Translation?

Thursday, November 21, 2013

About my life and the girl who entered it

Age: 19 years, 4 months, 13 days, 17 hours.

For most of my 19.3 years of life, I've believed without a doubt in my mind that there was no god. My parents forced my younger self to go to church every sunday for the first 8 to 10 years of my life. It was a chore and not one I enjoyed. My elder brother felt similarly, because before we drifted apart and started hating each other, we'd share how much we disliked having to go to church.

I was around 12 or 13 when I realized part of the reason I hated going to church so much was because not only did I disagree with the way my church preached, I didn't believe in the messages they tried to teach.

So I've spent more than a third of my life actively aware of my disbelief, and more than half of my life unaware, but still disagreeing with the religion forced upon my life.

Well, that is until last year. Last year was my first and last year of college. I attended Hope College, a Christian school on the opposite side of the state from me. I wasn't unnerved by the idea of attending a school focused on the Christian religion because religion wasn't forced upon me there. Attendance to worship was optional - which meant a no-go for me. I could go to my nursing classes and get a degree from one of the top three nursing schools in the nation without having to worry about being bugged and pestered by religious fanatics trying to convert everyone they see.

However, first semester happened and my classes were awful. I couldn't keep up very well and dropped two of them. I hated the feel of the school; I hated the classes and the professors. I hated studying. I was miserable. Winter break and I had a few weeks off at home with nothing but lots of food, video games, and books to read. Talk about pure bliss. Anyway, second semester started and I immediately hated my chem class. The professor was a dickbag and I couldn't stand him. Chem lab was even worse. I moved slowly and had to do everything twice for my partner who sprained her food or knee or something playing soccer and was on crutches. It's not that I hated helping her per se, just how long I took to do everything.

It was a week into the semester when I decided I couldn't stand it anymore. I made my decision not to come back to Hope and dropped chemistry, because I was not about to invest that much time and effort into a class that wouldn't even mean anything to me.

However, the first week wasn't all bad. In that week, I had German class. While I also immediately hated German, partly because I didn't like the professor, but because it involved real work too, but also teaching ourselves. German class included a nice surprise though. A cute girl from my dorm whom I had only every said "hi" to as we passed each other to and from classes. I mean, I didn't even know her name, just that she was pretty in the face and had a cute smile. Nothing would come of it, right?

Well, something did come of it. As the semester progressed, I forgot to cut my hair off as I had throughout the first semester. So after shaving my head again one day, she invited me to do homework with her in the basement. After that day, we started doing homework regularly together, and I started to like her. Soon the semester was half over and my second-half classes started. It turned out we had religion right after German together, too. So now, with two classes together and doing homework regularly; I was starting to like this girl a lot.

Now we've been dating for 7 months, 2 weeks, and 3 days. For the first time in my life, I've met someone who makes me want to change. I've liked girls who had religion in their lives before, but none of them ever made me want to be better than myself. Erika is the girl I found at school, who for the first time in my life on this planet has made me want to believe in a higher power. Never before had I found myself wondering if god was real, but with Erika, I want to believe he is. For a while now, I've found myself trying to believe.

I'm not sure if you'll read this tonight, Erika, but know that I love you, and that I am trying.

Friday, November 8, 2013

About: My cats



A little history of cats aside, it's time for my focus: my particular cats. Their names are Kit and Kat, though they haven't been called that since the week we got them. Instead, they've been known as Black and Grey, respective to their fur color.



Cats. They're a common household pet, right up there with dogs. Some people are absolutely fanatical about them (crazy cat ladies). In ancient times, they were worshiped by Egyptians as gods. Now, they live in your house; claw your furniture; sometimes attack you; and get pet.
To the right is my cats when they were mere kittens, sometime early 2009 if I had to guess.

The grey one is quite obvious, the black a little less so. Sisters of a litter; my mum picked them up from an animal shelter nearby where she worked shortly before Christmas of 2008 - since our old cat had died Halloween morning.

At first they started out friendly, but as they grew up - they didn't bond to either us our each other. That last time I can remember them being friendly was while they were still kittens and we had to take them in to the vet's office.

Pictured to the left is Grey on our last trip to the vet together. I couldn't tell you when that was, since I frankly don't remember.
And for viewing pleasure, I also dug up some pictures of the little rodents back when they were nice, and spent time with us; or maybe they were just curious about their new house.
Have I ever mentioned how much I hate trying to use images in blogger?

Now at almost 5 years of age, I've got some weird cats on my hands. They're not the most friendly; Grey really only likes you when you're in the bathroom - she loves to jump up on the counter and nuzzle your arm with her nose. Or, if you'll throw water for her in the shower and/or bathtub.
And for some reason, Grey has a fascination with sinks.
One thing both of my cats have in common though, is chirping. Both will unexpectedly make chirping noises at you when surprised.




Black in particular has an obsession with the shower. She'll scratch and claw at the door if you're using the bathroom and the door is shut; then when that doesn't work she'll cry and meow at it until you let her in. Once in the bathroom, she'll go and sit in the shower; sometimes just staring at the wall and other times at you waiting for water to splash in.

 

Monday, November 4, 2013

The only logical thing...

When on a sleep schedule as screwed up as mine, it's  not unusual to still be awake come 6 am, having not slept all night. But what's there to do at 6 am? Normal people are still sleeping and video games have become so mind-numbingly boring, that staring at the wall is more fun. Obviously, the only logical thing is to go to Netflix and watch Charlotte's Web.

Who doesn't want to watch a young Dakota Fanning play the naive little farm-girl trying to save the runt of a pig from his destiny of bacon? And this same tiny little pig running around and playing in mud - eventually befriending an admittedly nice, but nonetheless hideous spider that made me cringe every time I saw her face. The spider who then writes words in her web to save silly little Wilbur from being turned into a Christmas-stuffed pig.

And now, at 8:30, I've sat on the stairs with my old pup, scratching her sides and petting her ears while she gets overly excited and sneezes all over my feet. Quite unwelcome sneezes, I might add. From the sneezing and scratches downstairs we went; where Echo was graced with a delicious doggy snack. I let her outside for her morning relief, where she ran around nosing the ground after peeing.

At that point it was close to 8 and I'd yet to eat since around 2 am, so a sandwich was in order. Sliced honey turkey bread put on a gargantuan whole wheat hamburger bun, topped with a small personal bag of Doritos. Decadent, if I do say so myself.

And of course, having had an eventful morning, who wouldn't blog about it? I mean, it's the only logical thing...

Sunday, November 3, 2013

A Skewed Sense of Breakfast

Through my awful sleeping patterns, I am often awake at the early hours of morning. When you're up at 7 or 8 AM and haven't eaten anything for 6-12 hours, it's not unusual to be hungry. Several days ago, I found myself in exactly this position. It was probably closer to 7 am, I'd had dinner around 12 hours previously, and I was absolutely famished. My stomach gurgled and groaned; making noises not unlike that of a dying whale.

So from my throne upon which I sat, I rose and left the warm comforts of my room and ventured through the early morning light - navigating through the rec room to the stairwell where I could creep forth to look for present parents. Having seen that none where home - both having left for work - I stole to the kitchen to look for food. Leftovers! I found garlic bread to reheat in our bread basket, and frozen chicken patties in the freezer. I popped both into the toaster oven to heat and went venturing into the pantry to look for a snack to hold me over for 15 more minutes. Lo behold, I found a Chewy granola bar, dipped in chocolate. I of course then dunked it in the peanut butter jar; because everyone knows chocolate is better with peanut butter.

So now, I've got 2 slices of garlic bread and a chicken sandwich, plus a granola bar. But I was still hungry after my granola bar, so I opened a thing of Easy Mac and tossed it in the microwave. While it was cooking, I wanted something else. Applesauce was the obvious choice here. Drinking my applesauce from the jar made perfect sense to me, while my easy mac was cooking.

Finally, I never knew 3 minutes could take so long. My microwave doesn't work for the instructions on the container - water boiled over the edge and made a mess everywhere inside the microwave - ew. I had to clean that up while attempting to shovel fake macaroni and cheese down my throat. Between these two adventures, I'd forgotten about my garlic bread (sad) and it was overcooked. I ate like half of it, but it tasted like char plus a little bit of butter. Plus it was hard, so into the trash it went.

Finishing my mac, my chicken had finished. So I popped it onto a bun, smothered it with ketchup and took a massive bite. Too much; so I run to the fridge, grab the gallon of skim milk and take a nice gulp - once again too much, as it overflows from my mouth and drips down my chin, off my neck, and onto the floor. Oops, I forgot to clean that up.

And so ends my first skewed breakfast. The next morning, I was in the same situation. So of course, the logical choice was to rewarm leftover pizza, have more granola bars, additional applesauce, but also an ice cream sandwich and a twin Popsicle. I feel as though I ate something else the second morning, but at the moment, I can't recall.

The end.

Saturday, October 19, 2013

Life is a storybook

Life is a book with pages being added every day. Every moment of our life is a sentence written in ink on our lives. Minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years all mark the passage of words, sentences, paragraphs, pages, and chapters in the storybook of our lives. But are we chapters in a several-hundred page book, or are we more like children's books, with pictures marking memorable moments; snapshots in special events pocketing our lives?

Everything we do is recorded in who we are and it's written in ink so that it may never be erased. We carry the deeds we do with us for the rest of our lives and every action we take in turn transforms us into who we are. There is no undoing the past, only atoning in the future for the mistakes we've previously made.

Our lives are books, and no one but ourselves decides the story our book will tell; for not only are we books, but we are also the authors. What will your story say?

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

A list of life: Family

Family is ... well, family. Often times, when asked to rank the things most important to their life, people put family in the first or second slots of the top ten things most important to them. People have families, be it their mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters; their cousins and grandparents and everyone else. Or those unlucky not to have a family in their blood, who must reach out and create a family in their closest friends.

I imagine there are many others, who like me, never had a family. As hinted before, blood does not mean family and family does not mean blood. Family is much more than simply sharing blood relations with someone. As an individual, I didn't experience family growing up. I had an abusive older brother, one whom hated me and wanted for nothing more than me to disappear. My parents were neglectful. My basic needs were taken care of: I had food, shelter, I went to school and got picked up from daycare. But as a child, the bond I needed with parents wasn't there. They favored my brother to the point that I was nothing. He could do no wrong and I could do no right. Everything was always my fault and that does not breed to family.

Also starting at an early age, was my lack of friends. Younger children are often more social than their elder counterparts turn out to be, but some, like myself, are shy even during the young ages. I didn't know how to talk to other kids well. I kept to myself and read my books or watched from afar. Family didn't come to me through friends either. At least, not for many years. I was thirteen years old when I finally started to make some friends. I had Ian, who was my best friend at the time and through him, I met a few girls who became some of my closest friends. Those same people were the first ones to offer me a sense of family and belonging. It's a shame that they all left in the end.

Ian decided we weren't friends anymore the next year, during freshman year of high school. The following year, Laina ditched her old friend-group to start afresh in high school as a freshman. Also during sophomore year, I found out Kacy had been lying to me and I told her to fuck off; not wanting a compulsive liar as a friend. At fifteen, I lost the first family I had. After losing my friends who doubled as my family, I kept to myself; avoiding people.

I didn't really find a family again after that until a year ago, during my freshman year of college. My roommate was a guy named Danny. We didn't exactly get along, but we didn't dislike each other either. Seemed as if to the both of us, the other wasn't there. We didn't talk, we didn't hang out, we didn't do anything but ignore the other. But then, I met a guy from down the hall, living a few doors away. Matt. A lonely freshman encounter, oddly enough, in the bathroom. As a sophomore, Matt had already experienced freshman year. I couldn't tell you why he extended his saving grace to me, but he did.

Through Matt, I found a family again. I met some new friends. People who instantly accepted me into their fold and treated me as if I'd always belonged with them instead of having just moved in. We'd hang out most weekends and I was always sure to keep an eye for them around campus. Come second semester, though, my family fell apart for the second time. Introversion left me unable to deal with people very well. And I can't personally stand physical contact. So when after winter break, and Chelsea started hanging out with Matt and I a lot more often, they grew close and I was pushed to the outside edge as the third wheel. Everyone who has ever been a third wheel knows how much it sucks, and I lost my place.

Luckily for myself, I met a girl second semester. Her name was Erika. She was immediately nice to me, and was quickly one of my favorite people to talk to in class. One day, as I was leaving the basement - having just shaved my hair off - she invited me to do my homework with her, for German class. That started our study sessions, which led to her telling me of her feelings, and eventually my asking her to be my girlfriend.

Now, more than 5 months later, we're still dating, and she - Erika - is all the family I need.

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

About: Nostalgia

Nostalgia is a funny thing. It can strike suddenly and unexpectedly, leaving you longing for the past.
Close to two weeks ago, I was back at Hope college campus, no longer as a student, but as a visitor. At first, it didn't bother me. I was glad I wasn't going back; happy I no longed needed to deal with school and had an extension to my summer before I ship off to boot camp. However, as I spent time with Erika, walking around campus and seeing all the new, little freshies, I was surprised to find myself feeling nostalgic. Don't get me wrong, I hated orientation. I hated going through all of that crap as a freshman. But knowing I could be back and not be a freshman was almost a fantastic feeling.

I've made my decision, however, and I must follow through on it. Though there are parts of Hope College life I'm going to miss. I won't get to see Matt or Chelsea as often, two of the only friends I made on campus. I'm going to miss spending nights going to the Science Center with Erika or pulling last-minute all-nighters in the basement with her. Donut runs never really happened, so I can't say I'll miss those much. But definitely going to miss having all the time I had last year with Erika. That's what I'll miss the most, though in a way, it's probably a good thing I'm not coming back this year, considering I'm a bad influence that leads to less work than should being completed.

Saturday, August 10, 2013

Zombie Apocalypse


Zombies. Somehow someone got the idea from somewhere, deep within the crevice of their own assholes that the undead were a cool idea. Something that dies and comes back, essentially immortal - I mean, you can't kill what isn't alive, right? - and craves human and only human flesh/brains. No other aminals are at risk, it's only humans zombies are interested in. Which, if it isn't obvious yet, I hate zombies, zombie movies, zombie video games, and everything else related to zombies.

What bugs me about zombies and all paraphernalia, is that in almost every scenario, the zombies magically appear out of nowhere and are suddenly taking over the world. No attempts are made to figure out where the zombies came from or how to cure them - it's always just KILL THE FUCKING ZOMBIES. WIN THE FIGHT. I should also mention that a cure for the zombie disease is almost always magically discovered No, that's stupid, cliche, and annoying. Makes a horrible story. Three zombie movies I've seen out of far too many have been good in my book. Well, perhaps I should say stories instead of movies, since the Resident Evil collection was several movies long. As for the other two, the recently-made World War Z and an older, but still semi-recent, I Am Legend. In Resident Evil, it explains where the zombies come from, the story tells the viewers who created the zombies, for what purpose, and what they plan to do about them. Incidentally, it's nothing. But a story is created where a fight against the zombies ensues, but a cure isn't developed. They simply form a new defense and learn to live away from the zombies, if I remember correctly. It's been a while. In World War Z, Brad Pitt attempts to discover where the zombies came from, following a trail across the world. I Am Legend's zombies originate from a plague that mutated the survivors into zombie-like creatures, Will Smith being the exception. He works for years, studying, surviving, and attempting to develop a cure for it. Not magically appearing or "10 years later..."

Hands down, my favorite zombie action ever, is in an Anime called One Piece. The main character, Luffy, is such a simpleton that it's just hilarious. He hasn't got half a working brain cell and his reactions in certain situations are priceless.
I mean, how can it get any better than this? Ps. That's him with the straw hat and net in the orange vest.

Monday, August 5, 2013

Lies for the Lost

As it's been quite a while since I wrote, I've been trying to think of something to write about. The book I'm reading found a dead person, so they held a funeral for him and I found what I wished to rant about. Funerals and their processions.

When someone dies, whether they are buried or cremated, there's always a funeral. At funerals, the person's life is most always hallowed and only good things are said about the person - regardless of if they lived their life as a nice person, who tried to take care of everyone or if they were a cruel, sadistic and bitter old fool who lashed out at all around themselves. Regardless of how their lives were lived, all speeches and words said for them are only kind. When a friend of mine took her life close to a year ago now, my school district exploded. All the students that had hated her and treated her like awful shit - the ones who bullied and made fun of her, suddenly proclaimed that Faith, as was her name, was smart, beautiful, kind. They tried to be her best friends in death, when the reality was they were the reason she felt driven to kill herself.

I understand why we feel the need to speak well of someone in their passing, but why do we feel the need to make up lies about people in their deaths? They could be bitter and angry, someone who hated and bit at all who saw them, but the moment they die, suddenly they're saints.

One of my favorite books, Ender's Game, had a sequel called Speaker of the Dead. I loved Speaker of the Dead in particular, because Ender took it upon himself to speak for the dead. Not in false truths of only kind words, but to lay out the whole, pure truth of who the dead was. If the person had lived a life of vice, indulging in too much food and drink, who gambled too much and took advantage of others - those are the things Ender would speak of, instead of trying to portray them as someone who did no wrong.

Why can't our society be that way? Respect for the dead isn't given through creating the illusion that the dead were much better people than they were alive. Nor is it taken from them by telling who the dead actually was.

Saturday, July 13, 2013

Reliving middle school: MySpace-styled survey.

1. What did you eat for breakfast?
Breakfast being a loose term (4PM) I had 2 English muffins, toasted and buttewred.

2. Someone you care about needs your help at 3AM, what do you do?
How can I help? No if/buts/ands

3. What's the nearest furry object?
My pup, Echo, on the floor.

4. What does the last text you received say?
"I do, but if it's not a priority for you right now, I'm not gonna push it. I'm gonna go to bed as soon as I finish filling it out."

5. Do you wear your seat belt in the car?
Always.

6. Who was the last person you hugged?
Erika.

7. If you were on Death Row, what would be your last meal request?
Largest possible filet Mignon, cooked medium, with Arby's curly fries.

8. If you could have any super power, what would it be?
Flying, duh.

9. Where's the most beautiful place you've ever been?
Hawaii.

10. What's your favorite kind of cookie?
Chocolate chip for the win. Unless Oreos count.

11. What do you wish to change about yourself?
I'd prefer to be shorter. Or lose some weight, which I can do myself and without magic.

12. What's the worst thing about the opposite sex?
Periods, gross.

13. Are you upset about anything?
My fridge isn't working correctly.

14. Can you fit your hand around your wrist?
Easily.

15. What is the worst mistake you made in your life?
Letting certain people leave from my life.

16. What's your fast food restaurant of choice?
Def. Arby's.

17. What's the most embarrassing song on your iTunes?
Probably Porn Star Dancing by My Darkest Days. For anyone who might be reading this for a second time; the edit from Rebecca Black is as follows: I misread it as "on iTunes" not "in your iTunes"

18. When did you first kiss the last person you kissed?
March 27, 2013 if memory serves me right.

19. What was the last good news that you heard?
My dad told me Erika could come a few days early for out Bon Jovi concert in less than a week.

20. Have you done anything sneaky lately?
I snuck downstairs where my brother is sleeping to get a glass of water. Does that count?

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Perceiving

Time. Time is a concept that most of us think nothing about. How we perceive time is essentially the same to everyone; though our observation of time is capable of being altered: when time seems to speed up when we're having fun or slowing down when we're in class and the clock just seems to drag on and on. My thoughts on the matter are a bit different from many other peoples'. Time isn't linear. The general idea seems to be that time is linear or is a line and we traverse across it, capable only of moving forwards and looking backwards. My belief is that time is a big jumbled mess; past, present, and future coexisting next to and within each other. The only problem is that we as humans are incapable of perceiving anything but the present. Since it's after midnight, now two days ago, Erika told me I'd never be 18 again, since I'd be turning 19. While we'd never be capable of perceiving me as 18 again, I think that the present exists alongside the past, so that there's a moment of time where I'm eternally 18 years of age, never moving past that second of what is perceived and noted as the passage of time. Somewhere beyond the comprehension of humans, frozen in "time" is every moment of everything that has occurred from the beginning of the universe; not lost to the passage of time, but hidden from our sightless eyes.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

People. Stupid fucking people.

While driving to my Naval recruiting meeting today, I came to a realization: Driving on the roads makes me hate people so much more than Facebook ever could.

Last week when driving across the state to pick up some mail and visit some friends, I took the highway, as one would expect. I could have sworn it was national Everyone Piss Me Off Day coupled with Everyone Drive On The Left Lane Day. The sheer amount of people hugging the left lane was incredible, but that's not why I hated everyone that day. The traffic was so fucking inconsistent that the speeds of the faster-speed left-hand-lane varied between 60 and 88 MPH. The 88 MPH courtesy of TomTom Navigational System. I had to drive the full 2,5 hours with my foot on the pedal instead of being able to use cruise control.

And then today. Some dipshit pulled out of a parking lot in town; no big deal. What was a big deal and only helped contribute to the worst road rage I've ever had was this: They proceeded to swing wide, off the road into the parallel parking places, which luckily they were empty because this asshole drive through every single spot, swung wide back into the road, crossing over the double-yellow (something I forgot to tell Erika while I vented earlier), and stopped at the stop sign, once again back in the correct lane. With no opposing traffic coming, and the lack of a turn signal, this maniacal driver then took the turn at what seemed to be about a mile or two per hour, a right turn I might add. Now on a 30-MPH strip, a measly 18 or 20 MPH was all they decided to drive. I was fortunate in turning only a quarter mile down the road. As I was leaving town and also leaving the 25-zones, it picked up to 35, then 45 MPH over the course of 2 miles.

Someone once again pulls out in front of me, and once again contributed to my road rage. Driving at 35 MPH in a 45 zone, then bumping up to 40-45, in the 55 zone, they held traffic up so much that I had a school bus tailgating me. It's just goddamn depressing when a school bus feels the need to tailgate. Unluckily for me, the slow-asshole led my course all the way into town, forcing me to either burst an aneurism that was likely forming in my brain or turn earlier than my route meant to. To top it off, on my way home, I was once again stuck behind someone doing more than 10 under the speed limit. Why are there so many stupid people driving? Or am I just very easily angered on the road?

Sunday, June 23, 2013

Three days ago, I drove across Michigan at 11:30 AM, going back to Lake Michigan and Holland to visit the closest friend I made at school. We hung out for a bit, ordered pizza. Went and met up with our friend whom was there for the summer doing research. Hung out with Kevin (researcher) and our friend Brady at Kevin's summer apartment. Around 8:30, Reed got off of work and joined us. Nikki, Brady's girlfriend got into town about quarter after 9. We all hung out for a bit, I facetime'd with Chelsea; caught up with her after having not talking since school got out. We all went and saw World War Z at 10:30 - it was awesome by the way.

Then two days ago, Friday, was my dog's birthday. To celebrate, I took a slice of bread, smothered it in peanut butter and gave it to her. Gave her a 15-minute scratch-down and catered to everything she seemed to want. Meaning I let her in and out of the house.

Which brings me to recapping yesterday. I got up early, when my dad decided to mow the lawn. 8:30 or something. So not super early, but early enough to make my day feel long. I sat around and did nothing all day. Well, most of the day. I spent several quality hours talking to Erika. Pat stopped by our voice-chat server and caught up with him. Him, Peter, and I spent like 2 hours on Google Maps showing each other where we lived and making fun of Peter for living in Chinatown of Boston. I then stayed up until after 4AM playing Skyrim for PC, filled with mods since that's the only way to still tolerate playing the game.

And now today. I woke up close to 1, showered, brushed my tooths - all that good stuff. Sat outside at the lake for almost an hour, reading my book. Got hungry and went inside to eat, but while cooking my food decided to sign up to give blood and just now realized I forgot my food in the microwave, from like 2 hours ago. Time to eat, finish the last 200 or so pages of my book, and probably play more Skyrim. I probably need a hobby, or at least a job.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

It's 3 PM, I've done nothing productive for the second day in a row. Although I didn't really do much after I got home Sunday afternoon, so maybe it's considered the third day. After getting up at 1 today, having decided several times that it was too early to get up before then, I felt like sharing.

Last night I got the chance to talk to a friend of mine from sophomore year - a friends I've scarcely seen or talked to since then. We spent some time catching up; she's back with a guy she dated last year - I've got a girlfriend now. Erika made the most delicious cupcakes I've ever had. That kind of thing.

Well, I filled Julie, my friend, in on how I was officially enlisted in the Navy, and how I was accepted into the Nuke program, and when I'm done with that, I'd like to try to make the SEALs. She told me that she's considering the National Guard or Army, but could never do the SEALs. Sucks, but it's true, that women can't do SEALs anyway - all those periods and things that cripple women makes them ineligible. This sparked the typical teenage response: suck my dick. My reply? First: congratulations on growing a penis. That's a new development since the last time I saw you. Second: I will not suck it, but Espo [her boyfriend] might; depending on how kinky you two get.

It was a hilarious conversation; and if you don't find it funny, well, you can suck my dick - not hers.  Or if you really want to, you can probably suck hers too.

Sunday, June 9, 2013

More on narcissism and being an asshole

Today was the closest I have to a best friend's graduation party. I've known him my whole life, I've scarcely seen him for the last six months, and he leaves in 2 weeks for basic boot camp for the Marines. Now with all of this being true, I was a bigger asshole to him today than I think I've ever been before. I treated him like absolute shit, on the day meant to be his. I yelled at him, poured ice-cold water down his neck, hit him in the face with my sandal (an epic shot, I might add). I beat him with a badminton racquet, although he deserved that one for being a dick to his girlfriend.

I met his girlfriend for the first proper time today. She was nicer than I've ever given her credit for - I'd always marked her off as kind of a bitch for always eating up his time, a mis-preconception of mine. We hung out with some friends for a few hours, complaining about how he spends too much time with his recent church friends, and how he's got too flirty of friendships with the girls, how he spends too much time with them and not with Sam - his girlfriend.

Later, Sam and I ended up going to the movies, after he ducked out because he wanted even more time with the church-cult, after having spent nearly the entire grad party hanging out with them and practically ignoring Sam. We saw The Purge - a new movie. I'm still trying to decide how I feel about it; don't worry, I'm not going to spoil it.

I got home and texted Erika back, since she texted me while I was in the theater. We talked for a little, and I filled her in on my day. After telling her about the movies with Sam, and how I might hang out with her after Kyle leaves, so that I don't intrude on what time those two have together, she decided she needed to stop talking. I can't help but feel like it was something I said, even if she gives me a brave and pretty smile - telling me it's her and not me. Despite that, it still feels like I did something wrong, adding to my feeling of being an asshole of epic proportions today. Narcissism is covered in yet another post about me - ugh. I'm not just an asshole, I'm apparently a narcissistic one, too.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

The Illogic of Americans

Americans are quite easily the dumbest race/nation of the world. We created pet rocks, while our German population created the A-bomb and Hydrogen bomb. Last year I saw a news article of a woman who drove on the sidewalk to avoid stopping behind a bus. On the 27th, I was tailgated by some asshole on the highway while doing 85. Now the first are stupidity, the last is just an asshole driver who needs to be run off the road and crushed by a semi-truck, but he's beside the point. Americans are so illogical that I cease to be amazed anymore. We in particular seem to feel the need to counteract doing something healthy, like exercising, with something unhealthy. For example, yesterday my brother went for a run. What's he do when he gets back? Make dinner. Seems harmless enough, right? Well, for dinner he started with fried chicken sandwich, then cracked open a beer, then ate probably-fried mini calzones, and ended with pizza. No vegetables or fruits. Just fat and grease. I'm no exception. Earlier today I went for a run, came back inside and what did I eat? Fried chicken sandwich - it was delicious I might add. But at least I didn't include beer, calzones, and pizza. Nope, I had applesauce and carrots with a small glass of milk and a large glass of water for my lunch. But seriously, us Americans are derptards.

An extra bit of my own derp-ness to add: Only an American would attempt to pick up and eat his food as it comes out of the oven and then proceed to call his food an asshole for burning him. Man am I good.

Friday, May 31, 2013

Updates and Narcissism

It's been a while since I posted, mostly because it's summer and I was busy with enlistment and that kind of thing; but that's only the half-truth. I really just ran out of things to write about. And normally I hate even talking about myself, let alone publishing anything about myself since it makes me feel like a narcissistic asshole.

This past weekend, Memorial Weekend, my girlfriend came down and spent a few days with my family. So far, it's made my summer. I've been off from school for almost a month now and I've done nothing I wanted to do up until she came and visited; it was all fulfilling the needs of enlisting to the Navy and catering to the demands of my parents.

But now that she's gone, my summer feels utterly disappointing and despondent again. Since getting home after driving her home and spending several more quality hours with her on Monday evening, I have done naught but sit around and play video games and talk with my going-on-three-year gaming buddy, Peter. Granted the weather has been shitty - meaning raining - making it difficult to go outside and exercise and that is quite possibly a main reason why I'm so lethargic lately. For example, yesterday was nice, bright, and sunny. As soon as I got ready to go for a nice run; it was all of the sudden pouring rain. Disappointment was an understatement.

A little more about my life is my computer. I love my computer; I've invested probably $2000 if not more into it. I know the hardware inside and out, meaning I can take apart my computer case, pull every piece of hardware out; strip it down to nothing, and put it back together again with ease. For the past couple of days though, I've been debating whether or not to invest in a better cooling fan for my processor. With summer heat, my computer is getting warmer than I'd like it to when I play games, and that's not counting the other programs (ie: Firefox, Pandora, sometimes iTunes, TeamSpeak, Steam).

And I really need a job for the summer. All my money-spending is killing my bank and I can't say I like it. I'm nowhere near broke, but my funds are much lower than I'd like them to be. Plus, I'd just like to have a little extra cash to spend on Erika.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Twisted Thoughts and Conflicting Ideas

I've spent most of my life living in the moment. I never enjoyed thinking about the future and the past is passed, so I always tried my best not to dwell on it. I've never doubted my beliefs or challenged my own ideas or way of thinking. And while I do not believe in any real religion, the closest I affiliate myself with is Atheism. Growing up in a loose Christian household, I was raised by semi-religious parents whom enjoyed forcing my elder brother and I to attend church every Sunday for far too many years. I realized at an early age that I despised these required weekly visits. They were dreadfully boring and quite stupid. At nine, ten, or maybe even eleven years old, I attended a Christian camp called Spring Hill. At the time, I thought I held belief in a god. I prayed with the other campers, but I wasn't devoted. It was more of a ritualistic obligation; a chore I completed so that I could move on. Around twelve or thirteen years of age, I realized why prayer was only an obligation and church attendance was a chore that I did not enjoy doing. The epiphany that hit my adolescent mind was this: I didn't believe in it. I held no belief that there was a god. Jesus 'Christ' may or may not have really existed - I couldn't and still can't say and really don't care whether he did or did not. On the off chance that 2000 years ago there was a guy named Jesus Christ who was born to parents named Mary and Joseph, despite the fact that these are Americanized names and not the Arabic cultural names of the time; I hold no belief that in the off-chance this person truly existed, that he was the son of 'god.' The idea of some higher power that directs and controls the flow of reality is such an absurd notion in my mind that I've never doubted or questioned by any means my disbelief in the religion. By abandoning Christianity as a religion, I was also relinquishing any hold I may have wanted on Judaism or the Muslim faith since all three worship the same deity.
It wasn't until just a few weeks ago that I've ever wondered or questioned my beliefs. I have spent the second half of my semester sitting in religion class every morning from 9:30 until 10:20, laughing at all the talk of how great their god is and how wonderful their religion is and all that stuff. Their comments made me think them idiots for believing in such absurdities. But then the girl I'd been hanging out with for a good chunk of the semester, also Christian and religious, said yes to being my girlfriend. While I've only known her for a few short months, strong feelings have developed. Feelings much stronger than anything I've felt in a long time. At first, I didn't know what to do with them. I tried to ignore them and push them aside; wishing to avoid getting any sort of attachment to anyone due to the fact that I was not returning and no one lived in my area. Having opposing religious views makes a relationship difficult, especially when both are devoted to their beliefs completely. While her views don't bother me a bit, so long as she does not try to force them down my throat, she's disappointed in my lack of faith. She struggles to see herself with a boy whom doesn't have faith in her god, or in Jesus. Which leads into the intended focus of this post. Never, since realizing and determining my own beliefs, have I ever doubted or questioned them. But for the first time, I've found myself questioning what I believe in, in a manner of speaking. I do not doubt the existence of God. I hold absolutely no belief in him and where I've never desired to believe in any sort of higher power, but this girl, she makes me want to believe in something. For a young woman, whom I've known for less than three months, I want to believe in some sort of higher power. I don't find the concept nearly as horrendous as I have in previous years. I'm young, rash, and stupid and many would argue I know very little about the ways of the world, but the very idea of disappointing her is completely awful. All I want in the here and now moment is to be with her, but if she needs someone with her god and her savior in their life, where does that put me? I want, maybe even need to be with her and it's this that is the driving force behind my questioning everything I have stood for all these years. But faith doesn't change on a whim, and due to unfortunate past experiences, I've got a strong desire to avoid Christianity as a religious faith.
I'm left with thoughts twisting and turning in my mind; churning around and tossing out conflicting ideas. I have several questions that continue to plague me, questions I wish I knew the answers to. Questions like what will happen to us? Where are we going to lead? How long will we stay together, if she needs someone with faith in his life? However, the only answer I have, and it is not the answer to any of these questions, is this: I love you, Erika.

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Picky preferences and disgusting concoctions

Recently, I was asked what my favorite mix of flavors was. I didn't really have an answer other than I don't think I have a favorite mix. With food among other things, I tend to have picky preferences. Having fussy eating habits makes choosing which foods to take difficult. However, with limited tastes, you tend not to mix foods together since it could easily yield to a new, utterly disgusting and ungodly taste. It's not even that I'm just picky, however. I enjoy tasty foods, but almost everything I enjoy eating is bland. I eat pastas without sauce, only syrup on my pancakes, only sometimes ketchup with my chicken - depending on how it's cooked. I don't enjoy condiments which is only reinforced by my unusually low spice tolerance. Even regular old black pepper is too much for me to handle.

Eating habits aside - preferring my food unmixed and on its own; I have a tendency to play with my food. I've noticed over the course of this school year that whenever I'm not eating my food, I'm playing with it. Toying with my food is something I've probably always done - I can't really say I've ever really picked up on it until now, so maybe it's something that only started happening this year. As I play and toy with my food, since I'm done eating it, I begin mixing it; creating disgusting mixtures. The abominations I create with food are horrible disgusting, repulsive to even look at. That's only when I'm done with my food and waiting for the group I eat dinner with to be ready to leave.

And thus, I enter the third piece of this tale; mixing alcohols together to form revolting blends that shouldn't exist. Earlier in the year when alcohol was consumed more regularly we'd have a number of alcoholic beverages to sample. Our usual selection included UV Blue, white boxed wine, Long Island Iced Tea, and some other stuff. Occasionally sodas would be there too, for mixers and such. While I certainly enjoy just downing high-proof drinks to get drunk, there's something I enjoy much, much more. And that, is seeing just how disgusting of a drink I can mix together and then down it. While I'm picky about my foods and hate having them mix, I love mixing my liquors together into a probably much more potent and foul substance that probably can't even be considered a drink anymore. And after creating such a stomach-churning cocktail and hearing everyone tell me how it will make me vomit; I down it. Now usually, it's pretty gross. But on occasion, like the last time I went drinking, I make something quite nice. I certainly never expected Long Island, Vodka, Cranberry Juice, Sierra Mist, and something else I'm forgetting since I was shitfaced and drunk to the point of being unable to see at the time, to be so good.

Friday, April 5, 2013

Falsified Hopes, Fake Dreams, and Listless Aspirations

I write this in preparation of some future time. I'm sitting at home, bored and without much else to do but think and write. As of 6:46 PM EST on 4/5/2013 I have 137 views of my blog. While not many, my blog has only been up for approximately two weeks and I have no links or anything else to it. I'm not entirely sure how others have come across my blog, since the only way to find it on Google is to search my blog's name: NeoLeoStory. And let's face it, unless you've come to the blog already NeoLeoStory isn't a likely combination of words you're likely to type into Google.

I started my blog with the intent of sharing a story I started writing instead of participating in my religion class, but the layout used was not to my satisfaction and something spurred me to sharing other pieces of my writing. I've since turned it into a bit of a collection, posting old pieces of my writing that I was able to collect and adding new pieces that I wrote on a whim or for another class.

I've always had an affinity for words and piecing together thoughts into what most would consider a well-worded document or presentation. Essays and short stories have always been my favorite pieces to write although I dabbled in poetry for a number of months. Sadly I lost most of the poetry work I'd once completed. With a love for writing though, it was once a childish dream of mine to become an accomplished author, selling my work.

While my current traffic is low, I hope to continue to add more pieces to my blog, adding enough to generate page views. I wish to keep myself anonymous simply because I don't wish to be plagued by people if I do pick up popularity, but I'd love for my e-Name to gain momentum in the world of literature in the possibility that I may pursue some form of writing as a part-time job in the future.

The aforementioned possibility of pursuing a small, part-time writing job isn't likely though. As title might suggest, I've got false hopes, fake dreams, and listless aspirations. Meaning I don't have hopes, dreams, or aspirations to my life.

Conflicts, controversies, and other mundane fallacies

God. When one says the word 'god' almost every person in the world knows immediately which deity the person has mentioned. People pray to god every day, people ask of god multitudes of things each hour. Such a vast concept of a deity; several different religions even pray and worship the same god. So, something so well-known should have a set, stable idea or concept of what it is, no? To anyone that agrees, what is god? Who is god? Is god relative? Are my ideas of god and your ideas of god the same being; is he a mix of our beliefs, or is one of us wrong?

Many questions surround the idea of god. As an Atheist, I do not believe in any god. I have no belief in human souls or an afterlife of any sort. The idea of a higher power is a laughable idea in my mind. That there's some judgement that either damns whatever might be left of what was 'you' when you die is just ludicrous. However, despite my beliefs, or lack thereof, I do hold thoughts on the concepts of faith and of god. My thoughts of god and the faith surrounding him or her or whatever other gender there may be that people could associate with such a being,

Despite my non-belief in any god, I do know of the belief in god. However, it is my thoughts that there is no one 'God,' instead there is the idea of god. God does not exist, instead the God that so many people pray to in their religion is a relative idea; unique to each individual in how they interpret and explain god. Each person expresses their belief of who or what their god is in an individual way that is unique to them. And that is why god is a relative concept instead of a solid, static being.

If god were not relative, how would he or it represent each and every person's beliefs. If one held the belief that god was a benevolent, caring, loving deity, while someone else held the belief that god was a simple scientist observing his experiment, namely us, with no other thoughts or feelings other than the cold detachment only scientists can conjure; which would god be? Would god be both loving, caring, and nurturing and cold and detached at the same time?

Unless god is relative, he, she, it, is a contradiction in and of itself.

Thursday, April 4, 2013

My cancer that isn't really cancer

When I first decided to attend Hope College, I knew that I wouldn't be completing a degree here. I knew that I would be dropping out after two years maximum due to the high costs and I didn't want a mountain of debt. After my first semester and at the start of the second semester, I realized something; I was barely going to make it through my first year and there was no way that a slacker like me could survive another year of schooling. It was at that time that I decided to push my plans forward and to not return the following year and instead made the decision to pursue my militaristic goals.

Now, when you've made the decision not to return to a school, it makes you not want to get involved with anyone. Not romantically, at least. And for the most part, I stuck by that. I figured, what ten or twelve weeks? I managed to go almost three years without getting involved with anyone, I can manage a single semester. However, early into this second semester, I noticed a girl in my language class. She was nice, rather pretty and quite cute. She sat next to me and talked to me in class. A slight crush developed at first, but I didn't really think much about it. I didn't think there was any way that I would develop real feelings, or that she might too.

Now, with only three weeks left of class, plus exam week, I really like this girl and she likes me too. We've been half-involved, not really sure where we were going. She recently asked me to read one of her favorite stories, called The Fault In Our Stars; a rather depressing book about a teenage girl with stage IV cancer. She meets a boy, they fall in love. He develops cancer again and it kills him. Oops -  spoiler alert.

Well, now that a lot of the background to this post is covered, I can finally conclude with my cancer that isn't really cancer. As I'm laying here in bed, after spending several hours with the rather incredible girl I like, I suddenly got hit with an idea that made perfect sense to me. She knows about my plans for the military and despite that we've known about each other feelings for I don't even know. It feels like a lot longer than it actually has been. For several days I've been asking her if there was the chance of us getting together - really getting together, not the half-relationship we'd been having. The reason we weren't is that I'm leaving and I'm not coming back. And that - that is my cancer. My cancer is my future plans, the plans that are taking me away from the girl I like, that were keeping us apart. No one wants to date the terminally-ill cancer kid because they're going to die and leave you feeling hurt by their loss.

So, if you were lost in the massive amount of text or what feels like a massive amount of text on my Android screen, my cancer that isn't really cancer is my plans to leave. But at least for now, she said yes. And I won't know if my cancer will kill me, or if I'll recover from it until the end of the school year. Metaphorically survive or die, of course. To expand, if I survive, we stay together; even as I leave. If I die, then we end our relationship with the school year. Cancer that isn't really cancer, why do you suck so much?

Monday, March 18, 2013

Story in Progress; no longer being worked on



                It began with a child, a little girl, at the age of five.
                Natasha was five years old at the time. She was outside playing. She'd been outside all day of course, what child wouldn't on a perfect day in the middle of the summer? She'd always been different. Natasha could sense things were going to happen before they did. She was constantly made fun of in school, she was the outsider; The one that didn't fit in no matter where she went.  But she didn't care. Natasha wanted to be an Archeologist. Spending all of her time reading books on Archeology, Natasha was well on her way to fulfilling her dream. That was, until one day.
                On her way home from playing outside all day, Natasha suddenly heard screams.  She ran faster back to her village, Miho. What she saw there, scarred her for life. The entire place was ablaze. The World Government's doing she knew at once. No one else had this little humanity, or this kind of power. A tall man was holding her father when she ran to the village's plaza. "WHERE IS SHE!" he was screaming at her father. Her father, crying and broken, told him time and time again he didn't know, and he didn't.
                Scout, Natasha's senior sister by three years, knew how to use a slingshot with deadly accuracy. Five years of practice was about to be very useful. She was on top of the nearest house, with a pouch full of rocks. Scout, and her band of followers, 14 strong, all readied their weapons. "READY! AIM! FIRE!" Scout called off. At that moment, fifteen projectiles, flew and hit several soldiers in the village plaza. A rock, shot by Scout, hit the man holder her father, square in the back of the head. Fracturing his skull, he dropped like a stone, releasing their father. Seeing their fellow brothers in arms fall about them, the soldiers quickly assessed what they should do. Seeing where the fire was coming from, they quickly took aim, and fired upon Scout and her band, the Fliers. Four were killed in the first volley. Three others were injured.
                "Don't fall back! Keep firing!" Scout was shouting to her remaining Fliers. Unawares of Natasha, Scout kept this up, firing her stones at anything that didn't look like a villager. Running low on rocks, Scout jumped from the rooftop, where four WG soldiers stepped out, and surrounded her. Natasha stepped in, using the power's she'd had since birth, marking her as the outsider. One soldier just collapsed in place. Another folded in on himself. The third began screaming in horror when Natasha stepped out, looking like a demon. Her eyes were ablaze, there was fire all around her. There was the look of death about her. Firing at her, the bullet stopped midway, turned around, and went through the heart of the woman who fired. The fourth, who tried to run, suddenly stopped. And went screaming to his grave as he was forced to rip his own heart out. These were Natasha's powers, and this was just the beginning, for there was more to come.

A Test of Two Strengths

A Test of Two Strengths

Walking down the halls of Kulima High School, to Dominic Elzix, it was just another boring, yet normal day. Shaking out his dusty-brown hair, he looked with his cool, ice-blue eyes at the board where his chemistry teacher, Mr. Crams, drones on about the chemical formula for sugar or something - boring. RIIIIING. Finally, free at last! "Hey, Dominic!" yells Ivan, Dominic's best friend. "You down for the party tonight?"

"You know it," Dominic replies enthusiastically. "What drinks you got coming?" Just as Ivan is about to answer, Dominic's phone goes off, the ringtone telling him it was his mom. "Ugh, hang on a sec, man."

Answering the phone, he hears his mom speaking, "Dominic, I know you have plans for Ivan's party this weekend, but they're cancelled for you. Get to the hospital as quick as you can; it's Felix."

His world now spinning, Dominic tells Ivan he won't be able to make it to the party after-all, "I'm sorry man, I don't think I can make it. Mom says there's something wrong with Felix. You know I gotta look out for family." Taking off after hearing Ivan tell him it's all good, Dominic rushes to the hospital to meet his mom.

Deviance Theory Application Essay



Applying Deviance Theory: Richard Ramirez & Assault and Rape of Jean Wu
            Richard Ramirez, dubbed ‘The Night Stalker’ by the media in the mid 1980’s, was a serial killer, rapist, thief, and necrophilia partaker. When Ramirez was caught, he was guilty of 13 counts of murder, and 30 other charges including burglary, sodomy, and rape. The assault and rape of Jean Wu was neither his first, not last crime of his spree of terror across Los Angeles. Ramirez’s deviant act against Wu was one of brutality. Wu and her husband, both in the mid-sixties were at home when attacked. Wu’s husband was shot in the head, killing him instantly, before Ramirez turned on the younger wife, namely, Wu. The reports state that after shooting Harold Wu, the husband, Ramirez punched, bound, and violently raped Jean Wu, before leaving their home. After this assault, Ramirez had decided his MO – kill the man quickly.

The Idea of Me; my college entrance essay



The idea of me. As a person, I don't like to talk about myself, but in this case I can make an exception. In my life, it's all I've ever known; me that is. While I may be young, there's one thing above all else that I've noticed about life. All throughout your lifespan, people will gauge how much you know in all different ways; but they're wrong. It's not how much you know, it's how much you memorize. We all think we know all kinds of things, like two plus two equals four, or three times three equals nine. However, we don't truly know these things; we recite and memorize them, until we think we know them. The question is, how do they work? It's explained as 'that's just the way it is,' and that's the problem. We can't truly know something unless we understand it at its core. The idea of me, is that I don't know anything. I can be taught and learn to recite and memorize mathematical equations, or the spellings of large and complex words, I can memorize the chemical formula for all kinds of chemicals, but I don't truly know them. I don't understand any of it, because everything is just that way, there is no explanation for it; nothing to understand. The one constant in life, is that I know me. I know myself and it's the one constant I can count on; the one thing I know will never change. Perhaps it's just me, or perhaps it's many others, but my life brings that to me. We do not truly know anyone or anything, because we are ourselves and not anyone else. We can learn to judge what we think someone else is thinking or feeling, but it is up to them to tell and share with us their thoughts and feelings. My idea of me, is that I don't actually know anyone else, because I've never been them, I've never known what it was like to be in their shoes and live their life. I only know myself because I've only ever been me. This idea, however, is part of what drives me to higher education and to the medical field. This idea drives me to try to learn new things to try to get a better feel for other people, so that I might get closer to understanding others. With those final thoughts, I conclude the idea of me.

Random story I started in English class

All my life I wanted to know what it felt like to end another person's life. Sure, I could kill animals, see the fear in their eyes before I ended their lives. I felt bad killing these animals because I was smarter, and they didn't understand what was happening. Their fear was instinctual.

One might argue that death is death, but I disagree. Sure, there's small  animals like mice, birds, squirrels, even coons, but none of these brought me satisfaction. I wanted a sentient, intelligent being's life in my hands. I wanted to hold a human's life in my power; where I controlled if they lived or died. This was not because I had anything against other people, not yet anyway. It was because I wanted to hold the life of a being that understood what was happening; what I intended to do.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Untitled Story; written in religion class.


I watched as the woman's arm was wrenched from the socket. Her screams of agonizing pain didn't make me grimace, but I found no pleasure in them either. Watching her arm get pulled past where the flesh allowed it to go, her screams got even louder; a fact I'd not thought possible. With a final shriek of pure agony, her warm was torn from her body with a sickening rip, not unlike that of a soaked bed sheet being torn in two.

As blood pumped from the stump that was her arm not long ago, a white lab coat appeared in a doorway I had not noticed previously. Looking at her with a disinterested and dissatisfied look, he pulled out an odd piece of technology that I didn't recognize. I heard what sounded like 'Hold still' as he clamped the machine onto her stump. After several minutes of humming softly, the machine alerted us that it was finished with a soft beep.