Sorry seems to be the hardest word

You know *the* moment. That moment where you have bottled up your frustration to the point where all you need is that ONE push, ONE drop on a coin and BOOM!!!

Annihilation, thy name is Whitney.

Yes, I know that game. I also know the OMGWTFBBQ! that follows. I lost it, I don't know what happened, the previous few seconds between the sound of the coin drop and now becomes a blur, a void of clarity. I woke up staring into the horror in the eyes of the innocent bystander – usually someone close enough to me that I am comfortable showing my true self to, someone I trusted enough to know they wouldn't run away when they see my true color spilling out to darken the world.

Still, the horror in their eyes frightened me. I'm afraid they would run away, as far as they can, from me. I'm afraid that they would fall to pieces in my own hands.

Or perhaps, I'm afraid that it won't matter anyway; this is just another story to tell.

I'm going mad. I'm going crazy.

************

Note: This entry was disrupted midway. My train of thought has left the station.
Yes, the problem with being me; I lack short-term memory, have no attention span nor do I possess any hint of patience.

Life is what happen in between.

Cillian Murphy..erm..I mean Intermission just arrived. w00t! w00t!!

Friday, yeah, that's my fun day. Lalala...

Hello old friend.

22.09.05 = First day of Autumn.

Welcome back brown leaves and cold wind,
pumpkin spices and Pumpkin King.

It's been a year,
I grew a third of an inch.

Note to self

Buy this.

ph34r m4h 4th0r1t3h!!1

I finally beat my blog into submission. It appears that the blog's staff was having problem last night. Right, the night I decided to mess about with the template setting. I thought I broke my blog.

Great! It wasn't me. I didn't do it!! Lalala...

Hi. My name is Stuffy Sloshy-poo.

My neighbor fixed my car. I still think he's kind of creepy. I don't know. I feel bad because he was really nice. But, I don't know.

I think I have a cold, maybe head-cold. My brain feel water-logged and sloshy and s.l.o.w. and my nose is very stuffy.

I want to sleep. The sleepy bug bit me. Wahh.

PS - How do you do the linky-dinky to your friend's blog, anyway?
PPS - Blog won't let me post. Obey me, blog. Obey me!!!11 >.<
PPS - I think I got the link thing going, now how do you resize text?

Outside, it's raining. It's pouring down like a holy blessing.

WARNING: Bumpy entry ahead.

Me and my frog
My car decided to take a kaput on me last night. It got me home alright, but I know it gave me everything it had to accomplish that, my poor lovely car. We (me and my car) had to stop twice along the way. The temperature tipped the scale. Luckily, both time it stalled, it was safely parked and out of the traffic area. First time, it barely just got to the parking slot at the supermarket and the other time, in the alley 10 yards from my house.

My scary tootoo friendly neighbor offered to fix it for me and I didn't have the heart to say OhGodNo!Ithinkyou'restalkingme. So, I gave him money for the part - thermostat, he said. Best case, my baby will be fixed. Worst case, I'm short a couple of bucks and still have to find a real mechanic.

I'm crazy.
Saying this will make me sounds like that crazy cat lady next door But stuff talks to me. It says, "take me home." It says, "send me to so-and-so and I'll love them for you." My books say, "Read us. You don't read us, you don't look at our pretty covers. You don't love us anymore." They make me feel guilty. I may just pack them up and take them to my mom's house. That way, the cannot taunt me anymore.

My plants only send me needy glares, now-a-day. The weak ones bid me farewell. They are sad to leave me but they knew I loved them, I'm just..incapable. I got the worst case of death-thumb. The few that survive whine occasionally for me to water them. My best plant has been with me for about 5 years now. He was about 6 inches when I got him. He is about 4 feet now. He gets water once every blue moon, yes, that's roughly 4 times a year. He's holding up quite nicely well.God bless him.

My residence house-ghost is Linda, that's what she told me. She likes to play with nail polish and made the house smelled like nail polish remover, even when I don't have any around the house. She made her presence known by tapping at the glass light-cover thingy, actually, she plays with lights around the house, but the living room and the bathroom seem to be her favorites. Our deal is that we can share the space but she can not, under any circumstance, freak me out. She's quite co-operative and usually stops all weird activities when asked. Usually. She scared the pants out of my sister once, though. I hope she doesn't do it anymore.

People say I have over-active imagination; I'm just going to leave it as I'm imaginative.

It's so cold. Aka whinewhinewhine
It's cold in the dungeon. I didn't bring my car so I don't have access to the sweaters, scarves, shirts, socks, shoes, potato chips, cup-o-noodles, nuclear warhead, and all the other junk in my trunk. The weather changes so quickly. My sinus is acting up. I got a mild headache just enough to remind me that I have a head (I need forehead love, because that's exactly where it hurts), and I can't breath. I've been snorting decongestant all morning. I feel like my brain is full of that stuff, maybe that *is* the source of my headache. It kind of feeling like a brain freeze.

This has to be the longest entry I've done in a while. It's raining outside. The dungeon office is full of people but I still feel lonely. It must be the weather. I think I'm going to go make myself a cup of tea.

I'm starting the Gaelic Class
I showed up to class late. Car problem. I think deep down, I'm still trying to prevent myself from doing this silly thing.

Anyhoo, I showed up late and I was standing at the doorway, out of place, the teacher beckon me on. I went to sit next to a girl, who was nice enough to let me share her book.

It's like being dropped into a different country. They all speak Gaelic. I didn't stand a word. We read what seemed to be a children book. Each student read a page and tried to translate it. Dude, what you see is not how it is read. I swear.

We read for about 15 minutes. Needless to say, I didn't retain anything. I guess my plan is to train my ears to be familiar with the tune, the rise and fall of the speech, first before I beat some vocabulary into my brain.

Then, we have a guest speaker from Ireland, who is running a program or courses there. He is promoting the learning and the usage of Gaelic. He traveled around the world, promoting; giving resources to centers and places that are willing to teach the language to the public.

Overall, the class was nice. I like it a lot.

After my class, and I'm not quite sure exactly how it went down here, however, I got recruited into learning the Irish dance. I had taken many dance classes in the pass and I normally did pretty well. Irish dance made me feel like I gained 6 extra feet. I faked it all the way through; until we did the buzz, or I think it's called the buzz. All of a sudden, other then trying to manage the 8 legs, I also sprout 4 more arms. I have no idea what to do with all these extra body parts.

Give me time, babe, give me time. =)

Good god! I'm in love (again).

If you think I have the w00b for him before, believe you me, you ain't see nothing yet, baby.

I just finished watching On the Edge. OMG!!! Ladies and gentlemen, Cillian Murphy just tipped over my w00b!scale.

I can hardly contain myself for Breakfast on Pluto. OMG!! Is it November, yet? Is it? Is it?? How about now?? Nowwww????11

Ummm, give me some of those Cillian's forehead love!

Survival Guatemala

It's brutal. I admire each and everyone of this crew. Honestly, call me a big baby, but I wouldn't last a day.

While watching the boys smote down by dehydration, I kept thinking, "Where are my drugs? Where are my salt tablets? Where are my potassium tablets? Are there banana trees? OMG, bio-plasma NOW!!!11"

Anyhoo, love the, "How to give it your all, without destroying yourself in the process" at the end. Because that seems to be an advise for me. My motto of operation is that as long as I can get the job done, I don't care what I need to sacrifice. [The only motto that can over-ride that is, "My rights to extend my arms end where my neighbors' nose begins.] And I've been telling myself that there has to be a fine line somewhere. I'm just too old to pull stunts like of the sort any more. My back hurts, two of my nails are broken, and I need to sleep, at least once a week. O_o

Blake is a hotcake, though. Just so you know. =3

Tease me all you want but you're mine comes November.

GoodGodDearLordI'mInHeaven!!

What pleasant joy to wake up to. Thank you AOL!

It matters not what you say. In the end, I shall have it my way.

A little bedtime story.

David was carved from a huge left over piece of marble. When the statue was completed, the Mayor of Florence admired it but complaint to the artist that the nose was too big.

Michael Angelo grabbed a chisel and scooped up a handful of marble dust. He climbed to the nose, pretended to chisel and let the dust fall.

"Much better," said the mayor, "It really comes to life now." David went on, nose and all, to become the most celebrate statue of all time.

The end. =D

Lost in translation

You say pants. I say pants. I wear your pants under my pants. She pants out, "Fantastic. That is just pants! I'm panting to try them on."

What in the devil are you panting on about?

YES. EXACTLY!

Are we talking trousers or are we talking knickers? Or are we just talking? Are we huffing? Or puffing? Or blowing the house down? Fabulous? Are you joking?

Now, that's pants.

And we are just talking English to English here. Do other cultures have more meaning in pants? Maybe in some culture pants means shoes? Who knows?


Have you ever said something and someone misinterpreted it entirely, and they are so convinced that it made you doubt if what you say meant what you say or what he think you say?

Happens to me all the time.

And I would go home and think, "Wait, but that is not what I wanted to say. How did things got messed up?" The funny thing is, it always happened after I got home and never in the heat of the moment. I would always be too confused even to try to explain what I meant originally while the discussion is in process.

I blame this impossible-to-understand entry on Ted Leo and the Pharmacists' The Ballad of the Sin Eater.

and when i say, "me" i mean my brain.
and when i say "give me the cure" i mean to kill the pain.
and when i say "kill the pain" i meant to get the devil out.
and when i say "devil" i mean the manifestation of doubt!

...
..

Alright. Took me a while and 3 trips around the bush to get my point straight. My point is there are flaws in the spoken language. There will always be that little translation black hole, even if the same language if being used.

The idea sparks out with the arguement on the evolution of the English Vocabulary. We bend and twist the language until we barely recognize it anymore. Not that it's a bad thing. Some new words offer clarification to the existing vocabularies.

My friends are broken up in 2 main camps. One considered themselves the "English Elitists" and the other, the "Language Liberation Artists."

I don't know, the conservative side of me still believe in grammars and the correct usages of the vocabulary. However, there is something lingering in the back of my brain that contradicts it. Perhaps, the fact that English is not my native tongue has something to do with it.

I need a few more days to cook this up into a coherent idea. As for now, I'm panting for some lesson in J.R.R. Tolkien's Elvish.

La.

Let's lay it all out on the table.

"How about Cock-a-Leeky to start with, then we'll do Bangers & Mash and we'll finish things off with some nice warm Spotted Dick?"

O.o

I feel like I'm in the middle of a porn movie's hot set. However, in reality, I'm sitting in a comfortable chair in a nice cozy family restaurant. And yes, these are real common food names. I find that extremely intriguing. Like, who came up with these names? Did someone, in the kitchen one day, spilled a cup of rasins into the sponge-cake mix and goes, "Hmmm, that reminds me of something I saw before, let's call it 'Spotted Dick.'? OMG! Genius!!

I think I'll be going back to this restaurant soon. I've got my eyes on the Toad-in-a-hole and the Rarebits.


Well, you *are* what you eat, after all!

You have to jump into the deep end of the pool and go for it. Even if it's half full.

Hello Bloggie,

Last update, sometimes in May. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? You probably think I have abandoned you, adopted new blog, got a new life or something of that nature.

No.

I’ve been dead. Yes. Dead. Not dead in the physical sense, but in spiritual sense. I’ve lost the will, the drive, the thrive to live on. I exist, but nothing else. Just there, ticking off the day, waiting, wishing I was dead and got angry because I was not.

I’ve tried to spark up the fire of life. Angry that I couldn’t. Hoping for something to happen to end this agony. Angry that it didn’t.

Not that I would go out of my way to end it, mind you. I’m too chicken for that.

So, yes, I’ve turned into a raging bitchy queen. Angry at the world, and everything, and everyone.

…
..

I hate raging bitchy queen, much less wanted to see myself become one.

So, I struggled. Tried and tried to stop the spiral downward of this madness. Fail to succeed. And got even angrier.

Each day I woke up and tell myself, “Today is going to be perfect” and became angry because “today” was never perfect.

Then, three days ago, it coming to me, like the light that shines on the answer to the mystery of the universe, I figured it out. This is life. It’s not going to be perfect. It will never be perfect. It’s not suppose to. Life is about struggle. Life is about making the best of it, making the best of the imperfect. This is not heaven. This is not paradise. This is not the garden of Eden. *This* is life. It’s about the appreciation of those happy moments, cherish what life has to offer, enjoy what I have and be proud of what I accomplish.

The glass is half full, not half empty. It’s a matter of changing perspective.

I’m tired of being angry. I’m tired of falling endlessly downward the spiral of doom.

I still haven’t figured out the meaning of life. But for now, I’m willing to try this “half full” life out. We’ll just have to wait and see if this is the answer to the mystery of *my* universe.

Brace yourself, Bloggie. You are about to witness a change in one human’s life.