(And somehow Google knows about it. I’m really afraid that my computer is secretly a Dalek and is collecting information about me so that one day it can attack.)
Also, it’s Timothy Leary’s birthday. Not that I really care for him. I’d love to stop playing college and run around on acid all day. It’s not that impressive…
But anyways, I’m 22 years old today and it’s my last actually important birthday (technically it’s my “golden birthday” because I’m turning 22 on the 22nd). After this, there’s nothing to look forward to. Maybe being able to rent a car, but who does that?
(The answer is real people with jobs and reasons to travel because they do important jetsetting-type things. I am not one of those people.)
What’s worse though is that I haven’t even been able to celebrate my birthday because I’ve been studying for a treacherous midterm all week and won’t be free until Monday. Plus I have to get my stupid driver’s license renewed and I hate Pennsylvania because they won’t just take my awesome picture from 4 years ago and slap it on a new license (like it’s sooo difficult).
But I like that picture. Why is PennDOT so cruel? :(
On the fun side of things, my town had its annual Halloween parade on Monday night and because PennDOT is in fact incompetent and can’t finish construction on time, they had to re-route the parade right down my street, so [my boyfriend] and I got to sit on our front porch and watch it. (I also got to drink lots of beer and buy toys from the vendors.) Here’s some pics:
Thus concludes my birthday saga for now. Adios, amigos!
(It’s me! But you probably realize that by now if you’re reading this. Excellent deductive skills, amigos.)
After a brief hiatus caused by sickness, a lack of medication that I need to be a functioning human, and general laziness, I am once again flooding the internets with lols, crazy, and the usual overdose of nonsense. It’s only been like 2 weeks, but it feels like 2 and a half. I’ve missed you all. Have you missed me?
I’ll just assume you’re nodding at your computer screen thinking, “Yes, Alanna. I’ve missed you terribly. Never leave again.”
Well, have no fear. I’m finally back from buying cigarettes and I’m here to stay. (Unless I get sick again. Or just get busy.) But if you really wanna blame someone (other than the people who come to school sick… jerks), blame the person I talked about in my last post. That’s why I didn’t have any medicine for the past 2 weeks. Without that shit, I’m not an actual person.
(More like a very irritable and sweaty sloth… maybe. I don’t know what sloths do.)
Regardless, my time away gave me the opportunity to lie in bed and watch LOTS OF TELEVISION. Like, wayyy too much. I watched the entirety of “Pretty Little Liars” and it gave me some serious perspective. For instance, never hang out with men you don’t know very well by yourself. Even if they pretend to be your friend and say they’re cousins with your dead ex-girlfriend. Or if they’re your sister’s husband and they’ve been recording you and your underage friends for years without your knowledge. Or even if they’re your own boyfriend and you know them really well. You just never know. One minute, you’re making out in their cabin, next you’re running through the forest after finding out they’ve written a manuscript all about you and your friends and the murder of your other friend.
Basically, the moral of that show is that no one is to be trusted and everyone you know is probably trying to kill you. (Even your dad.) Also, you might be a murderer because you took too much Adderall. You just never know…
If you don’t already know about this show, don’t discount it as just another dumb teenage drama. (I just realized this post is an excellent example of what “White Girls Be Like”. It’s like when someone says the title of the movie during the movie. Yayy!! Haha.) It’s actually really good, but also is a veritable minefield of lessons for young women. Like not trusting anyone. And if you get an anonymous text from “A”, you’re probably going to die. It’s also a good lesson for men: if you even think there’s a bit of drama in a girl’s life, RUN THE OTHER WAY because her whole life is madness.
In fact, watching this show for the zillionth time made me think about how I probably love it so much because I also attract craziness and trouble into my life. (Not like murder and stalkers, but drama nonetheless.) It’s like Bell Biv Devoe’s “Poison”. And it makes me feel kinda bad for the people in my life. For example, last week was absolute madness because I did something bad and my mom came through and acted all crazy to my friends and my boyfriend broke up with me for like a day and everybody was all out of sorts for a while just because of something I did. I realize that particular scenario was my own fault, but still. It’s not totally easy being around me. Bad things happen a lot. That’s why I wish that I could just be honest with my teachers (if they’d even care) about what happens in my world and why I can’t always be counted on to be a good student.
The only drawback to a power-marathon of this show is the sudden onset of high-level paranoid thinking. The kind of thinking where I assume the old lady in line at the grocery store is secretly listening in on my conversation so she can send a team of seniors to break into my home. I’ve been thinking that everyone in my life is ultimately out to destroy me and I have some advice to others plagued like myself:
1. If someone talks a bunch of shit on someone else in front of you, they probably talk shit on you.
2. Some people are just pretending to be blind.
3. No one ever wore a black hoodie, black pants, and black gloves planning on doing something good. Be wary of such an outfit.
4. People can be super manipulative, so don’t tell your secrets to anyone because they probably want to blackmail you.
5. Always check your room for cameras, microphones, or any other surveillance equipment. Someone might be listening.
6. Text signatures are stupid and trite. Just say, “Hey, it’s ____. New number.” Or something like that.
7. If you ever get an anonymous text trying to blackmail you, throw away your phone and just move to another place. It’s not worth 5 seasons of trying to avoid being murdered.
Because one day you’ll realize that everyone you trust conspired to murder your best friend and you’ll be like…
All in all, I’m just trying to prevent you from heartbreak. Because I love you all. <3
(There are thirsty people in Africa… Talk about selfish.)
Okay, so I drink Natty Ice (or “Natural Ice” if you prefer), and yes… sometimes it does taste like liquid piss and/or shit. But not always. Sometimes it just tastes like poisoned water.
(These are the moments you cherish.)
I have chosen this particular beer in life for one very simple reason: the beer store ONE BLOCK AWAY FROM MY HOUSE sells an 18-pack of 16oz cans for only $11!!!!! How could anyone pass up that kind of deal? It even tells you on the box how many that adds up to in regular cans so you don’t have to do any math!! (Very nice touch, by the way.) Plus, Natty Ice has a 5.9% alcohol content.
Regardless, this is the type of purchases one must make in college when one only has one dollar in one’s bank account. Unless you’re the type of person who only drinks occasionally or can get drunk off of like 4 beers (which, by the way, I don’t believe you people are human beings, no offense), buying cheap beer is important. You need to use your hard-earned money for other things. Like textbooks, rent, or crack cocaine. (Not that last one, though. Unless you’re into that.)
But then my asshole friends come over and they’re all like, “Ew, no thanks. I’ll just go buy a $40 case of Angry Orchard” (or some such nonsense). On one hand, I’m happy that I don’t have to share my beer. But on the other, I’m kind of insulted. Like… how are you a 21-year-old earning minimum wage AND a beer snob? Granted, I’m not friends with any hipsters, but they might as well be with the shit they drink. I mean, I guess that’s cool if you wanna try out all those fancy beers, but please don’t insult my Pabst Blue Ribbon. Seriously. People do this. And I honestly believe it’s because they don’t understand life yet.
Maybe they don’t remember the days of sitting in the liquor store parking lot, pooling everyone’s change for a $15 case of Extra Gold, which would cost $20 because the over-21 person would always beat you. Maybe they forget passing around $7 bottles of Vlad or pawning their Wii to get liquor money for vacation. Maybe this type of thing only happened to people like me and my friends. But it made us who we are. And we’re better(ish) for it.
So what’s your drink? Do you spend zillions on fancy beer, or pretend the piss water isn’t so bad after all?
(I realize that he’s already dead, but he was basically dead for like 30 years before he died. If I had to do a stand-up routine right now, it’d just be bitching about everything/everyone in a raspy old voice and I’d be wearing all black.)
So my uncle died a few months ago, but he was pretty important I guess so he’s being buried in November in Arlington National Cemetery. I personally think it’s a little weird to keep a body around for so long (3 months and counting), but Arlington is like a super exclusive club for dead people and there’s a waiting list and even bouncers (military guys). My uncle’s name was Carlton Sherwood and he was a famous journalist guy and won a Pulitzer Prize. He was really cool and nice to me, even though I only knew him for maybe the last 10 years of his life, but he helped me out when my stupid local newspaper tried to anally rape me in my freshman year of high school (2nd paragraph). (Click that. I wrote the 2nd paragraph myself, bahaha.) UPDATE: They removed my shit except for the quote. But that’s life I suppose. Wikipedia is a dick too.
Anyways, his funeral is gonna be all exclusive and whatever and you actually have to register your name. (I think so that the C.I.A. or something can background-check you, just in case you would try to kamikaze a funeral. Although, it wouldn’t make much sense considering the person is already dead. Now I’m rambling.) But his best friend was Tom Ridge (former governor or Pennsylvania, U.S. Representative, and first Secretary of Homeland Security), so he’ll probably be there. I should have met him once but my mom and step dad didn’t invite me to their wedding… dicks. Also, there is an actual real-life possibility that George W. Bush might be there. By the transitive property, there is an actual real-life possibility that I might die of excitement/awe. He is my hero.
So all this started making me think about my own funeral and death (especially since meeting George W. Bush would pretty much trump everything on my bucket list and I could die happily). I started listing my final wishes to [my boyfriend], and it began to sound like a George Carlin stand-up routine. Slightly less bitter, though. I always thought it would be funny to make a themed funeral entitled “Putting the ‘FUN‘ Back in ‘FUN-ERAL‘”.
NOBODY STEAL THAT. SERIOUSLY. I WILL COME TO YOUR FUNERAL, BRING YOU BACK TO LIFE, AND KILL YOU ALL OVER AGAIN. Then I’d kick your grandchildren in their tiny faces.
I’d put it in my will that people can only talk about awesome shit I did (which will be a lot, possibly), and that they could only play fun upbeat music of my own choosing. Also, I was gonna say no open casket, but then I thought about how funny it would be if I had a “Weekend at Bernie’s” setup where I’m sitting up in a wheelchair wearing sunglasses and maybe a string around my wrist so you could pull on it and I’d wave.
I don’t actually own anything, except my car, so I figure everybody can just have what they want. First come, first serve. But if I ever become a famous writer, I want all my journals to be locked in a golden chest with my favorite drinking cup and one of my giant pill bottles a la Ark of the Covenant. (Don’t quote me on that. My history might be a little off.)
(On a total side note, the other morning I was sleeping and someone kept knocking on my door for what felt like an hour and eventually, I got so frustrated that I got out of bed, started yelling about how if someone hasn’t opened their door after you knock like 50 billion times then they probably don’t want to answer the goddamn door, and after I angrily stomped down the stairs, I opened the door and a state police lady was standing there. I was so shocked, all I could say was ,”Oh.” Turned out she was looking for somebody else, but I felt really bad and tried to apologize but she was all, “Sorry for bothering you,” in a really nice way and left.)
Regardless, we can all take a little life/death advice from George Carlin:
(Because you’d get to dress up in costumes, drink beer and set off fireworks, and also because I don’t believe that knowledge of sharks should be limited to only one week… they are an ever-present danger.)
My mind is rather akin to that of a child’s, and therefore I like to imagine impossible scenarios that usually involve me as a super-famous rock star/actress/writer or as dictator of the world. I would be an excellent dictator, just so you know, and you would all love me.
There are quite a few things I’d do as Dictator of the World. Like eliminate almost all taxes, for example. I’d cut the government down to nothing and do this whole private-sector-rate-deduction-and-hiring-incentive-thing that I don’t feel like explaining right now. Also, I’d make it so that you could buy beer and liquor at every single proprietor, and make parking tickets illegal.
So, as Dictator, my “Dictatorial Cabinet” (or whatever you’d call that) would be as follows:
Ronald Reagan would be brought back to life and serve as my Vice President.
Morgan Freeman would be Secretary of State because he could convince anybody anything just by talking (also he might be God).
Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson would be Secretary of Treasury since he knows how to get that skrilla.
Jason Statham would be Secretary of Defense and Homeland Security because he could definitely kick everyone’s asses BY HIMSELF.
Larry David would be Secretary of Comedy and Czar of Nonsensical Rules. (I feel like I would need this, given my unorthodox ruling style.)
Anything else is to be determined. Things would be changed, but the Shark Week thing is forreal. Also, I wouldn’t let the NSA creep on anyone, so you’re welcome in advance.
(Besides the fact that laziness is a lifestyle, and I live that life to the fullest. Doing absolutely nothing like it’s 1999.)
A lot of people talk about how my generation doesn’t wanna do anything except watch television or play on our phones (they are not wrong), but sometimes I actually work towards something and then get derailed because everyone and everything is stupid. (Not you guys, though. You guys are perfect in every way.)
I haven’t had much time/ambition/ideas lately because the universe is trying to kill me with stupid freaking occurrences that are completely out of my control. (Or perhaps my own fault.)
1. I am in a state of un-laughingness that I cannot seem to escape.
Generally, I’m in a constant state of laughs. Everything is hilarious (except when it’s not) and I live to enjoy the funny. Right now, however, I am all seriousness and I’m not sure why. I’ve heard that with borderline personality disorder, you tend to dissociate from your feelings to avoid dealing with unpleasant situations, so that’s a possibility. I can’t really tell if I’m sad, angry, or just hungry. (Like one of those sad middle-class teenagers on Tumblr.)
2. I’m in a battle of wills with my father and I think I’m losing.
So the continuing saga of “Alanna Versus Daddy” marches onward. He’s being immature and telling me that my smoking and drinking and general lifestyle choices are wrong and I’m saying, “Why don’t we just talk this out over a couple drinks?”
(But he doesn’t drink, so it would be more like, “Why don’t we just settle this over a few hours of rigorous exercise, sharing stories about our high school glory days, and wrap it all up with ‘The O’Reilly Factor’ and a prayer?”)
Because he would totally be into that.
Except for the fact that he’s actually really fucking pissed and all he keeps telling me (only through email because my father won’t answer my calls) that I’m “incapable of telling the truth” and have never learned “obedience”. There is a definite possibility that he is slightly correct, but only in certain situations. For instance, if I’m walking home from the bar and a cop asks me how much I’ve had to drink, I’d respond with, “Only one glass, officer. Thank you for your concern.” Or if my mom looks at my eyes and asks what I’ve been doing, I say, “Oh my goshhhh, nothing! I’m just tired, okay?!?”
Regardless, I miss my daddy, and even though he is mad at me I still love him and want to be friends. I would totally wave the white flag for my homie.
3. Sad things just keep fucking happening for no goddamn reason!
I don’t think there’s ever been a time of peace in the Middle East, so I try to avoid news about it, but there’s some bad guys over there doing some bad bullshit and it’s really uncool. Plus, Joan Rivers died, and that’s so fucked up.
(The list of people I’ve always wanted to meet upon becoming famous is rapidly shrinking. If Bob Dylan dies, I don’t even know what I’d do. Probably die of heartbreak, which I think is just called “Broken Heart Syndrome” but somebody should definitely come up with a better name for it. Stupid scientists…)
Also, [my boyfriend] is always at work or school so we have very little time together, and my professor assigned a paper about a “religious political cartoon” but I never ever ever can comprehend what the hell those stupid things are trying to say, so I shall surely fail.
4. The ghosts in my attic are back, and they’re being super uncool.
I went up there a few weeks ago and had a chat with them, telling them how I get that they need their own space and it’s probably shitty being dead and they can totally hang out as long as they’re not too loud or scary. But just like a ghost, they’re being loud, stomping around the attic when I’m trying to sleep, and moving stuff that I don’t want moved.
They’re like children, these fuckers.
5. My friends are ignoring me.
I don’t know if it’s on purpose or if they’re just busy BECAUSE NO ONE WILL FUCKING TALK TO ME. What’s the deal, guys? Are you mad? Did I do something wrong? What can I do to help?
BUT I DON’T KNOW BECAUSE NO ONE WILL ANSWER. Maybe they got together with my dad and were all like, “Yo, how funny would it be if we just totally stopped talking to Alanna and just let her go crazy wondering why? Let’s all do that because we’re jerks.”
(That’s probably how that conversation went down.)
Thankfully, I’ve been making friends with my neighbors (who, despite being much older than myself, are all awesome and friendly and like to smoke cigs and drink with me UNLIKE MY SO-CALLED FRIENDS OR FAMILY!!!!!!). So that’s been cool. It’s good to be around people that are similar to yourself.
Basically, all this nonsense has kept me from blogging and/or responding to comments and reading other peoples’ blogs. I need to find more humor-oriented blogs, so if anyone has any suggestions please let me know. Meanwhile, I’ll be here. Waving onion grass around my attic to keep the ghosts away, and crying in my bedroom about how not even my parents wanna talk to me while I re-blog sad pictures on Tumblr.
Such is life, I suppose. (At least that’s what Jason Bateman keeps saying to me in my dreams. He is so wise inside my brain.)