Junior Year Sucks Major Dick.

Just saying.

This blog is called [[insert complaining here]] for a reason. And a damn good 'un at that. I complain. Profusely. Here we go. If I type this quickly enough, I can get back to Facebook-stalking the shit out of my latest male interest and still have time to make and use my damn flash cards.

At the same time that my school switched from a block schedule (four classes per semester, ninety minutes each a day, for a total of eight per year) to a, I dunno, regular high school schedule (seven classes a year, forty-five minutes each a day, the same classes all semester), I switched from taking regular old "smart people" classes to taking goddamn college-level classes. Fuckin' bullshit.

I'm now dealing with AP Calculus AB (not too terrible, probably my favorite subject overall), AP English 3 (not terrible in and of itself, but the workload can be irritating and I honestly don't give a flying fuck about symbolism or whatever the fuck and am of the opinion that most of it is utter bullshit), AP US History (which has potential for being mildly interesting if it weren't for the son of a bitch who teaches it), AP European History (tolerable, if only because the teacher is awesome), Spanish 3 (much more of a bitch than Spanish 1 and 2, which I really should have expected), Theater 2 (my easy class... for now; I think later this year when we do the show/production/play/whatever the hell my teacher is calling it today, I'll just have a breakdown), and Chemistry (I only slightly tolerate science- and even that is only for the cool shit- and this class is all the worse because, as a state-required class, it is super-easy and incredibly tedious; at least the teacher likes me).

That said, I'm just in a terrible mood today, so you probably shouldn't take any of that ranting at face value. I've been feeling like shit all day. All fragile and sickly and whatever the fuck.

I'm just going to get offline and make some flash cards now. I hope you have fun doing whatever non-AP fun shit you're doing. Fucker.

100 Day Picture Challenge

You know that ridiculous 100 Day Picture Challenge thing that's been floating around on Facebook? Well, I decided to do it... on a blog. I hope you've enjoyed this little bit of shameless self-promotion.

Level Up!

The nerdy guy I've been pining for the last few posts? Yeah, he asked me out. It was kind of adorable, really. We do this thing- it's sort of like a game- where when the conversation begins to wane, we'll ask each other questions. The questions asked range from "Favorite ice cream flavor?" to "Koopa Troopa or Diddy Kong?" to "If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?" to "Which do you value more, intelligence or sense of humor?"

We'd had a bit of an, er, "exchange" earlier in which he called me pretty, so one of the questions I asked was, "Do you actually think I'm pretty?" He answered yes. My next few questions were fairly arbitrary. I told him it was his turn to ask questions. His first question was one he'd already asked in the past (ice cream flavor).

Then, he asked what I would say if he were to ask me out on a date (hypothetically speaking). I told him I'd say yes, "hypothetically speaking," of course. Then he asked me out (realistically speaking, that time). And I said yes.

And then we spoke of flan.

Relationshit Rambling

So there's this guy. Same guy I was describing last post. He calls me "m'lady" on Facebook, or sometimes "madame." He uses old words and lolspeak in the same sentence. I don't know him like I knew Pansy Boy or Macarrones or even the President. The extent of our interaction has been Facebook conversations. Over 3000 IMs and messages have been exchanged, according to Facebook.

But I can't make myself be rational like I usually am. With Macarrones, it was all, "I'm not attracted to you in a romantic manner, therefore we shouldn't date." And with Pansy Boy, it was, "I can't stand you and your sense of humor ninety percent of the time, and my life isn't a romcom, so we shouldn't date." With the President, it was, "You don't feel the same way. I get it. I'm moved on now." Edit: Bahaha, yeah right. "Moved on," my ass.

But with this guy, I can't be rational like that. I can't just say to myself, "You don't know him." And it sucks. I'm not good at just giving it all up and being happy, especially after the whole Pansy Boy ordeal and all my new little rules and self-discipline about using the l-word. I'd say, "Maybe he's here to tell me I have to break those rules," but, like I said before, my life isn't a romantic comedy. My life is a shitty indie film. There's a difference, and I accept that.

And at the same time, I don't even want to try to be rational. Anyone else in my situation would sit here and listen to Lily Allen and smile like a fool and say, "Fuck the work for my online class, I'm getting on Spiral Knights." But no. I'm me, so of course that wouldn't work.

The fuck do I have a blog?

By the way, the title of this post should link to the most awesome virtual mix tape ever for the state of my mind right now. You're welcome.

Ten Reasons My Friend Xeno Kicks Ass

Well, I have this friend. His name is Grayson, but I don't allow anyone to call him that. If you meet him, you have to call him Xeno, otherwise I may or may not crucify him. He and I have only seen each other in real life a few times, and have only had one physical conversation, but we're pretty tight online. Thank you, Facebook. A few moments ago, I told Xeno to give me something to blog about. He told me to write about my badass eighth grade friend who can't spell for shit. I told him I'd get right on that.

1. He's a criminal mastermind.  
Xeno is what most people would call unethical or immoral. He prefers other words, like "commie" and "awesome," but I know the truth. All this means he has a black hole where his heart should be. In a good way.

2. He's freakin' hilarious.
This Xeno guy makes me laugh. Really hard. In the face. He and I have exactly three metric shit-tons of inside jokes, and the end is anything but near. Honestly, if Xeno were a comedian, he would... okay, so maybe he wouldn't be too successful, but I'd totally download illegal versions of his albums from the Pirate Bay. (I joke! I would never do such a thing! Heh.)

3. He doesn't make fun of my Britishisms.
He really can't make fun of my British spellings and slang, otherwise he'd be a complete and utter hypocrite, but I still appreciate that he doesn't insist on American word usage. It gets irritating when I'm innocently (or not-incredibly-innocently, if you count certain conversations I've had) chatting away on Facebook and someone nails me with a "You spelled that wrong! It's 'organize,' not 'organise!'" and I have to point out that they are, in fact, a cultural jackass.


4. He's open about himself. 
Almost scarily so. Xeno is not afraid to tell anyone certain things about himself (or so it seems to me, the chick who hides with her secrets in the shadows of the alleyways off the streets of society). Since we first spoke (or, rather, typed) with each other, he has told me many things that, if I were him, I would have kept under lock and key.


5. He doesn't tell me to eat meat.
Not once has Xeno told me that I "have to" eat meat. This is quite the feat, as most people are constantly telling me that there's no way I'm getting enough protein without ingesting flesh (despite the fact that I actually get more protein than your average fleshy, or meat-eater, most of the time). Xeno honestly just doesn't give a shit what I eat.

6. He gave me a present.
He's threatened to give me a number of gifts (a machete, a vibrator, and the beginning of the zombie apocalypse, to name a few), but a few days ago Xeno actually went through with it! I am now the proud owner of a pocketknife. It has a little scissor thingy that amuses me to no end. That is all on this topic.


7. He lets me ramble.
Most people give me about thirty seconds to ramble and then decide to cut me short with an "Artemis, get to the damn point already." Not Xeno. Today he actually encouraged me to tell him a story about my cats. Encouraged! The fact that Xeno allows me to ramble without cutting me off makes me enormously happy.


8. He uses proper grammar.
Most of the time, that is. Xeno also has this tendency to use proper capitalisation, something almost unheard of here on the internets. I have a feeling that if he didn't suck at typing, he would probably spell things correctly as well. As it is, he frequently makes typos and has been known to say such things as, "Fuck typing."


9. He understands the word "privacy."
Xeno gets that some people don't share everything. There are even a few things about Xeno that I don't know. There are (for sure) a lot of things about me that Xeno doesn't know, and unlike some people (ahem, I'm talking to you, Pretty Princess), he doesn't demand that I inform him of my every little thing. Granted, I usually bitch to him about most things anyways, but it's nice to know that he understands secrecy.


10. He makes awesome cookies.
I'm not even kidding. Xeno is the Queen of Baked Goods. I swear to God, he must put, like, unicorn blood and magic in his cookies. And crushed sleeping pills, because after I ate about twelve the other day, I was exhausted. Those chocolate chip cookies are definitely in my list of the top ten tastiest things I've ever eaten.


Those are the ten (main) reasons my friend Xeno kicks ass, even though he's a muffinfucking jackwagon communist who deserves to burn in Hell.

Facebook Fiend

If you're my friend on Facebook, you can probably access my USPS account online. How? Here are the security questions you can choose from on the USPS website, and here's how easy it is to find the answers.

What is your mother's maiden name? Ha! Just go to my profile, find the section where it displays my parents, and there you go.

What is your favorite movie? You know where you put in all your favorite movies in your profile? Remember how last time you watched Titanic you wouldn't shut up about how much you love that movie?

What is your favorite sport? If it's your favorite sport, you probably play. If you play, you probably mention it at some point or another.

What is your favorite food to eat? (A.D.D. Moment: What else would my favorite food be for?) Again, I've probably mentioned my favorite food a thousand times. Every time I eat it, I'm all, "OMG!"

What is the name of your pet? Are you for serious? All you have to do is troll my profile for "I'm feeding the damn cat again. God, I hate you, Bootsy." I mean, Jeebus, you don't even have to be my Facebook friend- just read through my blog archive!

What is your favorite holiday? This is a crappy question. There aren't all that many holidays- it's a matter of trial and error. Again, you don't even have to be my Facebook friend. Just guess.

In what city were you born in? (Another A.D.D. Moment: You don't have to say "in" twice, stupid.) This is a lot like the "mother's maiden name" question. Skip to my birthplace on my Facebook profile and type in the city.

USPS's only saving grace (and also its curse) is that you have to have your username in order to reset your password. I'm sure we've all forgotten our username at some point or other, and it's right frustrating to be told you can't even get an email reminder for it. Also, if you reset your password, all stored credit card information will be deleted. Just in case you decided you wanted to use my credit card to buy a huge P.O. box for 12 months for $600.

If you have my username, you probably have my email address. It's easy enough to figure out the answers to those questions as well- all Facebook-able within an hour or so.

In other words, I really hope none of my Facebook friends have any interest in my USPS account, because if they do, I'm completely screwed.