Suicide Club, so it made the conversation a little bit lame. And I didn’t discuss any of this story in class because, well, I hadn’t read any of it until we got to the last of the stories. Naturally, that was the day that, instead of fully discussing the text, we did an exercise on summarizing and ways of looking at text. I’m hoping to remain caught up in the class from now on because it really is a nice class. It’s only boring when I haven’t done the reading. Plus, the teacher is very nice, so I feel bad when I don’t do the work. Blech. Paper. If I hadn’t waited so long to work on it, I might have been able to customize a different topic based on…

Something in Jon’s room just made a terrifying noise. I think that it was coming from the closet, but it is hard to tell with his ridiculous speakers. Seriously, it sounded like the noise a high-tech bomb makes in a bad action movie. Like The Fifth Element. That sort of multi-toned beeping. Creepy. I really hope HAL isn’t plotting anything. I would not doubt that this computer has some form of sentience. It does turn itself on sometimes. Leave it to The Boy to inadvertently invent Skynet.

…the other ideas that I had. Of course, that would take a whole lot of research that I simply do not have time to do. I also think that emailing my topic to my professor at 10:30PM doesn’t count as getting approval ahead of time. Ah well. I also have a Microtheme due on Thursday, but it doesn’t get turned in until before midnight, so I will deal with it then. I desperately want my draft back for that class. I probably shouldn’t talk about it too much since my feelings are largely negative. I’d rather not have to take it again due to some errant blogging.

On that note, I really must head off to skim The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll, Jekyll, Hyde, Jekyll, Hyde, Hyde, Jekyll.

You’re welcome.