Typos

Well! I have a new favourite show. I say that with a clear conscience because Band of Brothers is not, in fact, a show. It is a mini-series. A most excellent and beluvered mini-series. 

Anyway. If you all out there haven't seen NBC's Life...you have none. (Life..get it? :P)

Well, watch it sometime, anyway. New episodes start at 9PM on NBC, and everyone's favourite redhead stars.

I love it. I love that he's addicted to fresh fruit (because prison food is a "meat-like paste). I love the colour! I love the eccentricity. I love the freshness, the cleanness (as far as camera work and imagery goes). I love that he spent 12 years in prison (for a crime he did not commit) and is now back on the police force. I love it!

I love a lot of things. 

Again. I could go on and on and on, but I'll spare you. 

Mostly because...

Well. my reasons are my own. 

I really wish I had Tivo or something. Because I NEED IT. Like House needs his Vicodine. Like Charlie needs his fresh fruit (I seem to remember someone else liking fresh fruit [e.g. apples], from PotC). Like a certain chop of pork needs her daily fix of either a) Band of Brothers, b) some FORM of Band of Brothers, c) Discovery Channel, d) puns and tea, e) and other things. 

Or maybe like a certain chop of pork needs all those letters.

Have I mentioned that I love picspam? 'Cause I do. I really do. 

Oh! The new youth pastor (Pastor Bentley. The second coolest last name. Well...maybe not. It could be Heffron. Or Roe. Or Winters. Or Guarnere. Or HINKEL! *rofls*)

Ha! I bet none of you know what John 11:15B says. 

"Jesus ROFLed."

--the Gospels according to Angie. 

XD

Ahem. Back to that youth pastor. I don't think that I'll ever watch anyone except for the Fish on here...except for anonymously. My brain cells go into convulsions every time I think about someone other than the Fish reading my blogs. Even though I regularly address an imaginary audience. 

It's much easier when they're imaginary. 

I changed my mind. That ginormous iPod I'll eventually have will be named Melchizedek instead of Maher-shalal-hash-baz. Even though that name is pretty cool.

Maybe I'll just find two random names and put them together. So my iPod will have a last name as well. 

Allrighty then. I post more tomorrow. 

*Edit: I'm so glad I go back and fix the typos. :P

I do

So I want to cut my hair. 

I've wanted to cut it for months now. 

But never did. 

And now it's long. 

It's been long.

But it's longer now.

And needs the scissors.

DOC ROE! 

"Sizzuhs!"

Oh yes. I haven't mentioned my train-of-thought-time-wasting-thingie that I often do for the heck of it and because I can write and listen at the same time (bow to my multi-talentedness). 

EXAMPLE:

Example.

SAT's.

Snacks!

Cheetos. 

Tiger.

They're Grrrrrreat!

Breakfast. 

Colonial New England.

Constance O'Connor.

Leaves.

Trees.

Clint Eastwood.

That "Do you feel lucky?" scene.

River.

Heh....River conversations.

Bridges. 

Bugs Bunny.

Fat Horses.

Plums.

Purple.

Nurple. 

:D

Fine Arts.

Spoons. 

-.-

Soup.

Peddler's Village.

Dolls.

CSI.

Oh yeah..the objective is to get back to the origianl word. 

Hodges.

Wendy.

Peter Pan.

Green.

Recycle.

Garbage.

Stuart Little.

Hugh Laurie.

Backyards.

And..I give up. This can keep going on forever.

Did I mention that I want to cut my hair already? Because I do. Preferably before Fine Arts. But if not, that's fine. That's fine. I'd like to cut it just-below-the-ear short. And hope and pray that it grows back, because I really like long hair. 

But that's neither here nor there.

It was here, but now it's gone. Because a promise is a promise, one hundred percent.

I think I need sleep. 

And I've rediscovered the smoothness of buttermilk. 

*wipes brow*

It is a GOOD THING that I re-checked that last sentence. Otherwise we would've had problems. 

*teary sigh*

The LOL Corner moves me to tears.

You know when you buy a book because of the author or the title or the summary and then you read it and weep. Or cringe, in my case. 

Yeah...

There was a book (I say "was" because I am finished with it) named Cherokee Rose and I picked it up because of the author and the cover and the summary and I read two pages into it and cringed. Haven't picked it up since. Maybe once, and only to blow a raspberry. 

Ezekiel makes a great conscience, by the way. 

And my obnoxiously long bangs are... annoying.

Why was that red, you ask? Simple, I say. Because the button was there. And my finger was ready to push something. 

You know, it's 21:38. And here I am, sitting in front of the screen and typing away random nonsense. 

Savoring the taste of buttermilk. 

Ignoring the fact that tomorrow, life has to continue.

I have many favourite times of the day. But maybe this is my most beloved. When the world blankets down for the night and when it is in its waking moments. The world, in general.

When I jump into the stream of life with my own little rock somewhere, I will wake up just before dawn and fall asleep just after they all bed down. 

I don't know what's stopping me from doing that now. 

Lies!

I'm just tired. Good intentions never accomplish much of anything, do they? Just too tired to actually lift myself up from the toasty blankets and into that cold, cruel world. 

I am an early riser. 

Or as Nix commented,

"You've always risen at a Christ-like hour."

And I have. But it's that rising part that gets me. 

Falling asleep, I have no issues with. 

Why am I rambling like this? 

Because I can.

Who asks and question and answers it in the next sentence?

I do. 

And then I don't. 

And I do again.

And I can do but I won't do.

Because it won't do.

It won't do at all.

Like anything makes sense at all.

Nothing does, really.

If you think about it.

Which I don't.

Not really. 

Yeah.

I think that sleep is in order. 

Hey! I just realized that my head talks when I type! How cool is that! 

Fish, I hear your voice in my head when I read your blogs. 

No pun intended. 

I wish I were British. And old. Like wine. But a little less...colourful. 

I know this doesn't make any sense. It's not meant to. The only thing that does make sense is that blank notebook page calling out to me. 

Which doesn't really make sense at all, when you think about it, because how can notebooks pages call? And if they did, would they have distinct voices? Would their call vary according to the amount of writing, or the style of the cover? 

This is hilarious. In a sad sort of way, because everyone wants to be original and unique and wonderful and everyone imitates something. 

And here I was just wishing that life imitated art. Which it does, sometimes. And we do, sometimes, too. But what is art but an imitation of something else? 

I think I would excel in a philosophy class. If only because my brain likes to stretch in weird angles. 

I'm going to sleep now. 

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep. 

Randomness Ensues

Hello, non-existent readers! (Not you, Fish. I say "Fish," because "the Fish" would be awkward in that particular sentence.) Life is wonderful, complex, and...

I was going to say "beautiful," but I can't. Ever since watching We Stand Alone Together, the HBO documentary about Easy Company, and hearing Mr. Winters use that word in that context in that way, using it to describe anything beneath that seems like a curse. 

Well. I have a new uncle. Very randomly and suddenly, too. It's very strange. 

Life is wonderful, though. Crazy and wonderful. 

I never really struggled with comprehending things, and one of those things was how G-d was everywhere, at the same time. 

Recently, an image smacked my eyelids that maybe helps define his omnipresence.

Picture an enormous page. A scroll, even. On that page, all of time and eternity and humanity and everything is enscribed. And G-d, who is such a mighty G-d, is looking down on all of it. He's the author, after all. As an author, He is very much involved in every aspect of his creation, but He is also above it. And, being G-d, of course He sees and knows everything all at once. And all at once again. 

And anyway. That's the image. He's awesome, you know. 

That's another word I can not use unless in relation to G-d or something super-human. Awesome. Beautiful. I don't know. Maybe I'm just reverting to respect. 

Some people have mentioned that I do a decent imitation of James Blunt's "You're Beautiful." Maybe so. Maybe so. 

Randomness ensues after skipping around the world wide web. 

Oh yes. Thanks to the Fish, I now know what a tanka is. But knowing the definition doesn't stop me from thinking TANK which reminds me of Bull of Band of Brothers yelling TANK! and somehow looking happy while yelling it, and...

Then I'm gone. 

Pfft. [A/N: While I skipped to Tab#2, I forgot what I Pffted about.] 

Um. 

So I'll probably be wasting time on the LOL Corner on dA.

And posting here randomly. But don't expect. It's depressing...when you get to the point where you start talking to an audience that isn't there. 

"I think the word you're looking for is 'crazy.' "

Shaddup. 

"Make me!" *Thumbs nose at Porkchop*

[Side-note: You know, I think writing this is much more fun than reading it.]

Oh. That was Ezekiel, in case anyone out there in the Imaginary Audience was wondering. My iPod Nano. If I get one of those enormouse iPods, I will name him accordingly. Something like Maher-shalal-hash-baz. Yes. It is a name. 

I have realized that if I don't publish this post immediately, I will imitate the Energizer Bunny. 

"You're not all that funny, Chop."

Pah. Go..!

*Runs out of witty comments*

This is when Staircase Syndrom kicks in. 

To save my ego, I shall post a hilarious LOL Corner tidbit and dodge the banana peels on the way out. 

yo theshinyrock
oops
hi bmxking1000
theshinyrock: hows things
theshinyrock: just found out im pregnant, you?
pregnant ? sorry I have a poor english lol DIHP
theshinyrock: lol im gona get fat and pop out a baby?
I don't understand nothing  

Does It Hurt?

Well now. I predict more aching muscles after 2 hours of football in the park today. Yes, it was cold. And yes, it was my second time playing football. Who cares? I survived! Nothing frostbitten, a few interceptions and other little tidbits, and I've drank some tea and ate some cheesecake, and now I am perfectly fine.

BLAH. 

Photography. I love it, but I really hate it sometimes, too. Like when there's a great shot, right there in front of my face, and the camera's at home. And when the picture you want to take doesn't turn out just right. 

Oh. And I paused between these two paragraphs and browsed LiveJournal looking at Band of Brothers picspam. 

Oh, Band of Brothers. 

Have I mentioned how completely amazing Band of Brothers is? I think I'm in love. 

XD

Ahem. I believe I shall acquire a LiveJournal. 

Just for that Band of Brothers community that I am frequenting every day, anonymously. 

*sigh*

We have a multitude of relations over, and I'm shaking with laughter at the comments and awkward pictures and goofy moments and Band of Brothers love and now they all think I'm crazy. 

I think that my dad tolerates my tiny obsession only because he has no idea how far it actually extends. 

Good thing he doesn't check the history often. 

*evil smirk*

AUGH! I am reduced to stealing little picspam glances every time a certain parental unit heads to another room. Because if he caught me reading other people's comments on a mini-series that I stayed up late watching the night before, we all be dead. As Fezzik from the Princess Bride once rhymed. 

So I'm sitting here, warm after donning my man-sweater and reading some of those perviously mentioned picspam comments, and eating chicken chow mein, compliments of me daddy. 

Heh. Like that Guarnere (who we all lovingly refer to as Gonorrhea) quote from episode 7... 

"Toye: I had to make sure you were on top of things. 

Guarnere: Yeah, we're on top of things. I even tied me own boots last week, all by meself."

You know, I planned to stay online as long as I could get away with, but I am dead tired. All this warmth and food and good feelings have me tired--not to mention that freezing football game. 

Ok. I'll leave now and let you go back, since I know you couldn't tear yourself away. 

:P

Ok. I can't resist one picture of everyone's favourite redhead. ^^

Well, maybe one more. Just because this guy's amazing. 

Ok, ok. And one tiny quote from a Special Features Feature, Ron Livingston's Video Diaries:

Neal McDonough, the actor who plays Buck Compton, gets side-swiped with an M1 in actor boot camp. This follows:

"Does it hurt?"

"I'm Buck Compton. Two stitches. Was there anesthetic for this? I do not think so. I am Buck Compton!"

Ramblings

First, I will answer those five comments that made me very happy:

1. Tanka? Wha's that? 

2. Yes. I meant "Six-Word story." :P Thanks.

3. Good. You should be. They're the most excellent and beluvered of--ANYTHING. 

4. :P You say, "that's so sad," and then you say, "lol."

5. Ahh, yes. I agree. 

Second, I am going to tell you that I have finished watching what I've borrowed, all eight episodes (there are ten in actuality. But I refuse to think about it.), and now I'll watch the documentary We Stand Alone Together, return it tomorrow, and anxiously await for him to burn 'em all and then stash them in my room and gaze at each individual episode until I have them 

M E M O R I Z E D. 

Obsessed? 

Maybe just a little. 

Life is sad. I wanted to go see Good (a movie) today with Fish, but...AMC decided that no one was left that wanted to watch it, so..

Now I have to wait for the DVD.

Good grief. By the time I turn the two-decade corner, I'll have patience down pat. 

-.-

So I want to move to Arkansas. Or maybe Maine. Or Montana. New Zealand, Austria...

Pfft.. 

No. I want to move to either Maine or Montana. Arkansas. 

The point is, I want to move. 

Away from people. 

Who I am beginning to dislike. 

The majority of people, anyway. 

I think...never mind.

I think a lot. Most of which will never make it past my frontal lobe. 

Fragments are fun. They say more than sentences, sometimes. 

For Valentine's Day

All I did was devour

My Band of Brothers. 

Hooray. Another haiku. 

*waves flag*

Hah! I love Amish Paradise by Weird Al. It's amazing. Never gets old. I think I shall name my son Ezekiel. Call him Zeke, for short. 

I think I was born in the wrong decade. Original, I know. 

Seriously. If I could choose the dates of my life, I'd choose 1923-2003. That would make me...80 years old at TOD. (Time of death, for those of you who don't watch crime shows. :P)

I won't list my reasons why that would be my dates of choice, but it has a lot to do with history and life in general. And people hanging onto at least a string of sanity. 

But since when did wishing ever change anything? And this can't be changed. Because it's fun to start sentences with conjunctions. Like it's continuing a mental thought that leaves the reader scrambling to figure out what you meant. What do I mean? I don't know anymore. 

I just know that I wish I were old, rocking on my front porch in some quiet, small town neighborhood, leaving windows open every night and dancing with my equally-aged husband to Vera Lynn's We'll Meet Again, remembering those good old days...that we actually had. -.-

But I'm not complaining. 

I'm just sayin'. 

Oh yes. And I'd really like an accent. Maybe I do have accent, to people from the deep south, but not as far as I know. 

Or a French accent. English, too. 

OR PHILADELPHIAN. But of course I don't. 

I grew up in... a suburb! And, because of that fact, I have no noticeable accent...and the ones I fake are awful. 

And I'm worried. About Fine Arts, convention, April 9th, my freezing fingers, my still-swollen hand, my burned tongue, my attitude toward everything CLC-related, America (well. Actually I could care less. They've made their choice.), and school. Oh. And what I'm supposed to do. And where God is. And! If I can write. Anything of value, that is. I can ramble--but rambling doesn't do anything. 

Except for fill up blog posts. 

Isn't this sad? After I post this, I'll probably go write some more in my notebook. Maybe repeat some things, maybe write some things I couldn't say in here because it's like I'm shouting it to the world even though I know that no one reads this thing except for Fish (whom I love very much. :D) but it's just not done, anyway. 

Some things are sacred.

A fact which humanity's forgotten. 

*glares at planet earth*

Gosh...winter'll be over in a few weeks. Snowed, seriously, once. Been cold the rest of the time. Was warm for three days. 

Then spring, then school, then summer, then autumn, then winter again, then the whole cycle over again. And then school's over again and again, and then college...and then life. 

And then...nothing'll be over. 

Hallelujah.