Who is this irresistible creature who has an insatiable love for the dead?

Things New With Beka:

1 – Webkinz. I love Webkinz. I have a lot. I like playing with them, buying and decorating their little rooms and I don't care if it's for little kids; I enjoy it. I don't actually play with the stuffed animals, but I do keep them sort of on display in my room.

2 – Rob Zombie. This is not new by any stretch of the imagination, but I love Rob Zombie and recently my Pandora has been playing a lot of him, Breaking Benjamin, Sick Puppies, Staind, Disturbed and A Day To Remember. (Which is odd, considering the station is called “Paramore.”) I would like one day to remake the Living Dead Girl music video. Because it is awesome. It is also much easier to write serial killer novels with Rob Zombie playing. Now if only I could convince Pandora to give me more Slipknot. I got Before I Forget the other day and was freaking thrilled (also got alice nine. and had a mini seizure.)

3 – Peppermint Hot Chocolates. Tastes like mint chocolate chip ice cream. Nuff said.

4 – BeccaTwoC. I LOVES ME SOME BECCA. Becca got an internship thingy, by the way. She's editing crap or something. I didn't really listen because she was very excited and for some reason her excitement turns into jammers in my head (it's a word, google that shit). Not that I don't care. Because I do. I'm just not exactly sure what's going on.

5 – Criminal Minds. It's everything I ever wanted in a show. Except it has less forensics. Criminal Minds and Bones should do a crossover episode. It would be freaking awesome.

I would also like to put this out there: I hate rain. I hate driving in it, I hate walking in it and I hate working knowing that outside is wet. The only thing I like about it is that it can't be sunny and raining at the same time. Except at my bus stop. For some reason, it can be extremely sunny there, and still rainy. That's absolutely ridiculous and I would like to lodge a formal complaint.


Dear God,

Please make up your mind about the weather conditions of my bus stop. You are fucking with my head and I do not approve. Cut the crap and give us a solid choice.

Sincerely,

A Dissatisfied Customer.


Also, what the fuck is up with customers not handing you change? I can understand if I step away from the counter after giving you your total, to pour you a cup of coffee or something; you can set it down then. I am not unreasonable in that way. But if I am holding out my hand and you smack the money on the counter, I'm going to smack your change down on the counter, too, assuming that that is how you want your funds handled. (And, since our counter is for tips, I will assume that your change is a tip and keep my $18.68, thank you very much.)

STOP.
…
Papercut time.
*jams*

My Desk Smells Like Pizza

When I got it into my head to move to Hawaii, my mother told me right off the bat, “You know this means no birthdays (with us), no Christmas (with us), no more seeing the baby, right?” and I said yes. Quickly and without hesitation. I knew I wouldn't be there with my family anymore. (I was actually sort of looking forward to being alone for Christmas and not having to make a huge deal about it.) What I didn't know was that I wouldn't be there for my family.

That may seem like a no-brainer, but, for me, it wasn't. I'm kind of nutsy about my little brother and sister, and absolutely crazy about my niece. I fought with them like I fight with everyone (violently and loudly) but I love them to death. I took my brother out driving (me driving, not him) at least once a week, and we would get some sort of food and just talk for an hour or two. I went out with my little sister to go shopping or, once a month, going to our favorite sushi place and splitting the order. I talked to them (read: lectured them) on these drives, and I'm sure they loved that. And when I found out my older sister was going to have a baby, all I could think about was being an aunt, and, for everything I had in mind, my niece and I would have to be a lot closer—like, at least two states between us. So I didn't realize until I held my first online conversation with my little sister that I couldn't run upstairs and bop her in the face for something stupid she said. I also wouldn't he able to go home every day and talk to my mom and dad. This stuff didn't occur to me until after I'd moved, after I hated my job, hated thinking about money, had my first late phone bill and bad things had happened and my mom couldn't talk sense into me and make me see reason.

With the exception of their living situation, I watch the first seasons of Friends and have surprising affiliation with situations I used to not understand.

WE INTERRUPT THIS BLOG TO BRING YOU THIS BREAKING NEWS: Iron Man just came on my Pandora radio and, oh, dear god, I feel so much better.

[Five and a half minutes of awesomeness later] Anyway.

Ella, my cat, comes home on the 26^th. I work that night at Narbes, but I have the next day off and I'm going to work on getting her to like me again, because I know she won't. I haven't been to visit her in a while, but when I did she would get really pissy, and even bit me once—I wasn't handling her right, but she still put her teeth around my finger, and she's never done that before. So this is probably going to be like when I first got her and I'll have to reestablish the relationship. Good times.

It's A Conspiracy

Quite recently, I applied (and by “applied” I mean Katana nagged me until I put in an application and had my interview in the same thirty minutes) for a position in the Narbes cafe. Which is fun; I like the cafe and I like the people in the cafe (for the most part). What's not fun is that I also work at Hallmark four days a week, and now my schedules are quite often back to back.

This, as you can gather, was a mistake.

Take Monday. I had orientation at Narbes from 9:30 to 1:30, which meant that I had to get up at 7, leave the house by 8:30 to catch the bus to the mall and ZombieSlayer's house to get the black shirt I lent her so I could wear it to work, and then go to work. Again, not so bad, right? Not until you add on the fact that I worked in Hallmark from 2:00 to 9:30. Better yet, I get to do a similar run on Friday, working 7:30 to 3:30 at Narbes and 5:00 to 9:30 at Hallmark.

My fee hate me, by the way. At least I get a slight break in between, and a killer discount.

On a different but slightly consecutive note, I was babysitting two kittens during this period. Their names are Shoebox and Lucky. I've never owned a kitten before, and I've come to realize that they fall under the same category as human babies: I like them just fine when they are someone else's. I do not want my own.

My cat, Ella, is actually pretty easy to live with. She gets 75% of the bed, and I respond quickly when she meows. (Yes, I am whipped. No, I don't care. She is a princess.) The only times she has ever gotten in my face when I was in bed was when I was sick, couldn't respond to her meows and she wanted to see what was up. Then I coughed in her face and she ran away.

These kittens got in my face all the time. It was freaking ridiculous. I pushed them off and they came right back within five minutes. I finally put the fear of water in them and started spraying them when they annoyed me. Shoebox liked very much to sit on the back of my chair and either play with my ponytail or knead my sunburned shoulders with her claws. How considerate, right?

Okay, maybe I would like them a little better if I hadn't come home on Saturday to find all of my Snuff notes strewn across the floor. Just maybe.

In other news, BeccaTwoC started college and I'm sooo proouuddd 8'33333

Our carpet is still wet.

We are moving on the 16^th... but we have to be out of here on the 15^th. We only officially started moving things into our new house yesterday.

This was a mistake.

Last night, AK-47 got assistance from a friend's dad and we started moving things. That was fun. I actually haven't seen the bulk of the new house; I've seen the living room and front lanai.

Today, we had an appointment to have our carpets cleaned, so everything in the rooms had to be gone. That... sucked. There is a lot of crap in this apartment. There is 4½ peoples' worth of stuff in here. Even with a lot of it gone yesterday, we... have things.

The carpet cleaner was scheduled to arrive at 2. Hamburglar, AK-47 and I started clearing at 10. At noon, the guy called and said “Hey, can I come sooner? Like, now?”

“Um, no. We're not ready for you.”

“Okay, I'll come at two.”

Hamburglar and I were done by one. AK-47 was still working, but she was also done by 2. The guy, however, called at 1:45 to say he would be here at 2:30.

Uhmmm?

Alright. We took this time to clean a little bit more, goof off and all around become quite bored. When the guy came, we had to CLEAN OUT THE BATHROOM so his dumbass could use our tub for his water crap.

Me: “.....What.” There was nothing about that mentioned in my phone call to the operators.

After this, AK-47, Hamburglar and I went downstairs to sit around, be cold (“You can close the door,” AK-47 boldly states) and wonder at the workings of the universe.

The guy is done in a record 40 minutes. The carpet actually looks a lot better; like, there is more color than there are stains now, oh my god. He claims it will be done in 4 to 6 hours.

We had planned for this. We were aware that we would not be able to move anything this day. We didn't really have anything planned for the day. First order of business was to pick up ZombieSlayer and Katana. We then went to Curry House.

We also had to get some keys made. So we went to WalMart. They could not do this one key that we had. So we went to Sears (Katana had a moment of self-affirmation. She hates the jewelry section of Sears but she went through it. Yay.) They were able to make some of our keys, but not the main one. Damn.

We still have four hours to kill, so we hang around the patio section, sitting and talking and being tired of being out of the house. We make plans for tomorrow. AK-47 and I are going to commandeer LionDancer's van and make several high-priority trips to and from the new house. Yay, oh my god.

We drop ZombieSlayer off at the house she is sitting, and go home.

WHAT THE FUCK.

WHAT THE FUCKING HELL.

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

The carpet is still wet.

It has been 7 hours. SEVEN. HOURS.

We are sleeping on PLASTIC BAGS because all of our bedding stuff is on the lanai where we cannot reach it.

I am, as I type this, planning out my strongly worded message for the carpet cleaner's company. This is some major bullshit.

Pictures to follow.

P.S. AK-47 doesn't name her cold-blooded pets, which is bloodist. I named as many as I could. I named one of her bettas Tumor for... an unfortunately obvious reason.

P.P.S. Hamburglar was color-guard captain, and the high school across the lanai has nothing on them. They are not original at all.

A Venture Into the Happily Unknown

In my experience, the things that I like are not the things that are popular. I never make any concrete decision to dislike anything mainstream or well-known, or to go against the flow. It just happens. I do what I want, which can turn into some interesting situations. With the exception of some childhood necessities, like Sesame Street, army men and googles, I didn't really do the same thing as other people.

My fashion choices do not fall into any known category. Black t-shirts, black boots and blue jeans does not a goth make. Some magazines are trying to call the look “vamped up” (I've come to realize that “vamped up” means that a prep is wearing all black. It's annoying beyond words.) but I call it comfortable. I like black, but I'm not goth. I don't like wearing bright colors anymore. My closet is full of greys and blacks and blues and the very occasional white shirt. I like (read: love) shoes, but I pull on my combat boots before anything else. Which puts my 20-something pairs of shoes to complete and utter waste.

I like Lord Of The Rings, and Harry Potter, but I like serial killers better. I love Dexter. I will read, watch or learn anything about serial killers. I also like forensics. I will watch Bones any day of the week. Put a serial killer in Bones and I am so there. I like the creepy things in life, and I have a soft spot for vampires, but I don't go Abby Scuito on the things; I just like them.

So I'm trying to figure out why popular things are popular. I absolutely do not understand Twilight mania, as aforestated. I can go on and on about that. My recent study is Sex and the City. Seriously, what is it? Why are people so attracted to a show based around four women who choke out their lines, wear bad clothes, are utterly selfish with men and have poor lighting?

Let me break those four points down.

A) The Lines. I have never in my entire life seen anyone struggle so hard to show emotion. Repeating the same thing over and over does not an emote make. (Example: “You have to forgive me. You have to forgive me. Aiden, you have to forgive me. You have to forgive me.” Never once is there a change in tone. She doesn't even cry.) Along with the lines goes the never-moving expressions. Sarah Jessica Parker has two facial expressions: “I'm having sex but not really because I'm walking fabulously through New York” and “I'm a horse.”

B) The Clothes. If you want to watch something about really awesome clothes, watch The Devil Wears Prada. That has some damn fine threads. Sex and the City, not so much. Their clothes are ugly, plain and poorly suited, with the exception of one or two of Samantha's woman-suits... and their nudity. If I see one more obnoxiously huge flower, one more terrifying combination of tweed and rayon, I will shoot myself in the head. I will give them credit for the shoes; those are some nice shoes. But they are not well-matched to the outfits. And if they are such able fashionistas, why are they wearing socks with pumps? Why?!

C) Selfish with Men. I am hardly capable of giving out relationship advice, but I know that if you cheat on someone, you don't go back expecting to be forgiven just because the guy looks good. He probably looks good now so he can find a hotter chick, who doesn't look like a horse. And then when he tells you what a bitch you are, take it like the bitch you are. Don't run away crying like you never expected to be turned down. Honestly.

D) Poor Lighting. The whole thing looks like bad reality TV. (Which may or may not be the original intention. I'm not sure yet.) The outdoor city scenes, sure. Make it as grimy as you please. But indoors, please for the love of god brighten the thing up. Because when it's not bright (For reference purposes, please see any decent show, like The Big Bang Theory, Two and a Half Men, or freaking Top Chef), the rare bright colors they wear show up like neon green “MY BLIND LIBRARIAN DRESSED ME” signs. If you want the lighting to be dreary, the clothes have to be dreary. Otherwise, it's just bad.

So my question to the universe regarding Sex and the City's popularity is this: What up with that?”

Shark week! Oo ha ha!

The more responsibilities you get, the less shenanigans you can get yourself into. Granted, I don't have a whole crapload of responsibilities; I work three days a week, and watch TV in between. When I get off of work, I don't really have the energy for shenanigans. I used to have shenanigans every other day. I would start the day with “What can I do today that would be worth blogging about?” Now, my mentality is “Screw it, I was on my feet all day, give me a couch and a chilled water and I'm happy.”

For lack of better options, I guess I'll talk a little bit about work. I'm a sales associate, but I'm still in training so I haven't actually done any sales. My first day, I was doing scavenger hunts all over the store, trying to find cards to satisfy my “school work”. (They are actually referred to as SATs. True story.) The next day, I was wrapping present boxes and designing gift bags. (Very, very fun. Most of my bags are on sale now.) Today, I was rearranging the display cases that I was responsible for, so I could be proud of them. (Can I get an “AWESOME?!”?!) It's pretty fun.

In between, I'm watching TV. I really like The Real Housewives of New Jersey. I really LOVE Caroline. Top Chef is also pretty fantastical (PEA PUREE!! ARRRRGGHHH!!), and so is Bethenny Getting Married? Shark Week is currently taking over my work, though, and I'm sad that there are only two days left.

I do have some controversy in regards to Shark Week, however. I hate it when they contradict themselves between programs. One program shows how you don't have to fish for sharks to examine them, you can put them in a state of tonic immobility (wherein they obviously can't move, as long as you are touching their noses, and you can examine them, tag them and even teach with them without any worries... and they are generally in a very good mood when you release them, too) but then the next show focuses on fishing them to examine them. Sharks should not be fished for. They may be tough in skin, but the hooks can still hurt them, and who's to say what kind of adverse affect the experience will have on their personalities? Sharks are smart, they have memories, and if they remember being hurt by fishers, they could just attack innocent fishing boats. And that doesn't make them overly aggressive animals; all animals could be aggressive. A freaking goldfish could be aggressive if it was mistreated (I think? I wonder if the goldfish would remember?). So, for god's sake, stop showing things about fishing for sharks, while promoting their positive image.

In other news, Flaming Hot Cheetos coupled with spicy ramen is a head bomb waiting to happen. NO ONE TOUCH ME, I AM SWEATING CHILI SPICE.

What The Hell Was Perez Hilton Doing There?

Hamburglar found the greatest show in existence this morning. And it was a complete accident, which makes it even more awesome. The show is called “You're Cut Off” and it's about these complete divas who spend something between 7,000-10,000... a week. Their families finally get fed up with it and call in this life-coach person, Laura.

The girls are told that they're going to be featured on a show about their lavish spending habits called “The Good Life”, and are followed around by a camera crew for a week. All nine of the girls are brought to the same mall, where they go shopping as usual, all of their purchases are rung up... and their credit cards are declined.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” screamed they.

The girls are brought to the customer service place of the mall, and are shown videos from their families telling them how pathetic, shallow and overly confident they are in their credit card balances. They're sent to the intervention house (One girl comments “We're in the ghetto!” as they pull into a nice, suburban driveway) where they are given one duffle bag for all of their crap, and anything they can't fit into the duffle bag will be stored elsewhere.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” screamed they.

This is where the hilarity ensues. These spoiled bitches are forced to cook for themselves (on a budget they have to earn by doing chores; if they don't do the chores, the budget is cut down), clean up after themselves and shop in thrift stores. They were made to clean with a maid service... in Omarosa Manigault-Stallworth's house. OH MY GOD.

I am dying with laughter (and shock at their interviews) throughout the entire series of episodes. This show makes up for me cleaning bathrooms for my family.

And yet, at the same time, I sincerely hope that their antics are exaggerated. (One girl actually stated that she had no idea coupons existed, and didn't know how to use them.) They were so unbelievably clueless about how their actions may effect others. As I'm watching, I'm wondering how their families let them get out of control like this... because they sure as hell don't earn the money they're spending. You have to ask for money to spend money, and someone gave it to them. Whoever that is, I want to cut off their penis and/or steal their ovaries because they should not be allowed to breed ever again.

Unfortunately we didn't get to see the finale because we had to pick Katana up from work. Big. Fat. Bummer. On the list of things I'd rather not want to do tonight, having a stranger spontaneously appear in my apartment and order pizza with bacon and sausage (which equals blinding migraines for me), comes right after “make a painting with my own blood” and “eat rocks”.

My most prominent personality flaw, but one I can't/won't do anything about, is my hatred for strangers and visitors. Having my brothers and sisters visit once a month is stressful for me, and I love my brothers and sisters to death. But I still get stressed. If BeccaTwoC was coming to visit, I would still need at least twelve hours warning. BeccaTwoC is my best friend in the world. That is how strong this aversion to visitors is. Spontaneous visitors render me catatonic, especially when I have nowhere to hide. Our lanai is full of suitcases that were in the living room. My headphones are broken so I can't even block out the noise.

And then the bacon.

Nitrates give me terrible migraines. They always have. I actually see spots when hot bacon is in the room. Cold bacon, fine. But the fumes are terrible. It also comes in sausage and ham. (By the way, all three are on this pizza.) Best way to get me out of a room? Make bacon.

And bring strangers.

In other news, I'm turning in my job paperwork tomorrow and officially starting on Sunday. Wish me luck.

P.S. Hamburglar and ZombieSlayer finished Left 4 Dead. Yay. Now they get to go back and redo it.

Ye Olde Pretzel Tale

This is the tale of the pretzel M&M. It is a tale of despair. It is a tale of triumph.

So, right around the time that the M&M pretzels commercials came out, Hamburglar and I got very excited. We really wanted the pretzel M&Ms. So we set out to find them.

They were never in the displays.

Ever.

We checked, every time we went to a store that had candy.

(Pause, on my end, to hear a note from Sister Drama.)

I saw the bags on two occasions.

Once, when I was sick, I went to Long's for cough drops and Altoids and didn't have the cash moneys for anything else, but I saw a bag. And I got excited. But then I was sad. And I had to leave.

I saw them the second time at Safeway, but it was a nine dollar party bag. And I had to leave it.

Over the next few weeks, we checked Wal Mart, every Long's in Waikiki, and they were never there. And we were sad.

But today... we found them.

We found them in the Kahala Long's. Right where I saw them before but hadn't seen them since.

And they are magnificent. They are everything I ever hoped for.

AND THEY ARE NOT THE SAME AS CHOCOLATE-COVERED PRETZELS, OH MY GOD! I WILL SHANK ANYONE WHO SAYS OTHERWISE.

They are the Twinkie to my Tallahassee. The Helen to my Paris. And I love them so hard. I will never again need a man (or a woman) in my life if they make these a permanent item on the M&Ms menu.

P.S. What the hell is up with Sister Drama? Why do people act like everything they say is okay?

P.P.S. I say this after I commit to a hard chocolate candy.

A Very Bendy Birthday

Yesterday was Hamburglar's 22^nd birthday. So of course a great fuss had to be made. Katana likes fussing about birthdays (a fact that fills me with dread, considering I am next). Since it was going to be a very eventful day and I wanted to remember everything about it, I recorded the minutes in my phone. If you want to get a drink or take a leak, now would be the time to do it because this is a Very Long Entry.

11:45: On the bus.

11:50: Tourists. Hiss.

11:52: Tourist (male) with a purse. Not a hacky sack. A PURSE.

12:02: Coffee Bean And Tea Leaf is MY GOD. Feel bad about cheating on Narbes, though.

12:15: *counts pennies into rolls* Katana is a cheap bitch who won't go to CoinStar.

12:25: BIG FISH OMAIGOD *runs out of bank*

12:26: *converses with and names fish*

12:28: If I don't get a pet fish soon I will eat myself.

1:10: Waiting for our Genki order. I has a Flounder. (omaigod)

1:28: ZombieSlayer needs to stall Hamburglar.

(We get the sushi, Hamburglar's little sister, Little Ham, picks us up and drops us off at the apartment. We set up in AN AMAZINGLY SHORT AMOUNT OF TIME, and then we have reservations at a tea joint in Kailua that Hamburglar wanted to go to really badly.)

2:42: Holy crap. Our reservations are for 3 and we're not even on the road yet.

3:42: Ham's brakes failed. Balls. Goodyear sucks hard cock. They wouldn't take us and call their guy back even though he JUST LEFT. God bless LionDancer. (Minor note: The guy hadn't left yet. Katana and Hamburglar talked to him personally and he was shocked at the way we were treated. They were just being bitches. We took Cloud to another guy.)

4:24: We went to CPK. And we are stressed. Fuck Goodyear. I intend to leave them a strongly worded voice mail concerning our experience.

4:34: LionDancer is here! Funs to be had! (Shit, I'm hungry.)

4:39: Talking about Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. Awkward feelings toward Narbes. Lulz.

4:47: Bread rules!

4:52: LionDancer asks if I am going to the bathroom. I tell her no, I'm going to blow the place up. When I get back (after grooving to the bathroom music) I tell them we have 30 minutes to bingo. Lulz.

4:59: There is baseball playing and NO ONE IS WATCHING. You know why? Because baseball sucks.

5:09: Yay, birthday sundae!

5:27: Driving back to the mechanic's. We are still awesome. FYI.

5:27.5: “You know what's not here anymore?” “DUNKIN DONUTS!”

6 – 7:39: Presents and festivities.

7:42: “I WISH I HAD A FLYING BISON! I would Yip-Yip this crap!”

8:00: There is no seating at Dave and Busters. What the eff.

8:05: I really want to play but I don't think everyone wants to sit with me for six hours while I obsessively roll the ball.

8:07: I hate waiting, though. Balls.

8:21: They seated other people of equal or greater parties. We're still here. (This is because we're white, isn't it?)

8:22: They just seated parties of Mel, Matt and Nat. OMAIGOD SUCCESSORZ! (This still sucks, though.) ZombieSlayer went to talk to them. No improvement.

8:37: We finally sat down but now we have no fucking waiter.

8:46: Snow Cone = Win. (Little Ham: “Dangerous.”)

9:04: Bull Buster. Hamburglar hates me now.

9:06: The cup smells like fermented cough syrup. (Hamburglar likes it.)

9:10: Purple People Eater.

9:11: It tastes like purple DEATH.

9:11.5: It tastes like a popsicle.

9:12: We like it!

9:14: “It's happy hour somewhere...” “It's an hour and I'm happy.”

9:17: “Everything's starting to swim, thank you, BEK!” (My drink had Jagermeister in it.)

9:22: “This was made in China. I can still read.”

9:23: “I think you said canumption.”

9:25: The Shizzle and the Orange Cream Cooler are here. We like the Shizzle. The Cooler is “all kinds of Red Bull.”

9:29: Katana wants me to take a picture of everything, and not just Hamburglar. I don't quite care. I'mma smack a nerd.

9:32: I snuck upstairs past a bachelor party (we are now pals and I think they will have problems today when they look at their pictures and go “...Who is this chick?” because they asked me to pose with them. They deserve it. No one brings a camera to a bachelor party.) but I don't think they have my game.

9:35: Huge military type dude omg.

9:38: I ran downstairs because this guy wouldn't leave me alone. He was clearly drunk so I told him to meet me at the slots. (D&B had no slots that I could see.)

9:42: The Lethal Weapons. Little Ham is mean.

9:43: The Big TNT. Hrrrmmm. (The Lethal Weapon is nice, apparently. Like cinnamon.)

9:45: Hamburglar, Katana and A. are each going to do a Lethal Weapon. Katana has a happy.

9:47: The TNT tastes like... tea?

9:48: Hamburglar should not make any sudden movements. We are testing our fine motor skills by texting Facebook. Results are humorous.

9:50: The curfew is almost up. Hamburglar doesn't think she can walk to the car. But she is happy.

9:56: Hamburglar's hands are numb. YAY TOTAL DRUNKNESS!

10:00: Lean back.

10:02: It's past curfew and we're bad. Hamburglar has no water and she is le sad.

10:03: Katana gave Hamburglar water and she is le happy.

10:08: I can tell I'm happy because I'm dancing to hip hop. And also, Hamburglar is too drunk to eat her birthday brownie.

10:16: Scooby Snack. Katana downed it in half a second.

Those were the minutes of Hamburglar's birthday party. Her sister, Little Ham, flew in from Maui (not very far, bee-tee-dub) to spend it with her. We had a surprise party, and lots of festival crap. Etc. Because Katana makes a big deal out of everyone's birthday, I'm worried because I could care less about my birthday, and I don't like people making a big deal. But if I don't tell her anything I want to do, a big deal will be made. Argh.

EPILOGUE:

We went to pick up the car today, and the guy inflated her tires and changed her oil for no additional cost—which is good, because his labor price was seriously inflated but we couldn't go anywhere else because Goodyear is a bitch and we couldn't go home because we would have to go on the highway and she was driving with her emergency brake.

Then we went to Jack in the Box. Yay.

Drama, Beware

Today, I was scared. I was actually sick to my stomach with fright. The only other time I had ever been that terrified was when I was flying to Hawaii on my own for the very first time, I had never been on a plane before and I took six antacids. I don't get scared easily. I really don't. I carry a knife in my purse because my brother gave it to me before I moved. I have phobias, sure, of boats, bridges and stairs, but everyone has those.

What, you ask, could make me this sick with fear?

I read a Twi-Hard's blog today.

I found it by searching “Honolulu” on Blogger, and decided to... investigate the inner workings of my worst enemies.

I was not prepared.

First of all, you know all of those over-exaggerated impressions we do of Twilight fans going “I LOVE EDWARD! OMGOMGOMGOMG ROB IS SO HOOOOOTT!”? No, they actually do that. She actually wrote stuff like that. And this is a grown woman. She's married and has a child. And she does this. Actively. She drools over vampires and hates on werewolves.

Second, BEWARE THE SHERATON WAIKIKI HOTEL DECEMBER 3-5! There is a Twilight convention coming to town on that date. That might have scared me more than the blogger, because I knew Twi-hard fans existed, but I didn't know that there was going to be a gathering of them for more than two days. This is three days. (And to show what a freaking pig festival it is, the main cast won't even be there. Yeah, I investigated.)

Now, I hate Twilight for a few reasons. My sisters started reading it and it drove me crazy because they talked about it all the time. It was insane. They camped out at book stores waiting for the new books to come out. I secretly took a glance at what turned out to be Eclipse a few weeks after it came out and they gushed about it. I read one page and went “* vomit *” and set it down never, I thought, to return. Because my sisters talked about it so much, I had a lot of material for general bashing. I also gained material from BeccaTwoC, because her friends analyzed it and she shared the information with me. I never actually read it, but I could talk about it at length with quite a bite (lulz, pun).

I was talking to one of my coworkers about it one time. She really liked the books, for reasons I still have as yet to discern, and when we were talking about it, she was the first to ask “Have you read the books?” I told her that, well, no, I hadn't read them. She told me to read them and then make my own judgments.

This was a mistake on her part.

I already hated the books and everything that they represented. Yes, my information came from third parties and it wasn't actually my opinions. But then I read books one, two and four (I heard Bella died in the last one and got excited so I skipped) and had my own reasons to hate the books.

And to wonder why they were even published. They belong on a fan fiction site. That is how insanely poor the plot and writing is. I don't call myself a first-class writer, but I have read first-class writing, and Twilight is not that.

It took me a while to read the books because I had to keep setting them aside to make room for the vomit because they weren't mine. In the first half of Twilight, alone, I screamed “What the CRAP?!” no less than ten times. I was that shocked, and that sickened. When Edward left in New Moon, I actually went “Story is done now, yes? * checks remaining pages * Ohh...” and then watched as Bella tried to get by without a man in her life. Way to educate your readership, Meyer. GREAT job.

I would like to point out, on that note, that if anyone, regardless of who they are, regardless of their intentions, comes into my room to watch me sleep, they will get clubbed. I am not kidding. I will club you like a baby seal if you sneak into my room through the window uninvited. (Good luck, though, because I live on the 17^th floor.) This isn't even in reference to the vampire legend about not being able to come into homes uninvited; while that is a nice twist, especially how they handled it in Let The Right One In, it's mostly bullshit invented by priests who wanted people to feel safe. If you believe a legend, you probably won't question it. If you are a vampire. No, this has nothing to do with that. It has to do with breaking and entering and general creepiness. That horny bastard could get arrested. He actually could. Where is the romance in that, I ask you? It's not there; it doesn't exist. It is serenely ignored in light of how “romantic” it is. Excuse me while I vomit.

And don't even get me started on the sparkling. You know what? He lives in the woods, he doesn't harm humans, he sparkles—let's face it: Edward's not a vampire, he's a fucking fairy.

You know how the book should have gone? First of all, it would not be four books, it would be one quick-and-to-the-point book. Second, Bella would be sent to her father's by her mother and be a regular teenager who doesn't want to live where the sun don't shine. Third, Edward would try to attack her at least once. Fourth, Edward would get arrested by Bella's dad for stalking his daughter. Fifth, Edward breaks out of prison and hunts Bella down. He convinces her that he is a vampire (okay, fine, a vegetarian vampire) and that he wants to suck her blood because she's mm-mm-good. Sixth, Bella actually shows some sense of self-preservation and says “No, thank you, good sir.” Seventh, a Jasper miraculously appears and changes her. Om-nom-nom. Eighth, Bella freaks and goes on a rampage and kills Charlie so there's no human ties for her. Nineth, Edward stops her dumb ass and, like, ties her down, or something. Tenth, after convincing her of proper morals now that she's no longer mm-mm-good, they begin to fall in love naturally and then she is introduced to his family where she can be a proper member. Eleventh, no werewolves. Please pick your genre and adhere to it.

Doesn't that sound so much better? Honestly, I could write that. Take note, Meyer: This is how it should have gone.

Then I would be a fan. None of this mamby-pamby “I love you in spite of the fact that you want to kill me.” I—Please. Even Buffy and Angel had issues. Hell, even Buffy and Spike had issues. But it was still believable and realistic.

For, you know, a fantasy novel.

P.S. For those curious, my little sister made a full recovery.

Doo-dee-doo-doo-doo, Charlie Brown, doo-dee-doo-doo-doo...

What a clown, that Charlie Brown...

I'm waiting for the drama to dissipate from my life. I'll be waiting until I'm dead. And in the ground. Because then I won't have to worry about my funeral arrangements. (I want the song to be “Ding dong, the witch is dead”, by the way.) I'm totally going to worry about it right up until then, though.

I'm waiting for passive aggressiveness to become punishable by law. I'm waiting for people to realize that they are embarrassing themselves. I'm waiting for selective telepathy so you won't have to actually verbalize your intentions to the world. I'm waiting for whining to be punishable by a slap in the face without legal ramifications.

Of course, these are things that will never happen. I know you should be the change you want to see in the world, but I can't change people. I can't slap people in the face and say “You're not twelve!” I can't—well, actually, I could, but that wouldn't make my point. Because the whining usually takes place in a conversation where I'm trying to act like a therapist. I do believe, though, that if therapists slapped people and said “Stop that”, more good would be in the world. I think I'll look into that.

On a happier note, I am now up to 90%. For a while, there, I had difficulty breathing. I had to sigh to take a breath. I still do that from time to time, but not as frequently. I still cough, but only when I laugh. I think my lungs are still weak. But I definitely want to get back out in the world again. I want a freaking zen tea. (the drink, not the person. Lulz, possible mix-up.)

I also managed to revive my roommate A's turtle. She had this turtle who was... well, he was not animated, to say the least. I know turtles don't move a lot, but this one just did not, ever. So I put some wet paper towels under him and over him and he revived and started crawling around and climbed over my hand. I like him. I named him Oscar.

I'm also thinking of ways to rid the apartment of the smell of carcass. I don't mind dead things, but I do mind the smell. I don't think I could work in a morgue. Although I kind of want to be a medical examiner.

Also, this:

Why Can't I Talk About This Bitch Without Humming Bad Romance?

You know that old saying “If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all”? Well... “nice” is in the eye of the beholder. On that note, I will now talk about Katana.

Lulz, suspense.

I met Katana over two years ago (Actually, it was around the two-year anniversary that I came here for Kawaii Kon. I didn't keep track of the exact day.) in an online chatroom for Purgatory, the multi-fandom multi-player roleplay community we were both a part of. I had been banished from the internet for about a month by my parents, and when I came back and went into the chatroom, the first thing anyone said was “Hey, this is the Near!” I played Near, from Death Note, and Katana played Mello. As a result... Things.

If you've met Katana, you're probably her friend. You know why? Because Katana makes friends with everyone. Her record, I think, is about thirty-two minutes. Thirty-two minutes, and she'll have your phone number, Facebook account, and know at least three fun facts about you. Katana is very good at making friends.

I am not.

I don't really like making friends. I don't really like having friends. At Katana's point of entry, I had one (1) friend. BeccaTwoC and I had been friends for about four years – almost five, by my reckoning. I still sort of marvel over the fact that I was able to keep her for that long. (Because, yes, BeccaTwoC is my property, thank you very much.) I stubbornly avoid making friends because, frankly, I don't need that extra drama. (This was, by the way, my philosophy up until a year and a half ago. Now I'm fucked.)

My outlook on Katana was, “Okay, our characters are going to have to interact. Yes, she is crazy-happy, yes, she is overly-friendly. But I don't have to make friends with her. We'll just talk about our characters.”

This was a mistake stupid resolution, on my part. You don't talk to Katana just about characters. You know why? Because Katana would very much like to know your life's story, and she will hear it, come hell or high water – and if you are stranded in high water, you have time to kill waiting for the rescue boats so you may as well tell her. Save yourself the grief.

S-So, somehow we became friends? Or whatever? And now, suddenly I have four friends simultaneously? Or whatever? I'm not sure.

Oh, and Katana would like everyone to know that she likes zombies, even though she is scared to death of them (Ba-dum-bum-PSH!) and that Left 4 Dead is actually her game, but she is too scared to play it. But she likes zombies. A lot.

Also, she reads books, or something? I don't know. I tune her out. (Ba-dum-bum-PSH!)

(N-No? Honey, the post is about you... you should be excited, right? Right?)

(*Twenty minutes later* No, probably not.)

P.S. To whom it may concern, I am still sick, as evidenced by this post. And I am not amused. But I am feeling better. I'll try and crank out ZombieSlayer and BeccaTwoC before I'm completely healed, though.

P.P.S. Actually, the moral of this story is that Katana stalks people.

P.P.P.S But she prefers the term “friendly following”.

SHUT UP, DAD-BOAT, YOU'RE NOT MY REAL DAD!

Because I am sick, and therefor cannot go outside and have adventures, I have decided to write about my roommates. This topic only recently occurred to me because I just mentioned it (if that makes any sense).

I'm starting with Hamburglar. I'll work my way through Katana and ZombieSlayer. If I'm still bored/sick after that, I'll write about BeccaTwoC. And if I'm still sick after that, I'll force ZenTea to tell me his life's story so I can write about that. And if I'm still sick after that, I'll write about myself. But I have a very nice immune system when I'm not sick, and hopefully I'll recover before being driven to that last topic.

(Yeah, because I never talk about myself here. Ever.)

So. Hamburglar.

Hamburglar is kind of a contradiction unto herself.

She hordes comic books

She can quote anime

She plays video games obsessively until she is BOSS at them

She cosplays

She makes her own cosplay costumes

She has at least a small knowledge of every video game in the world

She works at GameStop (and is a girl)

She has two laptops that she runs simultaneously so it's like she has her own LAN party

She has, like, a 7.9 GPA

Now, all of these traits bring to mind mushroom-like gremlins that grow in their mother's basements. They are generally albino freaks, gather in darkened rooms to protect them from the harshness of the sun and the corrosive effects of oxygen. AND YET:

She's a theater major

She is tan

She has this wild curly red hair that goes out to THERE most days

She has friends

She goes outside

She actually has, like, a lot of friends. She always knows someone who knows someone.

She bakes

(She's actually making a chocolate-and-strawberry two-layer cake right now for Katana, who was gypped on her birthday)

She wants a Porsche Boxster (2003)

I met Hamburglar through Katana, because Katana would like all of her friends to be friends. She's... weird like that. I spoke to Hamburglar in a chat room for all of two minutes before I went “Yeah, peace” and signed off. A year later, I was crashing on her couch for Kawaii Kon 2010. A month after that, I moved in. And now we actually hang out one-on-one. (And by “hang out” I mean, we sit around waiting for Katana to get off work so we can do interesting things. Katana is where the party's AT. I—What? Oh. It's still about Hamburglar? Right. Okay. SHUT UP, I'M SICK.)

Summary: Hamburglar is the geek's wet dream because she is a hot girl who plays video games (like a BOSS), and actually ends sentences with “like a BOSS”.

Oh, and she cosplays Link, or something?

P.S. Now she's baking in cosplay. I don't know what to do with this.

RIIIICOLA! RICOLA, RICOLA, RICOLA!

Every day that Hamburglar works, and Katana works, I go with them. I sit in Narbes, have my tea, freak out random strangers, plot against BaristaBoy (when he is there) and have an all-around good time. Today, even though I was sick, and even though I wanted nothing more than to stay at home and contain my plague, I automatically got up and got ready to go to Narbes.

This was a mistake.

I got an orange juice and water (not together) and sat me down to read Peanuts. (I typically read Peanuts when I am sick. Today is no exception.) Because I tend to have a devil-may-care attitude when I'm sick, and hate everyone and everything around me because I can't breathe, I get into a Creative Discussion with Katana... and then almost got kicked out of the mall.

Yeah, you heard me. I waited until Katana's break so she could guard my table in Narbes, and then ran downstairs to Long's to get some Altoids and ricola. I didn't need a bag, so I'm carrying my purchases in my hands, and I'm power-walking back to Narbes. This, apparently, was suspicious behavior to the fat rent-a-cops milling around the mall. I had to cough on them and justify my purchases. Then I ran back upstairs.

After that little altercation, things got a little boring—except when I suspected these two kids had multiple parents. (There are these two little kids who come in every now and then with this guy who feels a little ~*FABULOOUSS*~ but they always go up to the counter by themselves and always argue about random crap. Well, today I saw them with that guy, another guy, a woman, and then a big bald guy. I discussed it with ZombieSlayer and we think that Sir Fabulous is their brother.)

I then got a call from NaziJerk's sister, NiceNazi. She told me that he forced her to call me to try and “talk some sense” into me. He was outside, and she said that we should talk about random stuff for a while, and to ignore any violent changes in tone on her part so she could act like we had a fight. NiceNazi is pretty awesome.

Oh, and then when ZenTea came in, I thought I was hallucinating. Yeah. Don't wear plaid with your work pants when your regular shirt is black or white and I'm sick. I will think I am going crazy. Which I did. I thought I was hallucinating from ricola.

I'm a sloth... I'm a cold sloth.

Today started out super awesome!

No, just kidding, I don't have a life.

Hamburglar and Katana used video chat to communicate across the room. We are clearly too important to use conventional methods... like speaking up.

1:41 PM: Katana is a couch.

1:43 PM: We are so interesting.

1:44 PM: My laundry is done! Oh the folding thrills I shall have!

2:02 PM: I've officially exhausted the entertainment value of folding.

2:03 PM: “Are we going to cosplay today?” “I kinda wanna. I wanna.” “Uhhh... maybe.”

3:38 PM: There is a bird outside our door.

4:04 PM: There is a bird. Outside. OUR DOOR.

Katana and Hamburglar chased the bird away. We went to Kahala, returned the Legend of Zelda game that Hamburglar borrowed for Katana, get Tekken for Hamburglar, get ZombieSlayer and prepare for awesomeness.

First, we decide to go cosplaying. We are going to go cosplaying, and do normal things – because normal things are so much more fun in cosplay. We walk to IHOP (in cosplay) and have pancakes (in cosplay). I put syrup on my pancakes, something I rarely do, and it was far too sweet so I didn't finish mine. I don't really like overbearingly sweet things.

On our way out of IHOP, we decide that it would be awesome to ride the tourist trolley (in cosplay). The tourist trolleys are usually populated with Japanese folks wanting to see a lot of the city. It's free but we view it with certain contempt because it's annoying. But today... we want to go on one.

But we were too late for the trolley. We had a sad. We decide to walk to the International Market. On the way, I spot a bike rack and decide to ride it. So I do. And Katana snaps a picture. Then Katana poses with it, and I snap a picture. Then Hamburglar, and then ZombieSlayer. We were just really awesome. This one lady saw us from inside a bar, and poked her head out to ask if we wanted her to take a picture of all of us with the bike rack. We agree, assure her we are not tourists, and pose. It. Was. Awesome.



But then... we got accosted.

Not by Spotter. We got accosted by “Homeless” Guy. First, he stopped us asking if he could show us around. We were like, “No, dude, we live here, it's cool.” But he didn't leave us alone. He stopped us again.

“Homeless” Guy: “I really appreciate you stopping, not everyone would. You know how it's been raining around here a lot?”
Us: “...No.”

It doesn't rain here a lot. It... drizzles. It doesn't even effect you.

“Homeless” Guy: “...Well, it has been. Anyway, I've been stuck outside with no place to stay, so I'm trying to raise money to stay in a hotel tonight. I don't want money for nothing, so I composed a rap song to sing for some cash. I know money's tight but any dollars you could spare would be appreciated—”
Us: “We don't carry cash.” (Lying.)
Hamburglar: “Yeah, it's dangerous to carry cash around...”
“Homeless” Guy: “It's not dangerous to carry cash around...”
Bek: “Clearly, it is.”

And we fucking booked.

He actually followed us to the street corner, until we crossed and then he hung back.

So anyway, yeah, then we went to International Market, which is fun. They had BIG FISH. Big. Pond. Fish. (Koi.) It was awesome.

On our way back, Katana and I decide to stick our feet in the building's swimming pool, since we've been walking for a long time. The water felt so good that we went upstairs, got swimsuits on, and I swam in a pool for the first time in over a decade. It was legen—wait for it—dary.

Conclusion? Everything is 100% more awesome when you're in cosplay.

Balls.

The big, unanswerable question: Why can't I (get back to) sleep?

I've had difficulty sleeping for a few years, now – five, that I recall. If there's such a thing as intermittent insomnia, I have it. Or Pain-In-The-Ass, Make-Up-Your-Mind Insomnia. When I moved to Hawaii, my sleep schedule was pretty great because it was six hours early. I went to bed at 1 AM, Hawaii time, but, really, I was going to bed at 7 AM, Maryland time. My bad. Now I'm used to the damn time difference and back to being awesome. (read: awesomely annoyed.)

For example, last night I went to bed – bed, not sleep – at around 1:30 AM. Could not sleep. Balls. I listened to music (the more screaming there is, the easier it is for me to go to sleep. DIM works wonders) on my headphones but am not feeling tired because... well, GazettE is awesome. And I'm getting into it. And head-banging. While lying down. (It's a gift.) So I take off my headphones and try counting things... like how long it's been since I slept through the night. Last time I looked at the clock, it was 3:38. I wake up today at 7:05 and cannot, I repeat, cannot get back to sleep. Balls.

There are, of course, various medications I could take or things I could do to get to sleep. I could stop reading about Lindsay Lohan and her various misadventures. I could stop writing about serial killers before I go to bed. I could stop reading about serial killers before I go to bed. (I don't have bad dreams or anything. Serial killers are just too interesting and I lay thinking about them for hours.) I could wrap a warm, chamomile-infested towel around my face before going to sleep. There was a vitamin in the pharmacy I used to work, called Sleep Factors that was good about getting me to sleep; I still woke up in the middle of the night, but I would always go back to sleep after a half hour or so... unless it was after 5, and then I just said fuck it and got out my lap top.

Personally, I blame my sleep issues on the universe. If Twilight would go away, Jersey Shore would stay in Jersey (It never should have left. No one really likes Jersey.), Taylor Momsen would realize that she is sixteen and not anything like Kurt Cobain or Courtney Love (Believe it or not, I consider her comments and style to be an insult to Courtney Love, and I HATE Courtnet Love. Skank.), the oil spill would clean itself up, and animal abusers would suddenly grow a conscious and have to feel bad for what they did, maybe I would get to sleep at night. But because there are prepubescent creepy girls and equally creepy moms, tanning beds in every state, little girls who still try to fit into their mom's clothing, idiots with oil and overall jackasses in the world, I won't sleep. I've decided it's a protest. I protest Twilight with my own self destruction.

Yessss.

And now, since my roommates are asleep and I have nothing to do, I return to my celebrity blog reading, my green tea and my tomato soup. I hope you all had a lovely night's sleep. (Jerks.)

P.S. OMG LOL Sam Ronson totally defended Lindsay to Joan Rivers via Twitter! TEE HEE.
P.P.S. This is my last blog entry, as I am about to shoot myself in the face for that post script.

VIVA ESPAÑA!

Whenever I decide to spend the day getting applications, something happens that makes it impossible for me to do it. Not... well, okay, not improbable, per se, but it wouldn't the best decision given The State Of Things at that point in time.

Today I actually got up, got ready and looked nice for application purposes. But I had a sore throat, so we stopped in Narbes so I could get a hot tea. Then I decided to alternate hot and cold, so I got a hot zen tea and a cold zen tea. And it was good. I felt better.

Then ZombieSlayer came, and we sat around talking (she, myself and Hamburglar). We went downstairs, but then the mall was closing (the bulk of the mall closes at 5 on Sundays, but Narbes doesn't) so we didn't get applications.

And then... The Thing.

As we went back to Narbes, I got A Call, and The Call came from someone that I did not want to talk with. And I never will. (DO YOU HEAR ME, NAZIJERK?) There's always that one person who can't get it through their heads that you don't want to talk to them anymore. Everyone has that one person from their past. Whether you like it or not, whether you realize it or not, everyone has one. And everyone hates that one. I hate mine with a passion best not described to an unmonitored group of readers (read: My mom), but he doesn't seem to realize it. I sincerely wish he would, because I'm tired of poking my palms with my nails and drawing blood. I'm also tired of snapping at my friends and local baristas because of this jackass.

I got The Call on my way to our table. It's The Voice I Hate To Hear. I stormed out of Narbes and paced the outdoors, shouting at him and being shouted at. I vaguely recall almost running ZenTea down on my way back. When I went back inside, Katana gave me permission to have an espresso, so I went up to the counter.

Lesson: Asking me, when I'm feeling pissed, if I'm “alright” is Not A Good Thing To Do. Just saying. The correct question, if you're concerned about my well-being, would be “Who do you want to kill?” That will get you a concise, almost polite answer. Take heed, ZenTea. I apologize for snapping at you. It wasn't your fault—except that you're a man. (No, I'm kidding. I don't hate all men. I hate blond men.)

But the espresso helped.

I still wasn't in the right mindset to make people want to hire me. Eventually NaziJerk will run out of numbers to call me from, because I block all of them. I look forward to that day.

Tomorrow everyone has off, so it will hopefully be a happy day with minimum reenactments of the World Wars. And a more interesting entry.

P.S. I wanted to make that little boy cry again. But I didn't.
P.P.S. ZombieSlayer doesn't like Bobby Flay. WHAT.

I do it for the lulz

The Sarcastics: A film by ZenTea.

In a world full of honest and straight-forward comments, they stand alone.

Fighting to confuse.

Using snark like it's going out of style.

Staring Oscar winner Bek, Academy Award nominee ZenTea, and anyone they happen to meet along the way.

Critics are calling it “hilariously indirect.”

“Impossible to detect honest sincerity.”

Opening year-round, at a Narbes near you.

ARE YOU SCREAMING IN YOUR HEAD WHEN YOU READ THIS?

To prove that I don't make stuff up to write about here, I have a very uneventful day today. I made plans last night to get up early and get ready to go around and apply to places, but... I got about four hours of sleep last night, collectively, and Katana alerted me at about 8:40 that I should get up. But I heard this in my dreams. I got up at 8:50, and was ready at 8:57, but... we didn't leave the building until 9:15. WHAT.

Because I rushed around and didn't really have time to... wake up, I was still mostly asleep when we got to Narbes. And then I fell asleep at the bank teller's desk at the bank by Narbes. Did you know they can't process transactions if you're asleep? When I got back, I had an espresso (to wake up, not to get drunk off of) and a zen tea. ZenTea, I suspect, was half-asleep when I made my order because he asked if I wanted the (hot) espresso shot in my (iced) zen tea. I loled.

Hamburglar had to work at 11, so she hung out with me for a while and played Crisis Core and I got to rant about the general short-comings of multi-fandom RPGs. Then she went to work and I doodled. I doodled.... things. And those things were magnificent. Then I went down and applied to places.

On the way into the main part of the mall, one has to walk past Whole Foods. People sit at the tables outside Whole Foods with their dogs. One of these dogs looked just like my dog, who is recently deceased. And it behaved a lot like my dog (aka, wagging her butt at everything that moved). I had a sad so I went back up to Narbes and bought a Godiva chocolate bar from ZenTea (split it) and told him about the dog. Then I went to Hallmark, dropped an application, and bought an Angel For The Dog Lover pin, which is now on my bag in place of my L pin.

After this, I was still sad about my dog, so I went back to Narbes, got a zen tea, and told ZenTea and ZombieSlayer (who was working at this point) that the dog was still there and I was still sad. ZombieSlayer gave me a hug. ZenTea's advice? “Steal it.”

Me: “...What.”
ZenTea: “Steal it! Just knock it over the head and drag it away.”
Me: “...I think its owners might take issue with that.”
ZenTea: “Eh. Small price.”

ZenTea is funny. He also drew this on my cup:

...Yeah.

There was also this bento lady at Narbes, so Katana and I got to have these little egg-chick things.

And then there was Curry House. And it was good. And I have a stomachache.

Bek Very Nearly Gets Abducted

If I were less “concernicus”, as Katana puts it, I strongly suspect that I would be in the cargo hold of some middle-class boat, waiting to be dumped in the ocean.

Yesterday I got a call from Someone about a dishwasher job I applied for on Craig's List. The name of the restaurant was not listed, but he told me to come in today at four to fill in an application. I said alright. He... spoke Hawaiian Accent at me, giving me directions. I say alright, because I don't want to say flat-out “I don't understand you! WHAT ARE YOU?!” I ask him, instead, to e-mail me the directions so I can have a typed up, non-typoed guide. He agrees and hangs up.

He never e-mailed me the directions. I check the ad and it is sort of in Ala Moana. I know where that is but I need exact directions. I waited until three today to call him, and another guy answers (also speaks Hawaiian Accent). Sometwo gives me... similar directions. I guess. I don't understand him, either. I set out in a rush, snap at Katana because I hate everyone and everything. It is now 3:48.

I set out (walking) toward Ala Moana boulevard. I get around there, call him and am informed that I am very far away. He gives me directions, but I am walking along a very busy street, there are people all along, and he is speaking Hawaiian Accent. (For those of you who are not in Hawaii, and have not actually heard a Hawaiian Accent for an extended period of time, it's very difficult to understand, especially over the phone. I'm sorry, but it's true. For me, at least. Especially over the phone.) I ask for the restaurant name, and he doesn't give it. He tells me that after I find Neverland by way of Robin Hood's barn, I will see a blue and grey building. This is the building. He will tell “Dana” that I am coming. He is not there, but “Dana” will let me in.

We repeat this conversation three times. It is now 4:08 and I am not amused. I hate being late. He directs me, sort of, toward the docks. I have gathered that the place is near the Hawaii Yacht Club. Okay. Sure. I like (looking at) boats. I happen to look down at the water, and I see fish. Yay.

But I still can't find the place. And he's still not giving me the restaurant name.

At this point, self-preservation sets in, and my brain goes wild (Sort of. I still maintain that I was in danger). I get suspicious about why he won't give me the restaurant name. I call Katana and tell her that I think he is being secretive on purpose to lure me in, kill me and commit crimes on my body. She said that if I am scared I should come home, so we can investigate the exact location and I can apply. I walk home (4:28) because Katana is going to work and Hamburglar is going with her and I don't have keys to the apartment and I also want a zen tea to soothe my hurt feelings.

I decide to pick up applications at Kahala mall because it's near Katana, Hamburglar and ZombieSlayer. They all work there. Couldn't be better, right? I had a list of hiring stores in my notebook that I got off the website. The website should be correct and current.

THAT IS BULLSHIT. All but one store turned me away, saying they weren't hiring. I put in an application at the exception, and then went into Champ's with the intention of applying. This was a mistake. I got in an argument with an employee about Kobe Bryant. Because he didn't like Kobe Bryant. (Who doesn't like Kobe Bryant? I ASK YOU. No, actually I don't. I don't want to know who doesn't like him. Because I don't want to know which of my friends are psychotic.) I'll go back and apply tomorrow. Hopefully he won't be there. It was all in good fun but I hope he's not there.

Oh, and a homeless man was going to attack me with his Converse if I went near him. I couldn't make this up if I wanted. I wish I did make it up.

The Ballerina Is A Lie

I was In A Mood this morning when I went to Narbes, for reasons I shall not disclose to my small readership, and I shamelessly took it out on ZenTea. (Tones are difficult to convey in text. Roll with it. I'm also paraphrasing; I don't remember entire conversations. DON'T CORRECT ME. Unless I'm really wrong.)

Before I go on, let me just state for the record that ZenTea is a nice person. He makes my drink (a zen tea, in case anyone was wondering) perfectly, and we usually split a Godiva chocolate bar and then decide if it sucks or not. (So far we like the mint chocolate the best.) I apologize for plugging you in a blog, dude.

Anyway, I go in with Hamburglar, who had to work. I ordered my drink, and a bowl of broccoli cheese soup. ZenTea has my drink ready before I pay, which is an impressive feat, and hands it over.

ZenTea: Here :D *when I don't immediately respond or communicate or look up, he apparently believes something is wrong with me.* .... Sup? You okay?
Me: What?
ZenTea: You look tired.
Me: So do you. What time did you get up today? (ZenTea lives on the other side of the island and has a two-hour commute. And he works the morning shift a lot.)
ZenTea: Five.
Me: *thinking: Boo, you whore* I got up at six after going to bed at four.
ZenTea: Why?
(Because I totally plan intermittent insomnia, of course.)
Me: I decided to see how quickly I can self-destruct.
ZenTea: *knows I am kidding, and laughs*
Cashier: *doesn't know I am kidding, and wasn't even a part of the conversation in the first place* How's that working out for you?
Me: …. *a pause for odd looks* Awesome.

Eventually, Cashier leaves and ZombieSlayer, who also works at Narbes, comes in like a tornado. She didn't know she was working today, and she got in slight trouble because she wasn't there on time. Her temper diffuses eventually (or at least it seems to). I come back for my first refill (I average about ten refills a day) and she tells me this story. I tell her about Hamlet and how I am a douche who doesn't understand pet death. I tell ZombieSlayer and ZenTea that I am working on this blog to compile material for a sitcom. They have lukewarm enthusiasm, like they don't think I'm serious.

Hey, guys? I'm totally serious. Bee-tee-dub.

I finished I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell. Lulz were had by all involved—and by people wondering what the fuck the girl at the next table over keeps laughing about. I suspect many of the Narbes patrons believe I have mental issues.

Throughout all of this, I am texting Katana, so I have the near-exact minutes of my later day.

5:25 PM: There is a jackass behind me playing computer games with sound and without headphones.

5:27 PM: He's not even very good. I'm better than he is. (Translation: He sucks like a two-dollar bitch.)

5:28 PM: There is a ballerina. Dancing. Around. The Cafe. What. The. Crap.

5:30 PM: Katana thinks I am on drugs. I tell her this is not so, because ZombieSlayer and TheGraduate also saw her. She exists outside of my mind.

5:33 PM: There's a new barista boy I've never seen before. I want to make him cry. Katana tells me not to; he's nice, and a coworker of hers. I'm not allowed to make her coworkers cry.

5:37 PM: It's taking a lot of effort not to—HOLY SHIT THAT GUY LOOKS LIKE TOM SELLECK (TOO EXCITED TO CARE ABOUT CORRECT SPELLING)!!

Hamburglar is done with work. She gets a drink and a brownie, and we go home, pick up Katana and go to Safeway.

Safeway is having a sale on bagels, by the way. Mine all have cheese on them and I've already eaten one. I got pirogis to keep me from eating all of the others.

RIP Hamlet(te)

Katana and Hamburglar's quail, Hamlet, died this morning. She was a button quails, and button quails don't perch but she did, because she had been hand-trained. She perched on shoulders, heads, and basically any surface that was big enough to support her. She was well-loved, and regardless of how much I dislike birds, regardless of my habit of using humor as a defense mechanism, there's no way to gloss over the death of a beloved pet.

I am notorious for avoiding emotional situations. As aforestated, I make jokes to diffuse the tension, regardless of how poorly they are received and how much of an ass I seem. It's a disease, and I'm not proud of it. (Okay, it's not really a disease, but it sure seems like it.) But anyway, this isn't about me and my issues. It's about that little bird that everyone liked so much, who lived her life as long as she possibly could because she loved her people so much, who had an interesting romance with the boy next door, and who would sing when we talked loudly in the next room.

Them And Their Stupid Boy Penises

Guys don't seem to understand why girls want a bad guy. They say that the good guys are better, that they treat you nicely, but it's not always true. Good guys lie to make you feel better. Good guys won't tell you when you annoy them, or when they don't want to be around you. They put up with it, giving you a false sense of security and accomplishment. Bad guys tell you when you annoy them. They tell you, flat-out. It's a refreshing change.

The general opinion on this is, of course, that no girl wants to be told that she's unwanted—but it's not true. I, personally, would rather know now, rather than a year down the line when we're somehow still just friends and making the bare minimum of contact. If you like someone, tell them. If you don't like someone, tell them that, too. Before they get their hopes up, before they believe otherwise. For God's sake, don't lie.

“But I don't want to hurt her feelings.” Not leading someone on will hurt them less than letting them believe something can happen when nothing will.

“Maybe something will happen eventually.” Bullshaviks, you don't like her and she's not changing. “But people CAN change.” Grow up, no they can't. Not the foundations, not the parts that will still be there in ten years. Will I still hate tomatoes? Yeah, probably. Will I hate rap? Yes, absolutely. Will I still be brutally honest? What do you think I'm being now?

Grow up, strap a pair on, and tell them it's not going to happen. And do it soon enough that no preconceived daydreams can take root, and the term “I'd like us to still be friends” won't end with a purse to the face. I don't know about the rest of you ladies, but I carry books in my bag, and I know how to use it.

Edit: There's a difference between "bad", "abusive", and "nasty to women."

Dunkin Donuts: A Quest

Sunday evening was 4th of July, but Katana had to work so we decided to celebrate on Monday (when everyone has off) by going to North Shore. Going to North Shore is, apparently, a bit of an undertaking and we need to plan a week in advance, which we did. We were going to have a picnic and get shaved ice from some famous place. And then! Disaster! ZombieSlayer got sick Sunday evening with a fever of 100.7 and couldn't come spend the night so we could go early. (read: before noon)

We were at a loss, but decided to still do something—in cosplay. Hamburglar then mentioned that she wanted to go to Dunkin' Donuts because she had never been there, nor had she eaten a Dunkin' Donut (I KNOW! I was shocked, too!). So we decided to go to Dunkin' Donuts—in cosplay. This is a brilliant plan and we agree it is the best ever.

Since every costume we have is that of a male (Hamburglar goes as Mello, Katana as Matt, and I go as either B or L from Death Note) and we are quite boobilicious, I decide to practice binding on Sunday night to prepare for Monday morning. I'm not very uncomfortable so I decide I am a flat success, and plan on doing it on the morrow.

This was a mistake.

Even if I had waited until the last minute to bind (it only takes me about ten minutes to get ready, versus Hamburglar and Katana's collective hour), and not done it right when I was finished with my make up, I would have still been in excruciating pain. Breathing is difficult when bound, and I have a whole new respect for Katana putting up with it for twelve hours at a time. I didn't even make it out the door. I put on a tight tank top under my shirt and deemed myself ready. (By the way, I was B.)

12:00 PM: We set out in high spirits, get all the way down to the car and realize no one has any idea where we are going. So we hike back upstairs. I look up the location on Google Maps, Katana takes a picture of the directions with her phone, and we proceed down to the car.

First of all, we're not sure how to get to the correct highway. We normally take H1 East to Kahala, but in this case we had to take HI West. Somehow we (Hamburglar) manage to find the highway and embark. Yay! Spirits are high, Katana and Hamburglar are singing Tic Toc (in Matt and Mello cosplay. Hilarity ensues and I record it.), when all of a sudden Hamburglar says the first of many, many terrible things:

“I think I was supposed to take that exit.”

Oh, god.

Well, no matter. We can reroute ourselves. And we did... twelve different times.

Let me begin by saying that Hamburglar is a GENIUS when it comes to getting lost. She is very good at finding where she needs to be after giving up hope. We wanted to find Kamehameha road/street/highway, and she found it after about twenty minutes. But not before we somehow end up in Waipahu, which is not where we wanted to be. Corner-of-the-Island No. 2. (First being Waikiki.)

Somehow, after circling through Waipahu several times, we find Kamehameha, and Hamburglar proceeds—but not before Katana says “I think that was the street we're supposed to turn on.”

“We're going this way,” I paraphrase for Hamburglar.

That was a mistake.

We reroute ourselves two times On Our Way To Dunkin Donuts this time. Hamburglar mentions we are supposed to drive through some mountains. What we end up driving through can only be described as Africa.

We, of course, sing the Circle Of Life, but only slightly as we don't know the words and don't speak any African dialects. After two hours of happy driving through the boonies, Hamburglar suddenly breaks our hearts for the second time.

Hamburglar: “Dude, we're going to North Shore.”
Katana: “Ha, ha, what?”
Hamburglar: “We're going. To. North Shore.”
All: (thinking) “How did that happen?”
Katana: “Isn't it ironic that we originally planned to go to North Shore, and then somehow ended up in it?”
Hamburglar and I do not appreciate her irony. North Shore is not even remotely near to where we want to go. Corner Of The Island No. 3.

After committing more than a few illegal traffic maneuvers, we call ZombieSlayer. ZombieSlayer, sick and weak and in bed, still has enough energy to scold us because there “is not a Dunkin Donuts in Pearlridge,” which was where we wanted to go. Hamburglar thinks there could be, after Katana consults several different address location androids, so we go back to where we were when Katana said she thought that was the road we were supposed to turn on.

At this point, none of us like one another anymore. We're very sick of the road, the car, and each others' voices and faces. Tempers are high and so are voices. Hamburglar pulls into Burger King for a rest because she has been driving nonstop.

****************(Note: These polite asterisks represent enraged arguments that are not fit for human ears. After the arguments, we are slightly more sweaty, and I am looking for food to refuel.)

I go into Burger King and order far too much food. I was really hungry; I hadn't eaten all day in anticipation of the donuts we all so badly wanted. Hamburglar and Katana follow within a few minutes, order food, and sit down with me to eat. We all feel better with food. We decide it would be great fun to play the Eclipse gamble... thing, since we all got large meals and had about three tickets apiece. I won a Whopper Jr and gave it to Hamburglar and she immediately cashed it in. Only for me to realize it had bacon on it when I started feeling nauseous. Blegh. She ate it REALLY QUICKLY and I felt better.

We set out again because, at this point, we are not going to let the donuts win. We argued, we got lost, we wasted more than three hours of our time (Oh, yeah, it's about 3:30 at this point), and got ZombieSlayer angry at us. We are determined to have donuts. We will not stop until we have the donuts. I make plans to buy one simply to punish and destroy. Katana has drool all down her face as she plans what she is going to get. We. Must. Have. Donuts.

So we call ZombieSlayer again.

As it turns out, the Dunkin Donuts is in Kailua, (Corner Of The Island No. 4) where ZombieSlayer's dad lives so she knows where everything is and knows exactly where it is. We promise to buy her a donut in exchange for her services, and she gives us directions.

YAY! We are on the road again! And this time with comprehensive, local directions! We know where we are going! We drive through a mountain! We go through a tunnel! We see pretty mountains everywhere! Dude, Kailua is really pretty! We only have to call ZombieSlayer once to confirm the directions! She gets pissed at us for cosplaying without her! We get to the shopping center!

“Dude, it's not there.”
“What?”
“The Dunkin Donuts isn't there.”
“Well, what is there?”
“Uhh, a Baskin Robbins, a Foodland, a Blazing Steak—”
“The Blazing Steak wasn't there before.”
“...”

What.

Yeah. There is no Dunkin Donuts in the entire state of Hawaii. NONE. Zip. Nada. There was one but it was closed. And replaced with a Blazing Steak.

We get Baskin Robbins to sooth our wounded feelings, and then go home.

Epilogue:
Hamburglar and I made a video, in cosplay, protesting Dunkin Donut's lack of establishment in the state of Hawaii. We then play Left 4 Dead, which I am stupendously bad at (but I did kill a tank and a boomer). Katana got sick and laid around. We hate Dunkin Donuts.

FML.

You know that rock in your gut that comes from having no idea what to do with your emotions? Where you can't decide between messaging someone or not, when you don't care if they're with someone else, so long as you're there, too, and where you make a complete fool of yourself and so whatever possible to talk to someone, even reading a boring book? That's where I've been every day for the past month.

Not only do I avoid such frivolity on principal, but I had not planned on this outcome at all. Marilyn Monroe said “A wise girl kisses but doesn't love, listens but doesn't believe, and leaves before she is left.” It's something I've lived by... and now I'm a proper fool. Espresso shots don't even help, because procuring them is difficult and a pain in my ass. And brain.