Our love is, like, so deep.

I’m not the type of person to wear my heart in my blog…or anywhere for that matter. But there are some people out there that do, and their heart is everywhere; their facebook status, their blog, in your face…it’s like you can’t get rid of it. Their depressing forthright sentiments of lost love and found love makes you want to stick a fork through your eye...no, wait, just maybe forcefully press it with a spoon...i'm not that overdramatic. There’s a time and a place people, and your status ain’t one of those! Seriously, write in a journal, a book, make a movie, those are the places where we should see overdone weepy emotions. Anyways, I’ll stop judging, cause I watch Dawson’s Creek, and that’s got to be a big point of contention.

Anyways, I had a point in all this…actually more of a story. In one of my classes we did this exercise where you just write without stopping or questioning or going back, you just write whatever might pop into your head at that very moment. And it was a neat experiment, I guess try to awaken the unconscious thought…something to that extent. So basically mine ended up being a page long talk about bears, their different colours, and how when I go camping I really just wish that a bear would come and chill with us. He’d be wearing duckies and a matching rain coat and be named Chester.

So I was under the impressions that everyones was probably pretty fucking random…but then, post-experiment people were asked to share their work with the class, and the majority of the class had these grandiose statements about the perplexities of life, or ostentations poetry that they claimed “infused their bones” as they wrote. Now I’m not saying those weren’t good pieces of writing, but seriously, do people really think like that all the time?? Like common, we all debate life a lot, and think about love, and the distresses of being alive, but my mind never uses fluffy poetic rhetoric to convey those emotions. It generally just rants, or has one way satirical arguments. I tried the experiment again, but this time decided to make myself think and write like those people…so this is what happened…

I awoke today safe from the perils of life, from the anxiety of uncertainty and from unscrupulous love. I awake and I am lost. I awake and I am free. I dreamt of you last night, you freed me from my neuroses and drove me to light, you said poor girl you’re tired now, you’re in need of a cure, your distraught heart is overdone, and this is a loud of bullshit….

I can’t do it. I feel creepy, and weird, and that my friends is in no way a reflection of how my mind thinks… and plus, I write like shit that way. Some people can express their calamities through big savoury words, but me, I like it simple. So, basically, through that entire thing my mind was really thinking this:

Man that cottage cheese was good. Creamy and fresh, and in a singular little container; like yogort cottage chese, but not, because there wasn’t yogurt…but cottage cheese. Shit. Whoever invented yogort-contained cottage cheese is probably fairly awesome. Fuck, you know what I realized, I don’t know how to spell yogourt…I think I’ve spelt it 16 different ways already. Damn. I should get on that. I do know how to spell ACTIVA though. So maybe that counts.

I think it boils down to the fact that I suck. OR, that I’m awesome, because I don’t have live with a brain that thinks in haikus all the time.

Porky and Buckwheat.

Things I've recently begun to hate:

1. The republik - why - because it's turned into this whore factory where 12 years old girls get fake ids, dress like baby prostitutes and shriek loudly whilst grinding their cooch on some ugly dudes thigh. Then they produce the boys, most no more than 13, with popped collars, white suit coats, hair gel, and a singular diamond earring. I hate them all. I did however find some entertainment in outwardly mocking them, and turning down their collars, but that was all. It's too bad that the republik took this sad turn, because now the name is completely destroyed and everything it once stood for is abolished into a mess of hair gel, and syphilis. So, to conclude, I’ve made a promise to myself to never step foot in that godforsaken whore house they like to call a bar, for if I’d want my spirit sucked out of me, I’d die.

2. Pompous, pretentious assholes. Yes. I hate them, and their attitude. I guess this isn't a recent discovery, but more of a need to declare it.

Things I've begun to love:

1. HEROES! Claire! Peter Petrelli! HIRO NAKAMURA!
2. The looming prospect of summer! I can't wait for it. I want to quit my job, go to disney world, camp, drink on my balcony, road trip, and maybe even sneak into gated swimming pools after hours.
3. Celery! There’s so much you can do! You can put peanut butter and raisins, or cheese whiz, or just some ranch dip; the possibilities are endless!