Lonely high=some drawings

sorry this is a tiny post.
I'm kinda outta my mind right now.
I don't know why I did this.

Chinese Food

I hate chinese food.
I love chinese food.
AAAAGGGGHHHHHHH

I've never had this problem before a few months ago.

I've always loved chinese food, one could argue that it's always been my crack. Since I was, like, five, I've always ordered one of two meals; egg drop soup with california rolls, or lo mein with general tsao's chicken and a spring roll. I'd always finish every bite, and be perfectly filled and happy.

HOWEVER. 

I stopped eating it for a while. I was busy with moving across the country and I also had a horrific eating disorder, which all pretty much ruined my appetite for everything. Then, August of this year, when I had settled into my new home and was pretty much recovered from le bulimia, I just really started wanting chinese food. I just remembered that it existed, and I was like, holy shit I need chinese food RIGHT FUCKING NOW. 

So my mom happily drove me to the local Panda Express, and although they unfortunately didn't have california rolls or egg drop soup, they had an abundance of my favorite noodles and general tsao's chicken and spring rolls. I ordered it, and on the car ride home, I was so fucking excited it wasn't even funny.

When we got home, I shoved the food in my face pretty damn fast. So fast, in fact, that I didn't notice I'd just eaten about half my weight in greasy Chinese takeout. I remember it quite clearly. I was in the middle of chewing my very last bite, and suddenly I just felt my stomach screaming at my brain that it was about to fucking explode. It was as if I had just swallowed one of those little capsules that you get in goodie-bags when you're a kid; the ones that you put in water and after a few hours it turns into a foam dinosaur or a crab or something. It didn't look like too much before I ate it, but I swear it expanded in my tummy to a point where I was nearly sure I'd have to get my stomach pumped.

My stomach:

I didn't understand. I was basically recovered from my eating disorder, so it wouldn't make sense that I was still sensitive to food. Had my stomach shrunk? It made no sense. Nevertheless, I spent the rest of the night in the fetal position, clutching my abdomen, trying not to vomit.

Since this experience, I've ordered from Panda Express a total of three times. Three times. AND THE SAME THING KEEPS HAPPENING.

WHAT THE FUCK, STOMACH? WHY WON'T YOU LET ME EAT MY BELOVED CHINESE FOOD?!?!

So now I'm seriously scared to eat Chinese food, because I'm afraid of the horrific stomach ache I get when I eat it. Even so, I still crave it constantly.

Dear Chinese food,

Stop making my stomach flip its shit. It didn't do anything to you. 

-Courtney

Dear Stomach,

Stop flipping your shit when I eat Chinese food. It's the same stuff I've been eating since I was a little kid. It won't make you explode, it's your own fault that you're racist and don't like asian things; don't even get me started on the problems you seem to have with Indian food. I swear, one of these days we're taking you to counseling so you can get over your racism.

-Your Goddamn Owner

I'll be deaf by the time I'm 30

So I spend probably 99% of my life playing or listening to music. That includes while I'm sleeping. The only time I ever really don't listen to music is in PE, and it's an incredibly boring and hate-filled hour and a half. In class, I will sit there and listen to my teacher, with an earbud in my left ear. I've trained myself to function normally while also listening to music constantly on full blast. May I also add, I listen pretty exclusively to a vast array of death metal, black metal, punk, and grunge.

What I look like in class:

 What I'm actually like:

 I realize it's a very real possibility that I'll be completely deaf by the time I get my first gray hair. The level of volume plus the genres of music I listen to can almost assure this. However, this will not stop me. I'll be like Beethoven. I'll be deaf as a corpse, but I'll be writing music like a motherfucking boss because I can feel vibrations from my instruments. It'll still be really depressing, because then I'm not sure if I could sing anymore. 

Will that stop be from listening to music 24/7 on full volume? 

Hell no. 

Just realize that if I speak to you, in my ears, I can still hear you. It just so happens that your voice will be mixing with those of Shaun Morgan and Infernus and Trey Azagthoth and all those motherfuckers. I'll still be paying attention to you, so don't worry.

Unless you're reading this 30 years from now....then you might have to tap me on the shoulder and use sign language.

Periods ruin my life

MEN!! THIS POST IS ABOUT THAT TIME OF THE MONTH. IT IS NOT GOING TO BE PLEASANT. YOU CAN READ IT IF YOU WANT TO, BUT DON'T SAY YOU WEREN'T WARNED.

I am speaking for every single female out there when I say periods can go fuck themselves. 

Never in my untainted young mind could I ever have fathomed the horrors I would experience when I got my period. 

First period ever (story time!)

I was eleven. I am completely aware that there is no convenient time to get your period, but I got my first period ever ON A FUCKING PLANE. I was with my little brother and my grandpa, who were both very inexperienced when it came to Aunt Flow. I had never experienced cramps before, so when I started feeling them, I thought somebody was stabbing the inside of my intestines. My conclusion was that I had to take a dump. So I went to the airplane bathroom, pulled down my shorts and panties, and lo and behold, a giant ass blood puddle had shown up right in my underwear. I was absolutely flipping shit. I had no idea what to do. I ended up stuffing about half a roll of crappy airplane toilet paper in my panties, and I sat for the remainder of the 4 hour plane ride in complete and utter horror, convinced I was bleeding onto the Continental Airlines' nice seat.

Now, my ADD is difficult to deal with as it is. But, on my period, I become this retarded chick who can't even read. Wanna see the online math homework I've been working on for about an hour?

Yeah. That's how bad my ADD gets. I swear to god I'm trying as hard as I can. 

And, instead of being like THIS:

Oh! What have we here? Homework from my wonderful school? 

I cannot wait to engage in such fabulously educational activities!

I'm like THIS:

My uterus is giving me cancer and I don't have enough cheese nips.

I don't know about other girls, but my cramps are almost unbearable. Often, the pain literally makes me cry, and I have an incredibly high pain tolerance. Imagine a very strong midget repeatedly punching you in the lower stomach for five days straight. I'm essentially debilitated when I'm on my period.

I'm not even going to say that much about the blood. What is there to say? I mean, your blood is literally spewing from your pussy lips in a barrage of nasty.  

The end. Boys, count your blessings.

Be yourself and stop judging people. STAHP.

So I got the idea for this post after reading this post, written by one of my super fabulous besties Amanda. Go read that post. Then come back.

Did you read it?

If you're too lazy to go over there and read the damn post, Let me give you the gist of what it's about. Basically, it's describing something Amanda, Audrey, and I experienced the other day, usually known as judgement. She goes off about how a certain group of adults gave us one look in a public area, and they immediately began to move away from us and whisper and stare, due to the way we (well, mostly I...) dressed and wore our hair and carried ourselves. Then, as there was a large grand piano in the area where we were, and I decided to play the most complicated classical piano piece I've ever learned; a piece that only professionals usually learn, let alone a blue haired, combat boot wearing, dirty-mouthed teenage girl. I played Arabesque no. 1, by Claude Debussy, who is my favorite classical composer.

Those judgmental motherfuckers got set straight in a jiffy.

Wanna look at me and assume I'm gonna amount to nothing in life? Suit yourself. Bitch, I'm gonna be a tattoo artist/musician, and I'll make shit tons of money, and unlike 90% of americans, I will be happy.

I'm basically just saying all this jazz because for my entire life, I've been judged for being myself. Most of my friends get judged for being themselves. I think it's bullshit that we tell children to always be who they are, because as soon as 'who they are' becomes something even mildly outside the social norm, we barate them with hatred and judgement, and we tell them to change themselves. Oh, you want to be an Astronaut! That's amazing! You want to be a doctor? Shoot for the stars! You want to be in a rock band, maybe pierce your ear a few times? WHAT IN THE GOOD NAME OF THE MERCIFUL LORD'S PANTYHOSE HAS POSSESSED YOU IN SUCH A HORRENDOUS MANNOR TO FORCE YOU TO WANT TO ENGAGE IN SUCH LOW-LIFE ACTIVITIES SUCH AS BEING YOURSELF?! YOU ARE NO LONGER MY CHILD! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!!

And for all you people who are offended by this post because you "have a reason to judge", or something like that, I have a little bundle of words for you:

If you are racist, sexist, homophobic, uneducated, insensitive, or just an asshole who thinks everyone should conform to society, either get your priorities straightened out, or go fuck yourself.

How to dye your hair blue like a sexy person

Step 1: Acquire hair dye

Go to the store and buy the shit outta that hair dye. Hells yeah, you buy it HARD! Use that money like you mean it! FUCKIN BUY THAT SHIT, GOD YES.

Step 2: Go home

This is probably a good idea, as I do not believe it's much fun to dye your hair smack in the middle of a beauty supply shop. You also might get kicked out and/or arrested for public disturbance. Just sayin, it's always nice to majorly discolor your hair in the comfort of your own house.

Step 3: Put on some shitty clothing

Yeah, knowing you, you were probably already in shitty clothing. However, I'm talking shit that you look at and say, "Why the hell haven't I thrown this out yet?" You don't want to get dye all over your nice clothes, or even your mildly hideous clothes. If the clothes you've chosen make you look like a dirty hobo, you may move on to the next step.

Step 4: Put that dye on your hair!

You should probably use some sort of tint brush and gloves, but whatever, you're probably a rebel if you're dyeing your hair, and rebels don't need safety precautions. Use your bare hands if you want to look like you just jacked off a smurf.

Step 5: Wait

You must let the dye process in your hair for at least an hour. I leave my dye in for several hours. Feel free to do work and be productive, or if you want to be like me because I'm so cool, entertain yourself by making derpy faces. When making retarded facial expressions, make sure you aren't wearing any makeup. This ensures that nobody will take you seriously, as there is absolutely nothing attractive about you. This way, everyone can just focus on the level of derp you've achieved.

Step 6: Wash dat shit out of your hair

After a few hours, rinse out the extra dye that's all up in your head. Use cold water, as warm water will un-dye your hair. This is the least fun part of the dyeing process. It's all like-

*rinse rinse rinse*

you- Done!

hair- Lol no, you missed a spot. Now I'm all sticky.

you- Not a problem, I'll just rinse that part out again.

*rinse rinse rinse*

hair- Nope. 

you- What the fuck? I just washed you thoroughly twice.

hair- Did you know my favorite number is 42?

you- What the hell does that have to do with anything, hair?

hair- THAT'S HOW MANY TIMES YOU MUST WASH ME BEFORE YOU CAN RID ME OF ALL THE BLUE STICKY SHIT YOU PUT IN ME, BITCH.

After that, it should look something like this.

again, makeup is for pussies.

Step 7: Clean up the horrendous mess you probably made

Shut up, you know you made a mess too. My bathroom looks like I murdered a bunch of blue raspberry jolly-ranchers.

Step 8: Make a stupid blog post about dyeing your hair blue

.......kthxbai

why you may or may not want to be friends with me

I'm extremely bipolar. That is not a self diagnosis

One minute I'm all smiley and happy. I don't care who you are, I love you. I am maternal and I will kiss your booboos. I will tell jokes and be the most amazing person ever.

Then suddenly, I'm the single most terrifyingly hyperactive bitch in the world. Can't keep up while I run in circles at 40 mph and scream at the top of my lungs? Sucks for you.

Then, I'm absolutely awful. I'm sarcastic and I only open my eyes halfway because I hate looking at everything. No matter how nice you are to me, I will still respond sarcastically without so much as an eyebrow twitch, and I will blow my cigarette smoke right in your face. I won't even laugh when you choke on all the shit I just exhaled into your personal space, because I hate everything and laughter is futile.

And suddenly, I'm a depressed lump of tears. My heart will hurt more than if you were to smash a baseball bat over my ass. Nothing even has to happen, my brain will just be like SUICIDAL TEARS CRY WEEP YOU HATE YOUR LIFE BITCH!

Then I'm really shy. I hide behind my hair and stay so quiet, I hardly breathe. But, if you touch me, I will not hesitate to swat away your hand with the force of a thousand tortured souls.

I'm kinda offensive

if I know you believe in something, such as a god, I will make fun of you. Lovingly, but still.

If there's something wrong with your makeup or clothes or something, I will tell you. I do it because I refuse to let anybody I care about walk around looking less than what they were going for. However, people interpret it as "lol you're ugly"

I swear like a trucker

...that is all

I'm spontaneous to the point where I think it will negatively affect my life one day

In 8th grade, I chopped off two feet of my luxurious blond hair, because I looked in the hallway mirror at 2 pm on a saturday, and decided I wanted short hair. My mom almost threw up when she saw me with my hair just barely longer than a pixie cut.

When I was a little kid, I started screaming like a banshee in the middle of quiet reading time. Why? Because I realized nobody could stop me until it had already been done. Needless to say, I got in trouble.

Sometimes I go to the store and think about shanking the cashier and stealing all the cigarettes on the shelf behind them. Once I literally had to run out of the store to keep myself from doing it.

I'm a perv

I will touch your body, and I will do so in the creepiest way possible, because it entertains me to see people's creeped-out face.

I can make a dirty joke out of anything. Anything.

Last but not least, I blog about my awkward life to people I don't know....

The non-musical sides of a few of my favorite musicians

Alexi Laiho from Children of Bodom, just being extremely hilariously sexy. See? Death metal is awesome.

Hahahaha ADTR...

I just had to put both these meshuggah pictures in here. In case you don't understand the one with the cat; 'meshuggah' means 'crazy' in yiddish. But I believe now it means, 'the best fucking death metal band ever'.

Pink floyd. Why are they dancing like retards in this picture? Because fuck you that's why.

Jimi Hendrix. Dat smile though.

I have several Kurt Cobain pics, because they're all hilarious. 

Shaun Morgan, from Seether, my single most favoritest band evar. This is sexiest man alive, as can clearly be seen in this image.

yes, technically this is the album cover for Aphex Twin's Windowlicker, but seriously, it just gives you that horrific, creeped out feeling, where you want to look away but you can't. This depicts his personality fabulously.

all pictures thanks to google images

Motherf***ers be stealin my pencils and sh*t

You know what I think?

I think Motherfuckers keep stealing all my pencils.

This is a constant problem that I've been experiencing.

First off, this is what I believe your average Motherfucker looks like:

This creature is responsible for the infamous unexplainable tangling of earbuds, to the suspicious disappearing of bobby pins and hair ties. They vary in size, from the length and width of a quarter, to the size of a very large dog, or possibly a small deformed polar bear.

Lately, I believe one particularly irritating Motherfucker has been following me. One that takes my pencils.

I CANNOT MANAGE TO KEEP A PENCIL IN MY POSSESSION FOR MORE THAN A FEW DAYS.

I believe that when I'm not looking, a very small motherfucker takes my pencil and fucking eats it. That's the only explanation I can come up with. I've gone through at least 10 pencils within the last two weeks. That's a pencil consumed by a motherfucker for every single day I've been in school during that time. 

THE MOTHERFUCKERS! THEY'RE EVERYWHERE! HE'S CLIMBIN IN YO WINDOWS! SNATCHIN YO PENCILS UP!

More posts with The Motherfucker coming soon.

How to paint a beautiful landscape, according to my experience

I'm completing a landscape for YAA. This is how it's been going.

step one: Ignore project for 3 weeks.

step two: Acknowledge project. Get mildly worried. Put it off due to the illusion that hiding from project will make it go away.

step three: Go out to Michael's at 10 pm on a sunday night, 4 days before project is due. Frantically buy all supplies needed, including paint, paintbrushes, and canvases.

step four: Come home after buying supplies. Set up supplies. Feel guilty about being a failure at life. Complete nothing.

step five: Let Monday go by. Complete nothing.

step six: Furiously complete all homework, therefor making more time to begin project.

step seven: Freak out due to lack of time to begin project.

step eight: Stall. Write blog post while staring at blank canvas.

special thanks to my fabulous friends Amanda and Story for sitting with me during lunch and watching me furiously type and illustrate this post.

MIGRAINE

So I've been having chronic migraines since I was a really little kid. For anyone that's never had a migraine:
It's as if there's a little medieval executioner guy inside your head who has one of those weird spiky-ball-on-a-chain-on-a-stick weapons, and he's trying desperately to explode from inside your skull with this weapon, and his fists, and possibly his knees. Multiply this pain by 20. Then, there's also a morbidly obese child sitting directly on your eyeballs. Multiply that pain by 20 also. And that's while you're lying motionless in the dark. When somebody turns on a light, it quite literally feels like your head and eyeballs are exploding. Then, when there is even the slightest amount of noise, such as the sound of you shifting your position slightly, it's as if you are exploding and somebody is screaming obnoxiously in your ear, therefor shattering your eardrums entirely. Sometimes, migraines make you throw up. All this horrific pain, plus nausea, is what I'm damn sure it feels like to be buttfucked by Satan. And, while you're barfing violently, it's hard to even concentrate on the puking because of all the rest of the pain you're in, so I have to say, nausea is not even the worst part.
What I'm trying to get at is that migraines cause some of the worst physical pain ever.

Anyway.

Last night, I had a particularly painful migraine, like the description above, except it felt like I was in the middle of a death metal concert/light show. Funny, because I was in complete silence and darkness.
You would think after years and years of getting migraines, one would be able to cope with the pain, right?
Wrong.
I very truly thought I was going to die.

I just remember being in so much pain, I couldn't get up from my bed to walk the three steps to my medicine cabinet for my painkillers. I was shaking ferociously. I somehow managed to vomit behind my bed several times without even remembering it. At a certain point in the night, a miracle occurred and I was able to pathetically roll out of bed, put on two pairs of sweatpants, mega fuzzy eskimo socks, a t-shirt, two sweatshirts, and a jacket. I then fetched a down blanket from my closet and flopped back into bed, and I was still shivering like a hairless cat in the middle of an ice age. Now that I look back, I realize that in my delirious nightmare-state, I failed to notice that I wasn't shaking from the cold; I was shaking because I had a violent fever and my cells were like WHAT. THE. FUCK.  OHMIGOD, WE'RE GONNA DIE. QUICKLY, DEPLOY SHAKING! ANCIENT SURVIVAL METHODS, FUCK YEAH! SHAKE IT LIKE A STRIPPER IN A ROOM FULL OF RICH HORNY OLD MEN!

I was not having fun at all. I didn't sleep for a second. When my mom came into my room at 6 to wake me up like she does every morning, I was sitting cross legged on my bed with my head between my legs, and I was very much awake. I didn't end up going to school. At 8 AM, I finally passed out, and I woke up at noon. It's been 24 hours since my migraine began, and although I am now in control of my muscles and brain, my entire body still hurts, despite the abundance of painkillers swimming around in my bloodstream. I still might die. Wish me luck.

What separates me from other people!

So, I've recently come to terms with the fact that my personality pretty much stopped developing after I turned, like, seven.

Yes, of course, I know more things now, and I guess I'm a little more mature, but in all honesty I haven't changed at all. I'm still one of the strangest people you'll ever meet. Seriously, I'll bet that anybody who knows me will be like Oh, Courtney? Hahaha, she's hilarious. We recently had a whole conversation on how awesome toes are. Then she went off about how there's definitely a satanic cult hiding in her closet. After that, she started telling me about how she's pierced her ear 7 times herself and how her stuffed monkey helped her through it. She's a real card, that girl.

MOST GIRLS:

ME:

Do you get the idea? The only difference between seven-year-old-me and current-me is that current-me knows more about life and school and some illegal things. I still really like stupid online games like this one. If I still knew where they sold them, Webkinz would be my life, because it completely took over my psyche back in 3rd grade. I still hate walking up stairs with people walking behind me, because I feel like somebody's going to smack my butt; I mean, they are at the perfect angle to do so. I still want to get a pet camel spider and name it Jasmine. I'm the same person as I've always been. I'm just a little older, is all. 

I am quite seriously the strangest person, like, ever. You know that whole nature-vs-nurture thing? Well, they've apparently proven that how you turn out in the end is roughly 90% nurture and only 10% nature. Okay, look, science; I know you're all about facts and proving things, but I think I might be a special case. I believe I was genetically predestined to be an outlier. I was raised to be SUPER NORMAL. Sure, I was born in a Manhattan taxi and all, but after that, I was raised by my parents, two very normal people. I was raised listening to U2 and The Verve and Aphex Twin and lots of classical music. No matter how much my parents and teachers told me to calm the fuck down, I could never successfully do so for more than maybe an hour. Nobody ever came close to encouraging my weirdness until very, very recently, and that's years and years of being told to sit down, shut up, and do what you're told. I'm pretty sure that's what drove me to stop taking piano lessons and start writing my own music; I can't be told exactly what to do, or else I freak out.

I am living proof that you can be different and be absolutely fine.