QUOTE OF THE DAY

SAM: The whole house is conspiring against me!
MOM (annoyed): What are you talking about?
SAM: The cat is meowing at me for food, YOU'RE telling me it's too hot in here, and Sarah is a Rays fan!!!!

WAIT WAIT WAIT

Marijuana is ILLEGAL??

WHY

IS MY BOYFRIEND SO HOT IT'S DRIVING ME CRAZY

Anna Hobbs Best Cover Ever Award

H. Nachi's cover of A Movie Script Ending by Death Cab For Cutie.





Seriously, leave this guy some love. John Lennon with a speech impediment, maybe? Or an azn George Harrison.
hahaha, man, the world is too good to me.

Anna's Question of the Day

new one down below

who wants to talk on some real shit

betchyall didn't know

i am an excellent driver

Best Dancers

Yo Gabba Gabba features young talents such as this, which I saw today...

I MISS CRAIG

Remember Craig from Degrassi? If only he would come back!
WELL
Degrassi Goes to Hollywood, and, apparently, that involves Craig!

I LOVE GOD

He hooks it up big time, even for a deliberate rebel like me. Sometimes it's hard to understand why.

I take back what I said before

Notre-Dame de Paris, aka The Hunchback of Notre Dame, is hella good, once you get past the boring.

Also

Back to the original square one.

QUOTE OF THE DAY

"It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity, you understand? She’s coming through on the tour, on the stop, it’s like, take your chance. Take the opportunity, do it. It wasn’t really stalking her, it was more plotting out how to get to her house.”

Great advice from a Britney Spears' fan, or some say, stalker. Well, most say stalker, because she was arrested.


courtesy of dlisted

VIDEO GAME GIRLFRIENDS

Video game consoles should have a sexual hole drilled in the side, and then all girlfriends would be rendered obsolete.
I know I would much rather play a video game than have sex. And I would also much rather have sex with my video game console than have sex with my boyfriend.

BY THE WAY

I saw a movie in 3-D glasses for the first time that wasn't at Disneyland or Universal Studios, but at an actual theater! It was Monsters vs. Aliens, which was a generally boring movie, but the 3-D made it super intense. I almost couldn't handle it at first, but then it seemed natural.
This has heightened my desire to see Half Blood Prince in 3-D, and, hopefully, I-MAX, when it comes out. As you can see, we've got about three months left to wait. Think you can? I KNOW I CAN'T!

Also, I'm listening to some old Bright Eyes right now, and I'm wondering how Conor Oberst used to get away with that shit. It's thanks to all the people like me, who, at ages 15-17, was definitely obsessed. And then I went to see him in Berkley after drinking some red spacebag, and he played a bunch of crappy songs from his soon-to-be-released album, I'm Wide Awake It's Morning. I mean, he played all the ones I skip now. It's not like anyone had ever heard any of those songs before, and we want at least a few songs we recognize. He did play June on the West Coast and Waste of Paint, which are great, but pretty random choices that I guess a lot of people there wouldn't have known. Obnoxious tangent. Anyways, now I can handle the overly manic depressive suicidal crap for nostalgic purposes, but if he was still making music like that, I doubt he would be taken seriously. He could go play at Warped Tour maybe.

I want a bulldog

ENGLISH please

Joanna Newsom in Victoria's Secret Commerical

Joanna Newsom's song, Sprout and the Bean, is featured in this Vicky commercial. It is the most marketable, or "user-friendly" song, in my opinion, but they still didn't include her voice in the ad. Which, I don't blame them, because I don't think it's quite conventional enough for a pair of pastel bra and panties.
Either way, it's still pretty. and I'm glad she's finally getting some mainstream recognition for her amazing harp skillz.



Sprout and the Bean can also be heard in the movie Strangers with Liv Tyler. t

so true

Quizzes Girls Games

You've probably had a couple of those moments where you stand back and look at that dance move you just busted or the comeback you spit out at someone without even thinking about it, and you're like "Dang. I'm badass." And then sometimes you want to take a nap with your snuggly blankie and when your mom makes you a PB&J with the crusts cut off you're like "Yay!" It's all a part of the balance of life.

I'm obsessed with this case

This beautiful boy, Jean Pierre Orlewicz, is charged with first degree murder, multilation of a corpse, and some other lovely charges. According to prosecution, he killed his friend for the fun of it. The victim, Dan Sorenston, was apparently not the nicest guy in the world and had restraining orders against him, and also owed JP $400.
"TEEN THRILL KILL" is the headline used to describe this case.
I wouldn't automatically think JP was guilty just because I always like to give people the benefit of the doubt. He claims he killed Dan in self defense. But the part of the story that really changes my mind is the fact that he decapitated Dan and threw his head in the river. Uhh...oh yeah, and he cut off his fingers and burned the body, so no one would be able to identify the victim. I mean, I think it would have been a good idea to call the cops. Not to mention, his friend is also being implicated because he was in the garage while this all was happening.
Either way, it's pretty mind-blowing. They planned this murder just to see if they could get away with it. I think the generation of young adults/teens today feel this sense of invincibility, and are also horribly desensitized to violence. Now, I'm not going to blame video games or violence in the media or anything, but it certainly doesn't help sociopaths like this deal with their issues. It gives them another outlet, but then they eventually want to kill pets and rape girls, or maybe even kill someone!

APRIL IS AUTISM AWARENESS MONTH

So let's give credit where credit is due.

AUTISTIC PERSON OF THE DAY:
Asperger syndrome is a mild, high-functioning form of autism, which Steven Spielberg happens to have.



Obviously.

MY TWIN

Remember Gordo, from Lizzie McGuire?
Well, I never told anyone, but he's my long lost fraternal twin brother.

PAIN in the form of love

oh i am sore in the tenderest form in the most
hidden of places behind ventricular walls.

BORSCHT

IF YOU DONT LIKE IT, DON'T EAT IT!

Guess What?

I think

I am on the verge of love.






THIS IS THE STUPIDEST BLOG I HAVE EVER POSTED.

Somehow, in a brief moment of clarity involving a vocal hallucination and an incredibly crisp swallow of water, I stumbled upon the definition of true love and how it applies to me. Further inquiry into the subject made me realize that it never has and that, if it did, I would never get it back now. At least, not with the heavy expanse of months and miles that is preventing me from thinking too deeply about anything ever again.
Upon knowing what you have found, you become equally aware of what you have lost, and how, in some senses, it is better off that way. And one can say it constantly, but I don't think one ever truly believes it to the extent which I have forced myself to. I think that I am better off, but I would be lying if I said I don't obsess over the idea, that my main goal since arriving here has not been the inevitable return.
I had once believed that my exodus was from California, and that Florida was the Canaan of sorts, in which I would have to disparage and ruin in order to make my peaceful home. But then I realized I have simply been displaced, and that the only promised land in existance is where I have come from, and now every goal in my life revolves around how I'm going to get back, and who I will have to take with me, and who I will have to leave behind.
There is no love similar to that of love of land. I can't describe the hold certain soil has on me (and by soil, I do not mean the powdered sand that overflows beneath the sinewy roots of grass as if it cannot understand how anything grows from its bed at all) or the way I can feel the presence of rocky cliffsides and plummeting, winding streets as if I had never left at all. It shows in the way I mistake clouds for mountains, or how I expect to find a babbling brook in even the slightest grouping of trees. The love of land is all encompassing, and you miss it like you miss anything else you have loved and lost, expecting to be cradled by a soft sun and the milky scent of jasmine, but are instead beaten by choking humidity or chubby drops of rain. Even the simplest of differences in climate and terrain spawn the most terrifying bouts of nostalgia. I say nostalgia not with the bittersweet fondness that it usually entails, but with the crippling pain these recollections have caused and continue to inspire on an almost daily basis. The nostalgia I have known is not the pleasant fondness of recalling a childhood toy or a family vacation, but is a harrowing, desperate plunge into smells that haunt my senses and turn my stomach, of faces, smooth and ivory, rich and dark, whom appear and reappear in the most sinisterly reptitive of dreams, the caress of a breeze rolling on the back of the fog seeping from behind the hills, or the taste of Pacific salt water streaming down my face after having collapsed into a violent swell of a kelp encrusted wave. Nothing about these memories are comforting, but rather, torturous, knowing that they are sensations I can never recreate, and places my soles would not recognize after more years spent in these swamps and desolate jungles.
I cannot bring myself to remember the years lost or the people I can no longer touch without brief but searing moments of pain, but if anything, I am terrified to forget. The only proof I have of any life I have lived before is only the images and sensory details that I've buried deep between fleshy brain tissue and hardened coronary arteries, details which, should I forget, may one day resurface in a hurried, flashy show of gentle and engaging agony, a show that I hope to avoid at all costs. Therefore, though it troubles me to recount, the time I have lost will never make itself unknown to me, because to forget would be a far worse thing than to do without the pain of remembering. To forget means losing the most beautiful place on earth simply for the selfish purpose of acquiring the much-envied state of apathy, numbness. If I made it that far, I would no longer know how sweet the air tastes and how soft the dirt was, and how delicate the hearts of my lovers were, and how hard my heart had to become to force myself to leave it all.

Something Very Important to Me

I love Jennifer Aniston, and I will have her back till the end of time. All I can remember is Rachel, and there's no way Angelina Jolie is ever going to be as adorable. Besides, at least Jen doesn't look ten years older than she actually is, and at least she isn't some husband stealing succubus.
Either way, I feel like I haven't really voiced my opinion on the subject, but now you know.

I haven't been thinking too clearly

I've been spending these past few days in a bit of a stupor, which I refuse to admit could possibly be substance induced. Moreover, I have convinced myself it is the bubbly reaction of deep feeling pouring into synapses, who, unbeknownst to them, drown in a fit of irrational passion that I accredit to one man, who probably thinks I'm crazy. If he does think that, he is definitely right. But personally, I prefer this kind of crazy versus the previous crazy I have dealt with, which found its form in blatant non-existence and anger. This, at least, although completely intangible and somewhat consuming, makes me feel softer around the edges and awake to the world around me, even if it has exposed a sort of raw openness that I sincerely tried to avoid. And as much as I continue to have to force myself to get my heart off of my sleeve and back to being locked safe behind my ribcage where it belongs, I can't help but be honest about everything, even though most of what I feel is kept quietly in my throat, like some kind of acid reflux or bitter indigestion, and refuses to show itself. Which is frustrating, as I can feel it pressing against the very bottom, or the very beginning, of my tongue, causing the ever-present lumps in my throat and the constant pressure in my chest. But I know better than to say these things. They are thoughts that are better left alone, for nights when I cannot sleep so I can turn them over in my mind, or return to them later to remind myself why I have nothing to complain about. These kind of thoughts should not be left uncovered, because, in a way, they are secrets. I think it is obvious that I think these things, but to say them would only make it that less real to me.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARAH

From your BFFL


WE WERE MADE FOR EACH OTHERR!!!!!!!

Where I've Been

No computer. Accidentally got addicted to Twilight. Now moving on to bigger and better things.
Expect virtually no updates, except a few maybe, until I get this all sorted out.

In other news, school is closer to starting, and I'm also closer to being twenty one. It's also a relief to know that my mother hates Spring Hill almost as much as I do. I see UCSC in my future.