I can't smell puke

but I'm sure that if I still could, any waterfall-ish sounds accompanied by splatters of food remains are going to wrinkle my nose.

I recall buckets of copperish fluid upchucking from the entrance of this male's oral cavity. It collected into a puddle on the 20 year old charcoal blue carpet, freefalling vomit ricocheting off the gathered waste and splashing onto the nearby wall and desk side. Occasionally, the sickly moron's green face would angle upwards like a hinge to look at me, only to be followed by a bulging-eyed expression as he realizes there's more coming. I'm not sure if he could recognize that he had an audience. So much puke poured from his mouth that the arch of his shoulders would rise every so often as I visualized the beer-pizza-allAmericancollegestudentdiet mixture snaking through his esophagus and erupting when it seized the chance.

What's ridiculous about it all is that I was sitting on a couch and he basically sticks his head through the divide in the wall because he couldn't find a wastebasket.

Lovely lovely freshmen dorms.

* * *

I don't (want to) have a picture for this entry.

posting from my phone!

Got me an app to be able to blog on the go. Might be a little unnecessary when this thing can't even save drafts. Urgh.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5

EDIT// IT DIDN'T CAPITALIZE THE TITLE FOR ME.

People follow me here [rant on Tumblrs]

but I'm sorry to say that I haven't anything interesting to say. 

I think it's better that I vent here than on my private blog or else my private blog would be about every topic in the world and then it wouldn't make sense to privatize the whole thing because some of it doesn't need to be hidden as I'm comfortable sharing some of it.

I went to a friend's house for Thanksgiving dinner and I started wondering why my family never invites people over to our house. "My family" meaning my parents. Yet, I'm not too keen on letting people into my house either. Must've been something they passed onto me. But anyway, my friend's older brother finds out that I'm heading into the journalism route so he asks,

"do you blog?"

and I was like,

"heck yeah, I blog!"

and he's like,

"wait, you don't tumble?"

and I was like,

._____________________________.

TUMBLRs are too pretty for me. Which is something for me to say because I usually always go for the prettier one between two options. Blogspot vs Tumblr. Each tumblr is a little too different for me. It's hard to navigate through each person's tumblr. The only way I can tell a site is a tumblr without looking at the url is by realizing how confused I am after I click a link and nothing seems to happen.

Maybe I'm just too stupid for tumblrs. Oh well. Hi blogspot :D

I guess it'd be cool if I could suddenly link what video I'm watching or the url of a song I'm digging, but the truth is, while I'm watching/digging, I never think "oh I should let the whole world know about this now." So yeah. Not really a necessity.

Anyway, while I was signing back into the tumblr I made a long time (no chance in heck am I sharing that url), tumblr made me try to follow these people, all of whom fall under the category of musicains, health/fitness, comedians, politicians, etc. There was a Gay and Lesbian tag and being curious (not bicurious! teehee) and something about their blogs, from a distance and as thumbnails, look so much more interesting than other people's. They almost appear less professional? Not like other blogs are professional blogs but they look so... amateurish. Too many colors. Too overwhelming. Are they unable to be subtle? Does showing signs of subtly mean they're not proud? Does that go against everything activists have worked so hard to preserve in these times? Such an interesting topic.

Anyway. If I were gay. This blog would probably be more interesting to read. That's all I'm saying!

The fastest God resolved this dilemma.

When it comes to grudges, it doesn't take much for me to hold your action against you for the rest of my immortal life.

I forget to wait for someone.
He gets mad.
I get sad.
I'm freaking out figuring how to apologize to him.
I get mad at myself.
I'm told to pray to God because sins exist on this world, including the ones I intentionally inflict and the ones that just happen. I've yet to completely comprehend what that means.
I couldn't believe I let him down like that.
I hate being a bad friend.
I hate being raised to not do certain things and doing them anyway.
How many chances do I get to make mistakes?
How many times can I wait for people to forgive me?
What do I do if people don't forgive me? Do I insist? Do I leave?

AND THEN
he tells me to do something
something in me compels me to oblige
something in me can't deny his request because I feel so bad already

ONLY TO REALIZE
that he actually lied to me
so I could do a favor
that benefits him and some friend I don't know

stupid things like this anger me. me and my friend's relationship is so messed up that it takes mutual hating towards each other to fix things. i've put it behind me already. our friendship is okay.

* * *

KEELUNG. I miss the waves.

Washing with warm water.

Fourfold alliteration man.

I never really gave much thought to the temperature of the water I used when I washed my hands. By default, I use cold water, faucet pulled to the right, because I always imagine that the water is fresher. Fresh, clean, clear. All words used to describe water that's yummy!

I didn't understand the concept of hot water coming from a tank. Wouldn't it get cold?

If anything becomes cold, it's because it was left to the forces of nature. Nature wants things cold.

That's why winter is the superior season. Start bundling up!

Though honestly, as the weather gets colder, I never appreciated washing my hands with warm water as much as I have since last week. It's really amazing.

* * *

Biggest hail storm I've ever seen in my liiiife.

I need writing ideas.

I have to get 20 pages of stuff to hand in in about a month.

Give me ideas to write about! Piggy back off each other. Be absurd. Don't hold back. Be specific.

Thanks!

So much for updating everyday.

There goes a perfect 11/4/2010 that I couldn't utilize.

I had planned to take a picture of me holding an umbrella shot from the perspective of me WHILE holding an umbrella! It was going to be really pretty because you'd see the plaid teal symmetry of my umbrella and the coarse gray background of falling rain. Oh welllllllllll another day, I guess.

People talk about the best halloween ever. The best birthday ever. The best weekend ever.
But really, do they realize all you're saying is that this is the best possible way this day of this month of this year of my life could have been?

Do you realize you're never going to get the day back?

I don't know if I'm explaining this properly but it's like having too much emphasis on a day because of circumstance. If there was no circumstance, there's no significance?

Stop thinking that oh, next week is going to be a blast, and live passively until that one date finally arrives and the purpose of your life thus far becomes dependent on that day's subsequent events.

Enough preaching. I don't have any right to preach. I was just writing because I'm sad I missed a day. I hope this blog doesn't feel ignored. It is my blog though....emphasis on MY. I feel ignored and because this blog is like my (second) baby, it might have inherited some of it's mommy's insecurity.

Is there a dad? :D LOLLOL.

Writing every day won't make my blog anymore interesting. Quite the contrary.
I'm sorry for boring people. Maybe I should pretend to be a brodette for a day.
______________________________________________________________
The end of my scarf smells like adrenaline.
Frosted Mini Wheats ALMOST replace Honey Bunches of Oats as my new favorite cereal. Eating it noww.
Sam is my new mother. Rich, my new grandmother.
I was reading some guy's xanga and it made me feel bad about how immature my writing still is. Sighsighsigh.

* * *

Of course.

Who am I kidding - 6th posts for the win.

I'm going to blog about my whole day, I can feel it. I didn't want to an hour ago, but now I do. If I set myself to want something too early in the day (I did just wake up...6 hours ago...), I'm not going to have any drive to want to finish what I started.

I got a ride to the verizon store that restored my phone to factory settings. I lost all my texts = lost the means of making my sad days happier.

I like rereading conversations. Rereading my blog is like rereading a conversation I have with myself. I reread gchat/aim/msn convos not as often as I'd like, but I like to savor those few special 20 lines that just made the conversation. Rarely do I actually reread anything in its entirety.

I have to go eat dinner, play badminton, go to CCF, swing from vines to vines, reduce car emissions, clean my room, do math homework. I love Wednesdays.

* * *

As Rich's car pulled out of the parking lot, he observed the traffic. I observed the sky.

Fifth time blogging. Hopefully the last for today?

Writing helps me a lot. I love words. My words. Your words. God's Word.

[This is sort of a continuation from the last entry, but this entry is made to be concluding for today.]

I used my first blogspot blog privately because I needed a space for my words to breathe. My words were for myself and after transferring them from my mind and through my fingers on to this screen, I could leave them behind. I wouldn't forget, but they wouldn't be at the forefront of my mind any longer.

But those words caged me. I felt like I could only write for myself. Nothing I wrote would've been understandable to others. Even now, I can't break apart my past entries to any person who starts reading that blog. I grew into myself. Inversely. Conversely. I was dependent on myself.

That isn't the mission of CCF this year. Community? Can I really be absorbed into one?

It'll have to begin with me letting people into me. I'm using this new blog to write for others. Conscientiously will I make evident my life accessible. No more ostracizing myself on this bowling table. I learned the difficult way that I easily make getting-to-know me difficult for others. The things I write here will be 100% factual, until I decide to be fictional. I'm a creative writing beast, yo.

Is there a way to get music on my blog? Actually, I wouldn't want to have to maintain it and update it and make sure my songs are tasteful. I want people to come back, not be driven away (though you could always just mute your volumes or designate a special time to just read my blog when you don't have any other audibles playing :D)

I NEED MORE PEOPLE IN MY GRADE TO START BLOGGING. AGH. I CAN'T JUST BE FOLLOWING JUNIORS. AGHHHH. Well, I could, but would all of you want that?

* * *

If you're caged for too long, you forget how to fly. You die. 

An experienced Blognemic.

I go on blogging binges. I WILL update multiple times a day.

I purge things. I let it all out. It can get a little graphic.

I've blogged before. I know what happens when I say certain things.

So, I'm telling you all straight up that I have another blog.

It's private. I meant to eventually let the world read it once I wrote enough entries, but I began venting there and I ended up investing too much of myself into it.

Why do I choose to be evil and let you know about my other blog and hint towards the impossibility of anyone reading it?

Because when I talk about graphic things, I usually know what happens to my future posts. They're all tainted. My reader-dom will never be the same (currently, it's at 0.) People will see my biases. People will always see my judgment.

I'd rather my judgment be picked up through everyday blogs. Through normal conversations. Casual conversations, one might say. I don't feel like I should be in an extreme state of mind for people to understand me. That's unnecessary work for myself and an unnecessary burden for others to handle afterward.

I might quote from that blog here. There are things I might allude to here that I'll expand later there. If you're ever ever reeeally curious about what happens there, let me know!

* * *

One of the fires from a smores night!

What is "CLEAN: normal skin" ?

That's the name of my Covergirl foundation.

• Designed for normal skin
• Natural coverage that feels and looks fresh
• Water-based, won't clog pores
• Use with Clean Normal Skin Pressed Powder, in the brown compact, for a fresh finish

Something they forgot to mention:

• Lasts only 3 hours after application

I suppose it's good for my skin in the long run, but I hate leaving my room feeling like I could tip over the F bus and stop traffic with only a turn of my head to realize that whenever I come back, my face looks like a hag's. Dripping. 

* * *

A fake angry face shot with incredibly high ISO. Look at the details on the walls!

My phone's not working. My fault.

So for some reason, Monday night bowling went better and worse than I expected.

I bowled above an 100 for every game, which means I got a strike at least once every game. (Who am I kidding- I striked only once per game but still, that was 3 times tonight!)

I'm really proud of that. Especially when you think about how I've never bowled in my life before college started.
I'm such a freshie.

Monday night didn't go so well because I decided to fiddle with the 9 dot security slide lock. Preston already set up a pattern but while I was waiting for my turn to bowl, I decided to change it. The things I were thinking about at the time of me changing it weren't related to bowling at all and in my..um, anger, I made a pattern that I couldn't remember.

Huge huge huge extremely major eff.

So after running out of pattern attempts, my LG Ally finally tells me to stop trying and to just sign in with my google account. I type "meedorichan" (with its variation: meedorichan@gmail.com) and my password, and IT DOESN'T LET ME IN.

Either I forgot what email address I used to set up my phone or my phone's just being dumb. Anyway, Rich is planning to drive me to a verizon store today and get my phone reset to factory conditions. It better not take over a day or else I'll have to kill...10 hours of my day doing homework. Eew.

* * *

Me testing out continuous shots on Preston's camera. Laughing out loud.

THERE WAS A BIRD ON MY WINDOW 11/3/10 11:28 AM

[this was saved onto my private blog, but then my computer restarted, had problems, and blogspot couldn't save it in time. major eff. i had a lot written and while i'll try to make this version better than that one, chances are it won't. sorry. i'm just fuming.]


To let air into the window, you have to twist the crank counterclockwise eleven and a half times. Righty tighty, lefty loosey.

The insect screen will proceed to swing from its left side hinges and hang securely over a three story clearance. Actually, there's this weird balcony thing that extends outward from the second story as part of the lobby and it's covered by gravel. So really, it wouldn't a a true three story fall.

In the morning, my roommate almost always wakes up before I can even stir from my sleep. When I do wake up, several hours after her leaving for class, I always feel that my legs are incredibly warm and this this is because she'd raise the blinds a foot's distance from the heater against the wall and let in a little light. So what do I do? I do a model sit-up and swing that baby open, letting in the good wholesome goodness of brisk suburban autumnal morning college air percolate throughout my room. It only takes me 2 minutes tops to walk to the bathroom down the hall and pee and come back and find my room at a comfortable 68 degrees. I guesstimate the temperature, but my point is, it's considerably cooler.

How many of you have ever seen a chickadee perched onto your insect screen?

Not many, I should gather.

While I lack photographic evidence, believe me when I say this: I saw a chickadee perched on my insect screen.

I don't know how to describe my feelings to you. When a timid soul approaches you with confidence. It was like it deemed me as kind.

Thank you, tiny bird, for all that you've affirmed.

Time for dance appreciation.