5000 pageviews...is this all a sick joke?

So, when I clicked "create new blog post", I was at over 5000 pageviews.

As I write this sentence, I have over 5100.

I'm seriously peeing myself. I'm very excited.

However, being my fabulously paranoid self, my brain began to immediately flood my conscious with reasons why this could all be fake. I might not actually have over 5000 pageviews. The world might not be real. I might be inside a dream inside a dream inside a dream inside a movie about dreams inside of dreams. BLOGCEPTION. 

Anyway, I'm going to continue this post as if I don't have that lingering nagging in my head that I might actually be in a coma in the ICU in a hospital and that I'm imagining this entire universe along with all life and humans might actually not look like how I'm imagining and everyone is actually some sort of large gelatinous crab-squid thing and a medical team of gelatinous crab-squids is watching my every vital sign in the hospital and I don't even know about it because I'm in a coma. 

ANYWAY.

I've been getting quite a lot of feedback saying that everyone just loves my illustrations. This brings me such joy it is unimaginable, and for various reasons. First reason being, illustrating these damn posts is time-consuming as fuck. I mean, I love to draw and sketch and stuff, and if I can do so and make people happy at the same time, well that just tickles my titties. And, considering each little picture I draw takes me about 3 minutes of planning, and sometimes up to 20 minutes of drawing/editing/reviewing each little detail, knowing that it is all not for nothing gives me the happies.

Another reason why it makes me all happy that you like my illustrations is that my personality translates pretty damn well into each picture. Therefor, when people say they like my illustrations, this gives me some validation that I might actually have something to offer the world besides something to stare at. I mean, my ears are all stretched and my hair is all dyed and my clothes are all weird, and I have a decent personality? Suck on that, judgmental ass-lickers.

Basically, I thank thee for putting up with my unbelievable level of spazziness. I'd still be spazzy anyway, even if you didn't put up with it. That's just what I do.

(that was my mediocre attempt at being a doge)

much courtney

very fail

such mediocrity

wow

for SCIENCE.

SCIENCE FUCK YEAH.

I don't know if this counts as a blog post, but this is a video of a portion of me participating as a test subject for Bella and Emi's biology project. I honestly just wanted an excuse to post this video because I find it hilarious.

Their hypothesis was that swearing worked as an effective painkiller. There were 3 sessions in which I had to stick my entire forearm in a bucket of negative degree water with salt in it. Ever heard of the Salt and Ice Challenge? It was like that, except your entire forearm, and scientific as hell.

SESSION 1: Test subject is not allowed to make any verbal noises at all. When maximum pain threshold is reached, subject will remove hand from bucket.

SESSION 2: Test subject is only allowed to say random words, such as fucsia, pants, and chocolate rain. When maximum pain threshold is reached, subject will remove hand from bucket.

SESSION 3: Test subject will curse violently as much as they want. When maximum pain threshold is reached, subject will remove hand from bucket.

The maximum amount of time we could have our hand in the bucket was 4 minutes, just as a safety precaution. In session 1, I lasted about 90 seconds. In session 2, I lasted about 2 minutes. In session 3, I lasted all 4 minutes. This video was taken in a portion of session 3. I hope you've enjoyed.

My life journey towards realizing that I'm weird as f*ck

I'm weird. Really weird.

I didn't always know that I was kinda different in regards to my interests and personality. I was a really normal baby and toddler and everything. I was cute with little blond pigtails and I wore pink dresses and such. I had a fetish for princesses, sparkles, and My Little Pony.

I believed in cooties, and that girls go to college to get more knowledge and boys go to jupiter to get more stupider. I loved my mommy and my daddy and my wittle baby bwuvurr. I was passionate about my ballet class and all things girly and fabulous. After watching Barbie Fairytopia when I was 3, I firmly believed with all my heart that one day I would too be greeted by a fairy queen, be given a rainbow bejeweled necklace, and begin sprouting my own translucent glittery fully functional fairy wings. One may have described me as adorable, perhaps even precious.

Then, when I turned about 9 or 10, I quite suddenly plunged off the deep end and went entirely tomboy. I have no idea how the hell it happened, but it happened. I began dressing in loose jeans, crappy sweatshirts, and my hair looked like that of a rather greasy Kurt Cobain, split down the middle, in front of my eyes and everything.

I spent basically all of 4th, 5th, and 6th grade in this awkward female hobo form. This is when I believe I realized that I was kinda strange. I hadn't found myself yet, but I definitely knew that I hated pop music and I wouldn't go within 7 feet of any kind of skirt or the color pink.

when I was around 11 or 12, I somewhat reverted back into a pretty perfect person. It was really weird, and I blame puberty. I started wearing makeup, I grew out my hair down to my ass, and I decided that wearing push-up bras when I had size A boobs was a good plan. *Notice- it wasn't a good plan. What mattered to me is that I suddenly got somewhat popular.

I KNOW, CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?

I WAS POPULAR ONCE? 

WHAT IS THIS SORCERY?!

Yes. The thing is, I hadn't yet discovered awesome metal or the style that I currently know I have. The only things I'd really been exposed to were being a tomboy, or being girly. So I chose to be girly. Apparently I'm rather pretty when I'm girly, therefor I was popular for a few months before I went fucking insane. But, for that period of time, I was one of those popular sluts that everyone hates. I was that girl.

So, at the height of my sweet popularity, I kinda realized that I hated everything.

This was no ordinary "I hate everything" hormonal pre-teen phase. This was pure, dark, wretched hatred of everything. It was really unpleasant. I was aware that I'd been dealing with mild depression since I was in 2nd grade, but it quite suddenly spiraled out of control into a cavern of depressahateaholism. So, a month or two after I turned 12, my life kinda went to shit and I may or may not have become a delusional alcoholic reclusive schizophrenic hot mess.

I lost my popularity. I didn't really care. My logic was kinda just like "Whoa, how did that happen? I could've sworn that just a month ago I didn't smell like a walrus with indigestion. Wait, when was the last time I showered?" That's the period in my life when I realized that I really liked piercings and tattoos and shit-tons of eyeliner. 

So I ended up going through all this rehab type shitty shit and I sorta became my popular self again. Not mentally, but physically I was like that again. I ended up moving to Utah a while later. I wasn't ridiculously popular, but at first, I don't think anybody suspected why I always wore long sleeves, or why whenever people mentioned One Direction I'd cringe, or why whenever we passed a person with body modification I'd stare at them and drool. 

Last year I decided I'd been portraying myself as if I was a popular bimbo for too long. I chopped off 2 feet of my fabulous blond hair so it was just barely longer than a pixie cut, and started dressing in band t-shirts and such attire. It didn't go too horribly. I regret nothing. I started being more open about my music-writing and psychedelic paintings and my awkwardness and the fact that I try to kiss anybody with more than 50% of their body covered with tattoos. 

Since last year, I've pierced my ears a total of 8 times, started stretching my ears, given myself a tattoo, and brutally murdered a total of 682 smurfs. Yeah bitch. I did that for society.

So yeah. I don't hide anything anymore. Except my genitals. Those are mine. You dirty pig.

I found a big ass icicle

And I ate it.

I'm probably going to get some sort of horrible food poisoning, considering I found it on the side of my nasty, polluted condo.

That is all.

My un-skills

I have many of what I like to call un-skills.

Un-skill (noun)- the opposite of a skill. A particular activity that an individual is particularly horrible at. (ex.) An un-skill that I possess is dancing; when I attempt to do so, I resemble like a constipated gorilla having a seizure. 

Now that we have the definition of this term, I'd like to share with you some of my un-skills.

DANCING.
As depicted in the picture above. Not much else to say. If you want to preserve your eyesight, never watch me dance. Ever. 

SYMPATHY.
Not to be confused with empathy, which is just understanding what others feel. I'm talking about making people feel better by pitying them. I'll know what you're feeling, but I have this logic that if I give you an awkward bro-hug and offer to buy you a bag of chips, everything will suddenly get better. If you want somebody to understand your feels and then say the right things to stop making you feel those feels, I'm the wrong person to hang out with. If chips and netflix make you feel better, we should be friends.

ROMANCE.
I can't even tell you how bad I am at showing any type of lovey-dovey affection. I can't be cutesie-ish with any kind of significant other that I have. I'm the type of girlfriend that punches you in the arm and demands piggy back rides and probably bites you a lot and calls you a little bitch. I mean, that's how I say I love you. With force.

DRIVING.
I don't have a permit or a license. Rightfully so. I don't want one, because I know if I had one, I would cause some sort of road-rage induced apocalypse because I can't tell the difference between the break pedal and the gas pedal and turning a car even in an empty parking lot results in a requirement for getting the car checked out to make sure I didn't horribly fuck anything up.

WAKING UP.
I can't even.
I, just...
I shouldn't even have to explain this.

PAYING ATTENTION
A combination of ADD, boredom, not at all being interested in anything besides certain bands/types of badass science that will provide me with the ability to be a magician, and mild narcolepsy assures that I fall asleep when doing anything. ANYTHING.

YAY I'M OFFENSIVE

ACCORDING TO CERTAIN SOURCES, I'M OFFENSIVE

NO I'M NOT, I'M JUST FANTASTICALLY CONTROVERSIAL

AND SO IS GABE

I bet you assumed that the sign on my hand was a swastika. See, that's what we're trained to believe. It's actually the Hindu symbol for keep an open mind. SO MUCH IRONY.

I can't say anything about Gabe. He's just being a racist fucknugget.

But that's besides the point. What I'm saying is that controversy is okay. I encourage same sex couples making out in public (except not really because they're just like any other couple and I hate seeing happy couples being all happy, so never mind. No matter who you love, don't love each other in front of me). I also encourage self expression in the form of body modification, such as tattoos. I mean, hell, some of the nicest people I've ever met were heavily modified. 

I live in Utah. Unless you've been living under an enormous, immovable rock lately, you will know of the same sex marriage brouhaha that's been going on for the past few months here. The state apparently allows same sex marriage, but it also kinda doesn't, yet it kinda does, but it sorta doesn't. I enjoy causing controversy. I plan to go down to the capital building soon with another girl who wants to make out with me and we will disturb the public by nomming on each other's faces. I have a boyfriend, who I'd love to do that with, but he has a penis and I have a vagina so that wouldn't be relevant at all. Sorry, boyfriend. If you could temporarily get a sex change for this particular event, that'd be great. 

Controversy is not the same as being offensive. I discuss and support controversial topics. I also have a rather dark and crude sense of humor. If you're offended by anything on my blog, I suggest you view this document I made, just for you!

But for reals, kodos to those of you that like my blog for some reason, because all I do is draw crappy awkward people and curse a fucking cunty shit ton.

Also I use words like brouhaha. I should just be arrested for that right now.

How I go through life- part 1 (school day)

This is how my life works on week days.

Step one: Wake up

`Step two: ACTUALLY wake up

Step three: Reluctantly get dressed

Step four: Do hair/makeup 

Step five: Get on the bus

Step six: Get through school somehow

Step seven: Walk home

Step eight: Immediately go to sleep

Repeat until weekend.

So I'm in love with a dead man

Peter Steele

I love you

Why must you be dead?

If you don't know who Peter Steele was, he was the vocalist/bassist for the band Type O Negative, a doom metal/rock band. First of all, I'm more of a death metal/grunge person, but Type O Negative is actually amazing. I'd never liked doom metal or softish rock before I started listening to them. A lot of their earlier stuff sounds like a heavier version of The Beatles. And, call me materialistic, but Peter Steele was the sexiest fucker I've ever seen.

He was 6'8 and around 350 pounds. He had gigantism. He was so sexy, oh my god. I mean, I have a boyfriend, and I happen to think that he's the most attractive person of all people. I'm just saying, if Peter Steele was alive, and if it was legal for him and I to do the frickafrack, and if Boyfriend was cool with it, an epic threesome may or may not happen.

 Look. I'm entirely aware that not everyone is into the whole long-hair-on-a-dude thing, but I fucking love it, so shut the fuck up.

He was also ridiculously talented. If you've never listened to Type O Negative, go look up some of their songs right now. There's really no screaming, it's more slow and heavy. 

Peter Steele's voice is absolutely awesome. Due to his epic gigantism, he had such a deep voice, it was unreal. If you want music to fall asleep to, listen to this dude sing. It's amazing. 

This awesome, talented, smexy man died of an aneurism when he was 48, in 2010, from complications with his gigantism. I miss you dude. Not just your epic muscles and face. Your talent. You're fucking awesome. 

Also, Peter Steele's 52nd birthday would've been on January 4th. Happy late birthday, you amazing sexy fuck.

Note: he also did a photo shoot for Playgirl Magazine in 1995. So, if you wanna see this dude naked by any chance, there's lots of pictures of his baloney poney on the internet. I know you might not be a perv, but you know. Curiosity is always a thing.

ADHD and boredom

I've officially been off my ADHD medication for two and a half weeks. It is now six PM on a friday. I didn't go to school today for personal reasons, so I've been in my jammies for roughly 26 hours. I haven't moved for that span of time. My unmedicated ADHD is promptly raging through my psyche with such ferocity, the hyperactivity I'm experiencing could propel me 74 miles from my housing development within the hour.

If you've ever wondered what completely unmedicated ADHD is like in regards to what goes through your mind (and what comes out your mouth), you've come to the right place.

Shit I've been thinking about:

-penises look really funny

-ballsacks look really funny

-who invented masturbation

-what is love

-baby don't hurt me

-don't hurt me

-no more

-why do I have a scar on my hand in the shape of a perfect circle?

-why do I have a freckle on my ass cheek?

-why do I have a freckle in my nether regions?

-I'm gonna scour the internet and find Obama's phone number just so I can call him and sing Blurred Lines to him

-ROOOONNNNNN PAAAAUUUUULLLL!!!!!

-hair is like little tubes of plastic growing out of your skin

-why do people decorate their bathrooms all nice if they're only going in there to piss and shit in a bowl

-I'M GONNA PIERCE MY NOSE BY MYSELF RIGHT FUCKING NOW

-nah that's not a good idea

-neither was writing this blog post

-what if your skin cells had a favorite food and you would have to sensually rub yourself all over with that food several times a day to keep your skin nice and healthy

-why do we have fingernails and why do we put random colors on them

-oh say can you see, by the donzerly light

-WHAT IS LOVE

-RABIES SHOWN BURP TEA

-FLOWN SPURT LEE

-GROW SORE

-what in the fuck did I just do

-Oh my god, humans are waterproof

-who thought of the name jolly rancher, because whenever I think of that, I imagine Santa laughing in a jolly fashion while dressed up like Moses

-wait a minute, Moses wasn't a rancher........yeah, no, he was a shepherd

-I've never eaten shepherd's pie

-now I can't stop thinking of a shepherd's pubic hair because that's what shepherd's pie sounds like

-did I just ruin shepherd's pie for absolutely everyone reading this?

-did I also just ruin the bible by imagining Santa as Moses?

-is Moses even in the bible?

-what if your nipples could talk?

-what if your mouth had a mind of its own and could talk by itself, so it would be talking and swearing at people but technically it wouldn't be you talking, it would be your mouth, but because it's your mouth and that's what you use to talk, it would kinda also you, and people would think it was you, so if your mouth was all like "hail Hitler" without your permission, you would get bludgeoned to death by a bunch of Jews for something you technically didn't even say

-I need to calm the fuck down

Why people need to stop bagging on metal

Ah, metal. One of the most hated and misunderstood genres of music in all history.

Thrash metal.
Nu metal.
Death metal.
Black metal.
Progressive metal.
Heavy metal.
Glam metal.
Viking metal.
Speed metal.
Power metal.
Melodic power metal.

There are so many genres of metal, it's absolutely ridiculously awesome. If you're interested in investing some of your time in learning more about the roots and history of metal, I highly suggest this link to a literal map of metal. It is literally a map that some genius created in order to show the progression, roots,  and genres of metal. Actually, even if you don't feel like learning about that stuff, I still highly recommend clicking on that link.

Do it.

Now.
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Didja click it? If you didn't, go up there and fucking click that shit. It's not a request, it's a demand.

Anyway.
What I'm trying to get at is that so many people claim to hate metal for all the wrong reasons. Here's a lot of shit that I get about metal:

- I can't understand what they're saying.
Oh, go ahead, please recite to me the lyrics of your goddamn rap songs that go about seventy miles per second. Or what about Gangnam style? The Macarena? Yeah, that's what I thought, now you sit your ass down.
Nah, but really, it's understandable that seemingly incomprehensible screaming isn't most people's favorite, but think about it this way; lyrics are not all that metalheads focus on. To us, the drums, the guitar riffs, and just the pure music is what makes us happy. Also, after a while, you kinda just train your ears to understand somewhat what the artist is saying/ferociously growling.

- Metal is Satanic.
Oh my goodness.
Oh my goodness.
Oh my goodness.
NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO SWEET BLACK BABY JESUS, NO.
You are so misinformed that I can't even be mad at you. Let me explain.
Just because the music sounds angry does not mean that they are talking about Satan, or anything even closely pertaining to religion at all. However, if you're afraid of metal being Satanic, do avoid Black Metal. If you don't want to stumble across songs such as Incipit Satan and Skald Av Satans Sol, just stay away from that particular genre, which is a world all on its own. No other metal is like that. For reals. Pinkie promise.

- It's so angry.
That is actually an opinion, not a fact, believe it or not. Metalheads find such joy in the rhythm of the drums, the fast-paced guitar riffs and power chords, it's anything but angry. Have you ever seen a brotherhood of metalheads? We all just hang out together, headbanging and smiling and laughing. Metal is a vessel of friendship for us. I guess you could say it pumps us up instead of scaring the shit out of us like it does other people; think of it like a giant ass roller coaster. Horrifying to some, thrilling to others.

it makes us THIS happy.

- All those guys are dirty.
Is it because of their long hair and occasional body paint/corpse paint? If it is, you are greatly mislead. Metalheads are just like everyone else when it comes to hygiene. We shower regularly and brush our teeth and wash our clothes, just like you. (Also, contrary to popular belief, metalheads can also be girls. So, if you're gonna say "those guys are dirty", you should probably substitute "guys" with "people", because there are some hardcore vaginas out there too.)

So, the gist of this post is just that metal is not what a lot of people make it out to be. It brings people together, makes people happy, and has been enjoyed by metalheads for generations. 

I'm not asking you to listen to metal, let alone enjoy it. I'm just stating facts. Metal isn't as horrible as you might think. It's actually really awesome. Metalheads are really nice, too. Don't judge metal until you truly know metal.

People are like hair.

I had a revelation while I was sitting on my floor doing nothing. I was on my side, staring at an oddly colored wad of dust and cat fur. Then, I focused on a lock of my hair that had fallen in front of my face for no particular reason. I began to wonder why hair does that- you know, fall in locks. I started thinking, maybe strands of hair have friends. Maybe those groups of friends are locks of hair. 

Wait.

OH MY GOD.

And that's when I had my revelation.

PEOPLE ARE LIKE HAIR.
THINK ABOUT IT! (Unless you're bald. Then this may be a little sad to think about. I still love you though.)

Imagine your scalp is the earth. Every strand of hair on your head is a human.

Locks of hair are like groups of friends. They're all different strands of hair, but they move the same way and if you pull them apart, they just end up springing back together.

Then, there's people who dye their hair. Think of every hair that's been dyed as a generation. Then, your roots start growing in. That's like a new generation of people, or babies or whatever, that must be nurtured and taught and trained to be part of society (which means being dyed again.)

Then there are those super fabbity fab flyaway hairs. You know, those single strands of hair that just really want to be a mohawk when you're trying to put your hair in a bun. Those hairs, you can probably guess, are the oddballs of society. *COUGH COUGH COUGH HI THERE*. They just don't need to join with any group of friends. They don't even need to conform with the shape of the rest of the world. They're just out there, being themselves. They don't care if the world doesn't like them.

So, there's you have it. Your daily dose of weird ass philosophy.

Have a good day, and DICK. (Don't Itch Cat Knuckles)

The Meatball

Hope you had a good winter break.
I also hope you don't throw up every time you think about how soon school is starting, like I do.