Omegle is amazing sometimes...

Stranger: i had my left leg removed and replaced with celery

Stranger: t's called a cellerization

You: do you have the desire to smear peanut butter on your leg and eat it?

Stranger: this way i plant myself and intake nutrients through soil instead of eating

Stranger: occasinally yes

You: will you still poop as usual?

Stranger: yes, its a very organic bio-shit

Stranger: i can, and quite, eat my own excrement

Stranger: *quite often

You: is it tasty?

Stranger: its a neutral taste, like noodles without broth

Stranger: but lets get down to buisness

Stranger: asl?

You: vegetarian with a taste for celery

Stranger: Fucking cannibal go get help!

NYC Observation #1

Cashiers at grocery stores don't try to hide how miserable they are. This is most noted when they don't bother to tell you your total and assume that you're paying attention to the checkout screen. Sorry, I'm usually too busy thinking about the delicious food I'm going to cook and eat when I go home.

Simple Joys

I often find it's the simplest things that can make me happy even if only for a moment. I like to doodle a lot. Sometimes, I have the urge to draw and color with crayons. I always draw the same thing. Green grass, pink or red or purple flowers, a square two-story house, trees with brown trunks and green leaves, fluffy blue clouds, and a yellow sun. From time to time, I'll add random things here and there, but nothing much. I don't have crayons here. Instead, I opted to download an iPod app that would allow me to doodle with my fingers. It's not as fun, but I still enjoy it.

To me, writing is on the same level. When I doodle, it's usually not for anyone to see. Writing is the same. I write for no reason other than for something to do and to express myself. I've given up on claiming that my writing is any good, though I know it's better than many others'. It's something to take my mind off of whatever it is I'm stressing out about at the time or a way to think more about something.

I think I was very close to forgetting how important those things are to my sanity.

Become a Fan!

Why is "Being Alive" a Facebook page?

My Favorite Dead Baby Joke

What's worse than seven dead babies in one trash can?

...

...

...

ONE DEAD BABY IN SEVEN TRASH CANS!!

Bumblebee Haiku

A haiku from my notebook, dated 12.12.2008:

Fuzzy bumblebee,
ignorance keeps you flying.
How blissfully free.

I do it for the lulz.

Sometimes, it's funny to go through your ex's LiveJournal archive to read entries he wrote after you broke up with him. Read and LOL.

what is it about me? why do people fucking push me away? what am i doing wrong?

---

"So what you're saying is that you don't want to date me because I'm too nice."

"um.. yes"

Someone grab the gun please.

---

so uh yeah like the flowers (which you were too lazy to put in a damn vase) i got you, i guess this all died too

for someone who thought that "hugs and holding hands was the greatest thing ever" you seemed to be retracting those words

and for someone who was single for 2 years and wanted a boyfriend now all of a sudden wants to "not be tied down" by anyone.

so in essence i give you what you want and then you turn right back around and throw it all away.


i'm fucking done. i cannot win. i guess i really need to be an asshole more often, maybe then i'll be able to hold a relationship.

comments = off. i just needed to rant.


Yes, I actually did break up with him because he was too nice. And because he was clingy and way too affectionate and super cheesy romantic. Also, because he told me he could never care about someone the way he cared about his ex.

Fashion Faux Pas

I am not wholly against leggings. However, I do believe that the only time it's acceptable to wear them is when the top covers the butt and continues to cover it if the wearer bends over. If you wouldn't wear an ass-revealing skirt/dress, then you shouldn't wear leggings with short tops. Then again, I suppose many girls would air out their asses for the world to see.

I suspect the reasoning behind its accepted status is that skin is being covered; hence, it is not as revealing as I believe. The problem with that logic is the leggings are so tight, there is little left to the imagination. Not only that, but more often than not, there is either no underwear or simply a thong being worn . Maybe my aversion to thongs--and things up my butt, in general--has something to do with it, or maybe I'm a logical human being who doesn't think seeing a jiggling ass in my face as I walk up the stairs is attractive.

I think there are two "deeper" reasons for both my disdain for leggings and the question of why girls wear them without question.

1) I would never wear leggings in the the aforementioned fashion and still feel comfortable. I can't wear anything shorter than mid-thigh, and if something is so short as to only reach mid-thigh, I'd have to wear tights. The acts of walking or sitting down could expose too much thigh and, therefore, increase the potential of seeing ass. In my opinion, suggesting sexuality is better than exposing it. I am not the girl who wears a miniskirt with a thong underneath to be on display at a party while she eats the face of some stranger as her grabs her (nearly) bare ass. That is certainly a sight I will never forget.

2) It is a Colgate-only phenomenon. For the past four years, I've spent approximately eight months of out the year on this campus. For eight months, I see the same more-attractive/fitter-than-average and more-conformist-than-average people. It's not often that I see girls wearing leggings with short tops paired with Uggs while I'm away from here.

Combining these two explanations gives me hope for the "real world". While I'm still a student at this small, liberal arts university in the middle of central NY, I'll bitch and moan, but in only a few months, I'll be away from it all. Then, I'll find another fashion faux pas to rant about.

Writer's Block, Idea #235

Describe the most boring job you've ever suffered through.

In the summer of 2004, between junior and senior year of high school, I was a paid intern at St. Luke's Hospital for approximately six weeks. Each week, interns were rotated between departments in order to get a broad idea of what happened in a hospital. It was a stupid concept, and I didn't learn anything. Except how to properly fold towels.

The week spent in the sterilization department in the basement of the hospital was the most dreaded time for all the interns. Midway into the internship, I was designated the sterilization intern. I saw how surgery tools were sterilized in industrial-sized machines and in the small microwave-like machines immediately before they were sent up to the operating room. It was kind of neat how all it seemed to take for good sterilization was a crap-load of steam. On the first day, they allowed me to sterilize for a few hours. The rest of the day and for the rest of that week, I was stuck in a room by myself with a large load of towels.

Imagine a hamper on wheels that was about 5 ft x 4 ft x 5 ft full of freshly washed and dried faded, navy blue hand towels. I stood at a large metal table, rolling a lint brush on every single towel--both sides-- and folded each twice into a neat rectangle. Most had blood stains that hadn't come off in the wash.

The best part of folding the towels was knowing that they were going to be unfolded for the sterilization process. See, the surgical tools were folded in towels, then put in the sterilization machines. Towels with tools stuffed inside them would be sent to the operating room where everything would be stained with blood, then sent back down to the basement to be cleaned. Tools and towels separated. Tools sorted. Towels folded. Tools go in towels. Tool towels are sterilized. Tool towels go to operating room.

One day, they forgot about me until the last half hour of the day. They let me leave early to take lunch.

Mini Win

A small achievement is when an academic department approves your idea to read and write about blogs for course credit.

Irrational Fear #1

On a NYC subway train, the seats closest to the doors have two different kinds of sidings: metal poles you can stick an arm through and a wooden panel. This fear only includes the former.

Imagine you are sitting in the seat closest to the door on the subway train. The train is packed with people sitting and standing, and you're wondering how clean the person is in front of you who's holding onto the bar over your head. The train stops. A rush of people push their way out of the doors while others push in. Next thing you know, you feel a sharp pain in your side. The train doors close. You poke at your side, and you suddenly realize you're bleeding. You just got stabbed by a stranger, and you will never know who did it or why. During rush hour, no one looks at each other and they're just trying to get where they need to be. Someone could stand on the platform, reach in, and stab you without ever getting caught. Not only that, but after the doors close, you'll be bleeding until the next stop which could be after crossing the East River.

You should think about that the next time you choose a seat on the train.