Fate and the New Year

Here's hoping your new years isn't completely catastrophic and you mildly miss whatever fate has hurled in your direction.

Avoiding fate as well,

M

Plush Terror

Currently waiting in the queue for a shower (who isn't?), sitting in a very familiar yet extremely disconcerting room (crashing in my immaculately organized younger sister's room) accompanied by an unsettling sock monkey, and tackling whatever dignity I have left.

On that note. 

I have a bone to pick with whoever thought of the design for sock monkeys.

They're completely off. 

Maybe it's the fact that wherever you sit in the room, whether the monkey is facing you or out, it seems as if it's aware of your presence. Not paranoid here, folks. Well, hardly.

Or the fact that their smiles take up approximately two thirds of their faces, and at that, they're just really big red lips. The color of that ridiculous shade of red they always use to represent blood in movies like 300 where the audience is going "well that's not right, is it" but we all just accept it anyways and continue to enjoy watching nearly naked men rip each other apart. It's a good thing we're all such historical buffs in this country, or else that film wouldn't have made it with the general audience. 

And don't even get me started on the limbs. Or the tail. Completely disproportionate. Or the fact that its butt has the same pattern as its face. I could elaborate, but we'll leave it at that.

Am I the only one observant here, or just the only one to rant about it?

In any case, I wish you all the best, as tonight, a well-guarded sect of the order of the sock monkeys will find me in this immaculate room and do something rather terrible to me while you are all sleeping and dreaming madly. Be comforted by that thought as you snuggle up with your Elmo doll. And remember--don't be alarmed when Tickle Me Elmo suddenly decides to launch an assault on your assets. And topples the government. You won't think his giggles are adorable then.

Constructing fortifications around my bed,

M

Befuddlement

Avoiding the situation,

M

Last Night I Dreamt I Went To Manderley

Nope. Last night I dreamt I was eating a can of Scottish Heinz beans. And it was utterly tragic and beautiful. Beautiful, because I was eating a filled roll with beans inside, tragic, because I deigned to wake up at a most inopportune time in my dream.

Bloody Hell.

Still dreaming of Scottish beans,

M

PS. Now I need to dig up an old copy of Rebecca as well. Feeling extremely stretched in two unsatisfying directions. Bothered.

Knight Dreams

There's just something about S. Carey's "All We Grow" album that makes me want to dream. Makes me want to stop whatever I'm doing and draft an endless supply of futures and cross my fingers. Makes me want to twirl my hair around my fingers and never stop until one of them comes true. Of course if I spent my whole day doing that, the only outcome would be a very sore hand and ridiculously curly hair.

Well, yesterday I was entirely tired and not exactly interested in writing anything of interest on here, finding it difficult to even hack something out. And then it came to me. I realized today that although I started this blog to be honest, I've instead come across as nebulous, and not altogether forthwith. See, when I started it, I didn't realize that entirely destructive nature putting personal information out would have on a person. It's quite like slapping a piece of your own soul onto paper and then asking for it. 

Baring your soul. That's the tough part, isn't it?

Maybe not. I think it's the judgement we associate with baring our souls, well at least for me. What are they thinking right now?, how do they really feel about it? and so on and so forth. [Now that was a prime example of rubbish punctuation. Although, I am an ex-literature major so I feel entirely entitled to do whatever the hell I feel like doing with punctuation.]

So. Back to the baring my soul bit.

I don't like it one bit, but that doesn't matter at the moment. Because discomfort moves people. Changes people. Challenges the existence of the cosmos and reorders galaxies. And so I'll let you in on a good portion of my dreaming yesterday: it was spent dreaming of Scotland. No surprise there, really. At all. I intend to live there someday, and hopefully within the next four years. The next four years, you say? Well, it seems a bit of an arbitrary number to the untrained eye [and a bit of an arbitrary number to the trained eye as well I might add] but I figure by then I'll have finally finished university and have been afloat for at least two years consolidating everything and putting two and two together. Which is completely exciting to me and just around the corner. 

But then I stop myself and think about what I'd be leaving. 

Family. Friends. Let's be honest. Everything. 

Those little winks and nudges, that feeling of the fall breeze sweeping through the concrete alleyway, that bitter cold smell of winter, the ringing laughter of so many memories quietly falling at my feet and swirling through my head. The fact of the matter is, I'm going to miss you. At the same time, I have to ask myself when and if it will really happen, have to keep my cards close to my chest and play them in a poker game with destiny.

On that light note. 

The thing is: Scotland's a dream. Like so many others I keep locked inside and hidden away until I want to take them out and really look at them. Really realize what they mean. Sometimes I feel like there's a knight poking me in the side, threatening my dreams with a claymore and cutting them to bits. But then I realized something. This knight doesn't have a claymore. He doesn't have arms. Or legs. What's he going to do? Shout at my dreams? Bite the legs off my dreams? I don't think so. See, that's the thing about dreams. 

If you keep them in a place silly enough, nothing can hurt them.

Getting bled on,
M

Melodies and Prose: Gungor

I can not get over this song right now, just brilliant prose, brilliant melodies, and extremely haunting. Written from the point of view of God to his bride. Gah, man this makes me burn.

Is This Day Over Yet?

I've just started and restarted this post several times. At least one of them ended up being a That's What She Said conundrum of cosmic profundity, and as I don't wish to shove that one on you (quite yet) so I've backspaced again. And again.

And again.

Well. It's been a long day. Too long. Almost as long as--

Scratch that.

Let's try this again. The length of the twenty four hour period which delineates a set period of qualifications in time and space has been uncommonly high for any set period of twenty hours.

 Well. 

I spent far too much time riding in a car home from Christmas which caused me to spend far too much time reflecting and thinking on things that don't really require my time of reflection or thinking, causing even more reflection and thinking on those very things, spiraling into a never ending infinity of inward thought that should not have occurred in the first place. Needless to say, I fretted about things that were not to be fretted about and dreamed about things which were not to be dreamed about (but I say to hell with whoever thinks I'm going to stop dreaming about things that shouldn't be dreamed about after all they are my dreams anyways and they can shove it). 

I did manage to catch a terrific dusk in the midst of it, so that pretty much balanced out whatever hole I'd dug myself into concerning life, the universe, and everything. 

So. It's just been long. Okay guys? 

Demarcating the space between today and tomorrow,

M

Happy Christmas

Holy Holidays Batman!

Tonight, while you guys are doing whatever the hell you do on the eve before christmas, my family and I will be partying hard the Danish way. Sounds completely rad, but it's more of a let's hold hands and move in alternating circles around the christmas tree while singing carols.

Not pagan at all. Or ritualistic.

I think.

Whatever it may be, its a riotous fun time with family making fools of ourselves and seeing how fast we can move our circles without taking out Grandma and Grandpa. The thing is, these guys are kind of hot rods.

So high velocity=very common around the christmas tree.

It's alright to be jealous. I won't hold it against you.

I raise my pint to you on this very merry christmas.

Dancing like a European,

M

Commercialization: Heinenken and the Handlebar Mustache

So it's not a beard. But I can still appreciate it. Can I hear a huzzah for the handlebar mustache?

Mastering the Art of Winking

Ever see someone commit a horrible attempt at winking?

It's the simplest thing: a wink. One eye closing rather quickly while the other remains open. Not exactly rocket science, per se. But for some, the proper wink is a grand achievement. Instead, both eyes close at the same time, or one closes incredibly slow, or you see that twitch in the corner of their mouth as they try to close one eye.

Or my favorite: the overabundant winker.

The winker who doesn't realize that you caught it the first time and does it at least five or six times to make sure you've caught the hint. Of course, by this time, everyone else in the room has been cued into whatever hint they were attempting to make. 

You know how in kindergarten they make you bring mirrors to class so that you can learn how to properly shape vowels with your mouths? I think they should dedicate at least 5 minutes of that portion of the class indicating how to wink properly.

So that the rest of the world will know you're not having a fit. 

 Winking and not blinking, 

M

PS. Actually keep winking how you wink. 'Cause I think it's kind of cute. Honestly.

Oops

 

Sometimes I do insanely ridiculous things. Well, usually I do insanely ridiculous things.

Let's be honest about that. 

But it's only vary rarely where I actually catch myself doing those things and realize the full impact of those insanely ridiculous things. And stop myself. 

Let's be honest again.

I'm being particularly nebulous at the moment, mostly out of sheer embarrassment, but I'm sure you can get the gist of the insanely ridiculous thing I did simply by looking at the gifs above. This time, though, unlike the so many other times I've let myself wander off the deep end into a surprisingly thick layer of blue jello (it takes a long time to sink to the bottom of that pool and believe me--depravity knows no bounds); [wow that one got away from me] this time I find myself stopping myself.

As one does.

Well, now that it's been said (and not really at all), I've textually slapped myself in the face and told it to stop doing the things that it does. 

So I shall move on. And you can go back to doing whatever it was you were doing before you happened upon this personal note-to-me.

Right then. Glad I got that off my chest.

Breathing easier,

M

Commercialization: Bundle of Joy

His face at the end is priceless. And this isn't even a mastercard ad.

Handwriting

I just realized that the font on this blog is horribly neat. If you were looking at a real specimen of my work you'd spend half of the time you would have spent cleaning the fuzz between your toes to decipher the code that is my handwriting.

In fact, you might have to call in an expert.

My older brother was obsessed with calligraphy when he was younger, so he picked up this ridiculous avant garde cursive style. When people see his handwriting they weep with joy and are reminded of a more simple time. He's lefthanded. He shouldn't have beautiful handwriting. Isn't it an unwritten law that lefthanded people have to have an ink mess following their compositions?

I'm righthanded. And my personal font looks like something from a Kruger film.

Probably spelled that wrong. (I run away from scary things because the images become cemented in my psyche. I'm extremely paranoid. But hey--at least I'll survive the zombie apocalypse. And probably save you as well.)

You can thank me later.

I have a tendency to change my q's into g's and link whatever vowels I have to the consonants. So essentially what you see is a string of consonants and questionable q's. Don't even get me started on cursive. In high school, I had a class where my teachers decided that writing in cursive used the brain in a way that printing never could. Oh, it did alright.

After trying to write the word "barbarian" three different times in cursive I threw in the towel.

Who the hell thought it would be okay to make an "r" next to a "b" in cursive? It's virtually impossible. Well, highly probable for the general populace, but I find I'm the particular exception in this case. Mayhaps some day I will have literate handwriting.

Until then I'll keep waving my chicken-scratch flag.

Scratching away and Blotting my paper,

M

0 to 60 in Ten Seconds

As I was surfing the web today, admittedly dreaming of things yet to come (and mostly things that probably won't happen), I came across a good quote. Okay, it's a little hokey. I'll admit that. Usually I run in the opposite directions of these things, often filling my mind with nonsensical material by jumping on tumblr or wikipidea-ing something of no consequence.

Superman's weakness was kryptonite. Mine's Wikipedia.

Ever get that feeling that there's a wealth of knowledge at your fingertips just waiting to be discovered? Well, I do. Unfortunately, I can't be satisfied by reading one entry. Instead I find myself pulled to article after article "oh look toothbrushes are linked to the gun powder treason and plot (maybe not)" and so and so and so on and so forth. What would have been a two minute scan of an article evolves into an analysis of the chaos theory. Or the number of husky hybrids in existence. (Actually happened last night.)

SO. Back to the hokeyness. Usually I run away. Book it. Erase it from my memory. Laugh in its general direction. But tonight, I said what the hell, and threw caution to the wind.

Foraging forward as it were.

Well. Here it is:

I think it's the end that gets me. The beginning--it's what it is. It's the end of the quote that gets me and inspires me (also part of the reason I even started blogging here). "Don't be afraid your life will end, be afraid it will never begin."

So, I've decided. I'm planning on taking too many pictures, laughing far too much, and loving like I've never been hurt. Because that's the thing about life.

You get one shot, and it's over like Nicholas Cage's career. In other words: Don't screw it up.

Move forward, move on, get over it, and have a blast doing it. No regrets. (Insert something else highly cliche here--sorry folks.)

Also. Another thing I plan on doing: Crushing too hard. As a friend once said, "Whenever I think something is impossible, I remember that they once gave a TV show to an extremely fake-looking alien named Alf."

Crossing my fingers and Dreaming big,

M

Starting Over

Well, I've had blogs in the past, and let's be honest, they got a bit...odd. They were essentially a place to rant or rave, funny anecdotes, and just overall impressions.

This time it's gonna be different. 

I'm planning on using this as a chance to just write my thoughts out. A journal of sorts. I guess we'll see what happens. Probably hilarity will ensue. Probably tears. Probably geekdom. Probably philosophical. Probably surface-y. Probably ups. Probably downs. Cause that's the thing about life. 

It's thoroughly unpredictable. And let's be honest.

I love it. 

So, here I'll be. The only lacy lumberjack in Northern MN dreaming of Scottish accents. 

Much love,

M