But I am not. I am not freaking out. I’m tripping a little. More than a little. I could be potentially be freaking out, per the definition of the word. Maybe. But I’m not.

I really don’t like the way my life settles. I love the way it falls. But the way it settles? Not at all. Every major event in my life, every happy moment, is immediately plagued by something terrible. Sometimes it’s something as significant as death, while other times it’s as insignificant as misplacing my shoelaces. But it’s always something. And I think it’s tied directly into my killswitch.

Whatever it is inside my psyche that causes me to produce mass quantities of misery and pollinate it upon myself and the earth, I endearingly call it my “killswitch”. I love being miserable. I love it. And honestly, I think it’s only for attention. But I’m not a psychiatrist.

And I’m not freaking out.

Because for all the misery in the world, I am still egostical and far too superior to ever freak out.

Muse – Undisclosed Desires (Thin White Duke Remix)Download audio file (Undisclosed-Desires-Thin-White-Duke-Remix.mp3)
Metric – Blindness Download audio file (Metric%20-%20Blindness.mp3)
VETO – Cannibal Download audio file (veto_cannibal.mp3)
M. Craft – Dragonfly Download audio file (m_craft_dragonfly.mp3)

Your mother.

No, no. That would be too goddamn easy.

No. I have to present it to my whole sodding lecture, which is roughly about… No, precisely 118 people. ONE HUNDRED. AND EIGHTEEN. FUCKING PEOPLE.

118

My instructor was obviously smoking rock or something when she made that decision. My paper was absolute shite, and my presentation was even worse. The only thing that wasn’t bad about it was that I didn’t trip over my words.

I even went back on everything I ever learned in debate and stared at my goddamn cue cards the whole time!

Jesus, what’s so fucking interesting about genomic loss of imprinting in first-trimester placenta, anyway? I mean, yeah, imprinted genes are like, crucial to development, but Christ, that’s not worthy of a presentation! Twice!

Oh shit. If I have to say “wave of demethylation in the pre-implantation” again, I know I will fuck it up. I had enough trouble with biallelic and pathophysiologic without that fucking tongue-twister!

This is possibly the worst news I have ever received in my life. Thanks. Thanks for that.

Fucking 118 students, who fucking makes a class that big? Assholes, that’s who.

It’s sort of annoying that the fact that I have really short hair with really long extensions is so blatantly obvious, but I’ve found it’s hard to give a shit while running my fingers through luxurious, chocolate brown hair that has probably been forcefully stolen from a three year old Chinese orphan. Ah, so silky it is.

Despite being obvious weave, a friend of mine did say this: “There is only one word to describe your hair. And that word is Fabulous.”

And, as we all know,

f(should you be wearing this) =
it is obvious that you’re wearing weave < x < your hair was just deemed fabulous

if x > it is obvious that you’re wearing weave, x = Hell Goddamn Yes

So, I’ve been wearing weave for the last three days because it is mathematically fabulous to do so.

There are two people that this generalisation does not cover. Well, two that aren’t celebrities. I like a lot of celebreties. But anyway. One of those people is [REDACTED]. The other is my clone.

I have a Biology presentation due tomorrow. Already, this makes me highly dislike the entire Biology department. We had to choose partners. All the smart people were taken. I thought maybe if I just didn’t say anything, I could do it on my own.

No.

So I was just randomly paired off with this girl. Who, despite trying to contact all day, is just now texting me. It is almost midnight. Right at this moment, it is precisely 11:51:11 PM. Which is also precisely too late.

I am now doing my project alone, like I originally intended. Which is why I am here, right now, procrastinating. Procrastinating and attempting to resist doing a presentation on an article of which I only understand 13% of the content (100% of which consists of the words and, this, the, a and of) just because the focus of the essay is the FERM protein.

It’s name…? Merlin.

Only about two of you (2 out of the three-million people my blog reaches) will really appreciate that last sentence.

I also hate people because they have faces, and I don’t like to look at faces. They look back.

But what this post does bring is penis, in multiple typefaces. More on that in a second.

I have this thing for trendy hipster bullshit. I hate hipsters. Hipsters hate me. But fuck, sometimes I just want to scribble in a Moleskine at Art 6.

Which is why, before the fall semester started, I bought one. A moleskine, that is, not a hipster. That would be weird. But not weird enough for me not to do it. I hate hipsters, but if I could buy one, I would. And then I’d make it decorate my living room. But anyway, I bought the Moleskine 18 month weekly planner.

I used it for the first week. And then didn’t use it again, except to paste all of my ticket and event stubs in (movies, museum and zoo tickets, MUSE TICKET STUB, JESUS). Because I forgot that I hate organisation and actually knowing that I have something planned or a project due. I like my life full of panic. It’s builds character.

But then last night, I was like, Moleskine’s be bitchin’, why am I letting it just sit there? So I actually wrote stuff down in it. Like homework! And Shit That I Need to Do, God Dammit.

After doodling in it for an hour, I realised that all I had done was right My Chemical Romance lyrics squished between varied displays of PENIS. I blame Madison from Alt Nation for wishing Gerard Way a Happy 33rd and reminding me of his and his band’s existence. I’ve purposely ignored MCR for the last two years, namely for being the retards responsible for The Black Parade, and other such fuckery. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long that I’m once again crushing hard on IBYMB, YBMYL. Longest record name ever.

Point is, I remembered a), how much I like pre-sell out MCR and b), Moleskines.

It was the latter, combined with my love of photography and the project I have to do for JAPN 2050, which forced me into purchasing a Polaroid PoGo Printer.

While I’m in Tokyo, part of the course is a ‘project’. It’s a free-range project, but it has to be like a diary, that we report in several times a day. I was at a loss for what to do, because I’m shit a writing about… shit. So I decided, I could just take pictures of things that make me happy(/sad/angry/horny?) throughout the day, and then write a short bit about them. But there was the whole problem of, Jesus, will a printer fit in my luggage?

Somehow, I stumbled across the PoGo, and then I was like, <3!

My project, thusly, will be a Moleskine where I stick a PoGo print on a page, and then write about it. Simple. Also, slightly hipster, but in an acceptable way, because it’s me doing it. Further, I plan to heavily involve any and all “kawaii” stickers I can find around the greater Tokyo area. I hear they have lots.

I hear that PoGo prints are sort of lo-Fi, but in a sexy way, so I’m pretty excited about that. Apparently, though, battery life is shit on it, so while I’m in Japan, I’m going to attempt to locate a Fujifilm Pivi mp-300, which is like the sexier, better version of the PoGo.

Also,although the sentiment is appreciated, The Impossible Project is out of their heads if they think I’m going to pay $21 for an 8/10 pack of monochromatic 600. Just saying.

Different things keep me awake. Sometimes, it’s happiness. Sometimes, I’m so excited about nothing in particular, that I just sit straight up in bed for three hours. Sometimes I think way too much about things that don’t need to be thought about at all, and I toss myself around the mattress for eight hours. Sometimes, I actually do fall asleep, only to wake up a few hours later, usually to the interruption of a good dream, or the conclusion of a nightmare.

Sometimes, I just can’t fucking sleep for no reason in particular.

Over the years, I’ve found that the best thing to put me to sleep is to do algebra. Algebra is the one thing in the world that will, hands down, make me physically and emotionally tired. The only reason I (mostly) stay awake during my current math course is because I’m sort of freakishly in love with my professor and I take any chance I have at all to stare at him. There’s just one flaw in this method; I fucking hate algebra.

So, I read. I read until I get frustrated that the author didn’t write what I wish they had written. I am unsatisfiable when it comes to… readable… things… leading me to write my own crap.

But the thing is, I can’t write. I’m pretty sure the only relationship shittier than the one between me and sleep is the relationship between me and creativity. Whereas with sleep, we occasionally get along, creativity doesn’t have anything to do with me. Growing up, it always sat on the opposite side of the school cafeteria. In the same way that I would do stupid shit all through middle school to get that one boy I liked with the pretty blue eyes and the silky black hair that was always trying to consume his face to notice me at all, I tried the same with Creativity, to no avail.

But I still try. I try and try to write.

The only time I ever get anywhere is when I write to the music I’m listening to. (The other night, I wrote [terribly] this… thing… about a botched military experiment called The Virus, which caused people to turn into… Zombie… things… just because I was listening to an acoustic version of Lisztomania by Phoenix and it made me really crave a scene where two lovers, who have come together over the travesty of losing the entire world, climb over this… hill… as duster planes dropping antivirus are flying in front of the setting sun, over the English countryside in like, Wiltshire or something… and all the infected fall, and it’s just… this amazing moment of peace, because they’ve had each other, but now they’ve got the world back… And I really wish I could blame the entire thing on like, drugs or something, to make me seem sort of like a bad ass, or something, but the truth is, I am really just that insane.)

And I sincerely tried to use music to write tonight (today?), really. Except Flight of the Conchords came on shuffle and ruined everything.

I have learned that it is impossible to do anything while listening to Flight of the Conchords besides listening because Bret and Jemaine are so amazing and brilliant that you have to pay attention to them.

So now I’m screwed! and I really don’t want to do any algebra, so I’m doomed! never to sleep again, which is bad! because I have a research paper! due on Monday, and I’m actually excited! about my topic, but I can’t write, remember?! so I’m just seriously in a 360° cocoon of SCREWED.

Anyway, have some delish:

Flight of the Conchords – Hurt Feelings
Download audio file (Flight_of_the_Conchords-Hurt_Feelings.mp3)

Flight of the Conchords – It’s Business Time
Download audio file (Flight_of_the_Conchords-Business_Time.mp3)

Flight of the Conchords – If You’re into it
Download audio file (Flight_of_the_Conchords-If_You’re_Into_It.mp3)

But seriously, how do they do it? Even when being COMPLETELY outlandish, somehow the songs are still good. ‘If You’re Into It’ is still one of my most favourite songs in the world.

(Lauren, it’s been two years since D.C., but if you ever find me, thank you so much for exposing me to the Conchords.)

Even thinking is weird. Like, what’s a thought? Are memories quantifiable? Why is it that when someone dies, they lose a small percentage of mass? What about spontaneous human combustion? Is it really just bullshit? Or are the feelings that are bubbling and seizing all in my mind right now building up to an explosion?

When I think about love and my chest aches, is that a real physical reaction caused by actual muscles in response to a feeling, is that my “heart”, or is it all in my head? What the fuck is love? Is it real, or is it just an amatory impulse that evolution imposed in order to guarantee reproduction? And if that’s true, why do men love men, and women love women?

I think I’m just really tired and suffering from a lack of Rock Band. At least I hope.

Speaking of music.

Until We Bleed, by Lykke Li, is perhaps the best song in the last decade. I can’t really tell you why. The vocals are amazing. The rhythm is delicate. It’s sex at the end of the world to a beat.
Download audio file (Lykke_Li_Until_We_Bleed.mp3)

In total, I’ve dated six to seven guys over the past five years, only one of which I actually liked. In the last year and a half, I’ve pretty much just become generally asexual, losing what little faith in the Y chromosome I had left.

So, imagine my shock when suddenly I turn batshit coocoo over some lame ass kid who wouldn’t know a good sense of style if it did a roundhouse kick right to his dangly bits.

Up until this point in my life, I had the utmost respect for women and the double x chromosome. Now I realise that feminism is bullshit and we’ll bow to any man that makes our chest ache. I literally try and smell him whenever he leans back in his seat, which is not only distressful for him if he ever found out, but very fucking stressful for me. Meg Nogay does not faun or sniff men and she most certainly does not flirt. Yet here I am, fingering my hair and talking dumb. (That’s an entire other contention; Why do women feel that acting dumb will somehow garner men’s attraction? It’s obviously biological, because I can’t fucking stop it. I’ve never giggled so much in my life and it’s very fucking disturbing.)

This is the reason I don’t drink; When I drink and get totally fucked, my brain splits into two different systems. The front of my mind, the part that controls what I do and say, is completely drunk, horny, and having the best time of her life. The back part of my mind, the conscious one, is yelling and screaming, trying to slap the front mind into submission and wincing in horror as she doesn’t listen, sticking her hands down that one guy’s pants for no fucking reason before throwing herself to the concrete ground and waving her arms because it feels nice.

That’s how I feel right now. The front mind is drooling and gagging over this worthless piece of male, searching her closet for the tightest clothes she has, and the back mind is screaming, waving red flags and sobbing, wondering when her self-respect jumped out the fucking window and where the hell she can find some more before she ends up killing herself.

This is the worst point in my life to have quit smoking.

[Pointless blog has a point: ↓]

La Roux, which I totally thought was a one-girl get up, is actually a duo. An awesome duo. From England. Apparently they are influenced by Depeche Mode, but it doesn’t shine through in their music, otherwise I wouldn’t like it.

Here, have a video:

La Roux – Bulletproof
Download audio file (La_Roux_Bulletproof.mp3)
La Roux – In For the Kill
Download audio file (La_Roux_In_For_The_Kill.mp3)
La Roux – Tigerlilly
Download audio file (La_Roux_Tigerlily.mp3)

Speaking of frustration: humans. They are stupid. It bothers me. Today in PSCI 1040 (aka, American Government, aka, Texas Government, aka, Shit), the majority of the class was arguing in favor of a criminal in an upcoming (I say upcoming, but it’s the SC, so what I really mean is: whenever they get around to it, aka ten years in the future) Supreme Court case.

Apparently, some douche bag (aka, The Criminal) was arrested and/or fined (I’m never clear on the specifics–it’s what makes my anectdotes so amazing) for possessing and/or distributing (again, specifics) video of a dog fight.

My professor, as he does, asked the class their opinions (stupidstupidstupid). They (being the majority) all said, no, he shouldn’t have been arrested–freedom of speech/media/blah blah blah and all that. They at least understood that dog fighting is illegal, but didn’t see why distributing/possessing videos of the subject was considered a crime. They conceeded, yeah, sex with a minor and thusly child pornography is illegal, but then “there’s robbery videos on Spike all the time” (should have said, “The news,” stupid, now I’m just going to make assumptions about your person for thinking that Spike is the best reference for a political argument) and apparently, since robbery is illegal but videos of such an action is legal, it should prove the same for dog fighting videos.

This is the point when, if I felt like getting on the wrong side of my entire class (which, since I go to a night class, is mostly filled with prior college dropouts performing a comeback tour who only talk about their kids and their labor unions and HOW MUCH OBAMA SUCKS–just fyi), I would clear my throat, raise a haughty blond eyebrow, and beg, “What the fuck?”

There’s a reason that child pornography and videos of murder are illegal, and videos of robery and stupid people being stupid and criminal are legal: Because seeing a child get raped or someone’s head blown off is fucking distressful. Fuck, I’d never like to see that shit, and I have to say, I’m happy for those laws.

In the same vein, for most of the population, a video of dog fighting would be distressing, as well (those who don’t feel so are probably the same people getting busted for child pornography or murder vids). Honestly, I’ll be up front–if I had the resources, I’d start my own investigative service. It’s be like the ASPCA, but more violent and outside of the law.

I don’t like people who abuse animals. I mean, I REALLY don’t like them. People who abuse animals should tremble in fear and hope I never get wind of what they’re doing, because I have the internet and can find many ways to hurt while getting away with it. There are non-fatal poisons that cause extreme pain which cannot be identified in the blood stream. Fear me.

Well, and I have a killer right hook. And a weird addiction to adrenaline. It’s just an all around bad idea to piss me off.

Back to the point, there’s also the fact that dog fights may actually be put on solely for the purpose of being recorded. The fact is, robbery isn’t a game. People don’t bet on robberies like they bet on poker, cock and dog fights. (Haha, I said cock…)

Then there’s the whole bit about MONEY BEING MADE on said videos.

If the SC decides that possessing/distributing/making a video of a dog fight is legal, I’ll–well, no, I won’t be surprised. This is the country where gay marriage is considered an offense likened to murder and rape.

Sometimes, I think the Daleks have the right idea. We’re the stupidest species ever–maybe we’re asking for it.

However, remixes are also brill.

Example:
Download audio file (muse-uprising_does_it_offend_you_yeah_remix.mp3)
Uprising (Does it Offend You, Yeah?)