Prison letters

So, as I've mentioned in past posts, I'm pretty close with my poppop (grandfather). I always have been. And, when I hit the age of about eight or nine, my dearest poppop decided in all his hardly elderly wisdom that I was no longer a child worthy of kootchy-kootchy belly tickles and colorful propeller hats. No sir, at that point, I was officially declared a young adult, fully mentally capable of maturely handling all of his teachings of profanities and psychological warfare techniques. By that, I mean he taught me almost all of the curse words I know, began taking me to serious operas and symphony concerts when I was about six, and comedically taught me all about my Jewish-Russian heritage. This is the man who taught me to never let anybody step on me, to kiss no asses, to put myself first, and to assert all of these mannerisms with the utmost amount of class.
He also taught me that chocolate is the most important food group and that there is no such thing as "too young to watch The Simpsons." Currently, I'm receiving vast amounts of knowledge pertaining to my ancestry on his side of our family.

YAY JEWISH-RUSSIAN GREAT-GREAT GRANDPARENTS

Anywho.

Recently, my poppop thought it best that I finally read all the letters that he sent my uncle Howie over a 2 year time span, when poor Howzy was sent to prison. My uncle was in prison at the turn of the millennium, which was right around when I was born! So recently, he scanned all the letters, and sent them to me via interwebs.

In total, I believe there are around 76 letters, which I promptly read all in one night. I will be sharing with you a few of my favorite passages from these letters, just so you can get a sense of what my family is truly like. (note; do go ahead and click on the screenshots in order to make them bigger, for your viewing pleasure. I realize they're kinda small as fuck.)

(note once more; I did, in fact, get my poppop's permission to share with you all these wonderful examples of family hilarity. Enjoy yourself.)

This particular passage was from a letter that my poppop sent just a few days after I was born. He hadn't even met me yet. Apparently, my great-great grandfather would not have approved of my new-age name. "Yetta" apparently would have been more adequate.

This legitimately made me laugh so hard I pulled a muscle.

Isn't it interesting to hear about yourself from another person's point of view?

Prostate exams. 

Describing my beloved grandma.

Once again, depicting a typical television-viewing session with le grandma.

Our family religious views. This man confirmed my atheism by the time I stopped shitting in my pants three times a day.

So there ya go; I hope you enjoyed these passages as much as I did. Honestly, reading these makes me really happy because my poppop is like me best friend/partner in crime and knowing I inherited his sense of humor does most certainly make me a happy little chicken. 

I'll be seeyin' ya.

Core testing? Yeah, f*ck that

As you all know, April will be ending in 3 days. As I'm assuming most of you know, May comes after April. This means that we have about a month left of school. Now, that in itself is both awesome and stressful. It's absolutely great, for obvious reasons. However, it's also kinda shitty because that means I'll have to do shit with my life over the summer. This consists of several things I don't want to do. Getting out of the house to hang out with people so my parents don't physically pick me up by my shirt collar and throw me out of the house to get some fresh air is one of those things. Going outside in hot weather is another one of those things. Staying inside in hot weather is yet another one of those things. Shaving my legs is definitely one of those things.
I hate shaving my legs. I live in a townhouse complex, so we share hot water with like 3 other families. This means I only have about 10 minutes of hot water per shower. I don't have fuckin' time to shave my legs.

One thing I'm particularly dreading is the looming shadow of our last barration of testing in every single class. First off, I'm not the best student ever. My problem is that I don't see the point of going through the whole education system after about 7th grade. When you hit 8th grade, school entirely drops the concept of "learning" and becomes strictly a means of forcing unnecessary discipline upon hormonal, rebellious teenagers. I, personally, think that's a bunch of bullshit.

Not only are we getting stupid amounts of discipline, but it's stressful as fuck too. I mean, I know I'm getting rant-ish, but why do I need to learn about quadratic equations and the structure of a prokaryotic cell, be judged on my knowledge of such bullshit, and then have my life quality determined on how well I can recite said bullshit?

Can you tell that I'm pissed?

Anyway, as for the core tests; I'm gonna fucking fail those. What really sucks ass about that is how much I study for these damn tests. And yet, no matter how much I cram, the geography test is still like "what species of carnivorous, iron-clad martian is located exactly 6,903 meters below the earth's surface?" and the math test is like "count the circumference of every single one of your arm hairs, then with the average of this number, teach a hermit crab how to do the hokey-pokey."

I don't even really know what this post is about anymore, so I'm just gonna rant about stuff that really butters my moustache.

When my hair is all tangled when I get out of the shower. That butters my moustache.

When my sock starts coming off my foot when I'm wearing shoes. That sure does butter my moustache.

When my unibrow starts growing back after I attempt to take care of it. That really butters my moustache.

When my pot dealer laces my weed with street grade cocaine and meth amphetamines. That damn well butters my moustache.

When I get butter in my moustache. That butters my moustache.

I don't know what this post is about anymore...yay!

Why I hate people- 100th post!

Congratulations, self! This is my 100th post on this blog. Thank you all for your passive but apparent obsessions with all my posts, yeah, don't think I can't tell what you people go batshit crazy for.

In celebration of me hitting 100 posts, here's some of the reasons why I despise most humans.
BACKGROUND INFORMATION: I really hate people. I have like ten individuals in the entire world that I can hang out with for more than an hour without wanting to aggressively scrub myself clean afterwards. I'm a huge introvert and I most likely wouldn't have any sort of problem just sitting in my room by myself forever. Don't take any of these reasons as me being all depressing; I personally quite adore my own personality, and writing this post is going to be fun.

Reason #1: My interests differ greatly from the vast majority of America
If you know me, even in the least, you probably know that I am not very good at fitting into my own generation. While everybody else is swagging along, their pants down to their ankles, I'm still extremely emotionally attached to Seether and Nirvana and basically the entire grunge movement. If you try to strike a conversation with me, be prepared to discuss Corey Taylor's penis and such things. And that's exactly the problem. Nobody is prepared for that shit.

Reason #2: I have major social anxiety
I can't be around large groups of people ("large groups of people" being "any number of people") for more than a few hours, tops. I'm only even able to last a few hours if I keep interaction to a minimum, and the only time I expose myself to people for that long is in school. Otherwise, I start flipping my shit. I can't explain why. It's just a thing that happens. Like breathing. Or periods. Basically, in order to keep from being sent to a mental hospital, I spend the majority of my time by myself.

Reason #3: I'm ridiculously sensitive to vibes
Even if I do want to go out one day (which is just about as common as finding a guy with a huge dick who also rubs your back and makes you delicious food) one thing that deters me from doing so is that the outside world is so negative. Think I'm a downer? Try meditating, feeling all happy, then going outside and being able to physically feel the literal cloud of negativity just floating in the air. I wasn't made for this society, with our stupid businesses and stupid everything else. Y'all need to chill.

Reason #4: I'm very awkward
Yeah, I bet you never would've guessed! I'm one of the strangest people on the planet. I tend to make really horrifying faces in any everyday situation and that scares people. But, I mean, that's just how I communicate. I'm also not completely in touch with social norms. I'm a little socially impaired.
Some of the faces I make on a regular basis:

And that, friends, is why I have no friends.

Holy sh*t ew

So as most of you know, I've been stretching my ears since around the end of January. I've wanted stretched ears (plugs, tunnels, those types of things) for a really long time, so I was really excited to finally be able to do that.

From the beginning, I wasn't very careful about stretching them. I'm not careful about anything, and that's a legitimate problem. I immediately went from a 16-14g to a 10g. Just for reference...
 this is a 16g:

And this is a 10g:

It may not look like that big of a stretch, but that's skipping three fucking sizes, and my ears bled like a virgin bride. It really hurt and I didn't clean anything. How my ears survived that, I do not know. 

After that, I stretched my ears less stupidly, but still pretty stupidly. I never cleaned my ears, which is like the equivalent of taking a shit and not wiping your ass afterwards. The thing is, my body has, like, magical healing powers. I've pierced my ears several times without cleaning the needle or my ear, and I never had  a problem at all. Essentially, I was being a stubborn little shit because my ears hadn't imploded in on themselves yet.

So last saturday, I decided I wanted to stretch my ears from a 4g to a 2g. 

4g:

 2g:

However, in all my stupidity, I only have one taper (big spikey thing as depicted in the pictures above) in each size, so I can only stretch one ear at a time. I decided to stretch my left ear, as it's usually my more lenient ear anyway. So, on saturday morning, I took my germ covered, nasty 2g taper, covered it in nasty ass burt's bees hand salve, and stuck it in my unwashed, shitty ear. It hurt like an actual bitch. It felt like how I'm pretty sure it would feel to have a large black cock in your ass without lube for your first experience with buttsex. 

What I'm trying to depict is that it hurt. However, I wasn't worried. Stretching your ears does hurt quite a bit, but the pain usually goes away after an hour tops. That's why I was a little bit concerned when, at ten PM that night, my ear was still really sore and throbbing as if it had its own cardiovascular system. I still didn't do anything about it of course. I was just too stubborn and, to put it eloquently, stupid, to do that.

The next day, my ear was still really red and it hurt pretty bad. But the thing is, it didn't look gross. It was just a little swollen. There was no crusty shit or blood or anything. I took that as a good sign. I should not have done that.

Throughout sunday, I kept trying to move around the taper that was in my ear. Usually, after your ears calm down a bit after they're stretched, the taper will start to fit more and you can kinda twist it around and pull on it and stuff. I couldn't do that at all. My ear was so swollen, I couldn't move the taper around at all. My earlobe had a death grip on it. If I tried to push on the front of the taper a little to see if it would slide through my ear, everything would just be like 

NO

STAHP

WAT R U DOIN

U NO DO DAT

STAAHHPP

*THROB THROB THROB*

Despite this, I still thought my ear would be fine. I kept the taper in my ear, even though it was über painful and swollen to the point where it appeared that I'd been attacked by a really big, angry bee that particularly despised earlobes. 

That night, I couldn't sleep, because my ear hurt so bad. It was getting numb and only more swollen. Finally, I begrudgingly stomped over into my bathroom and sat on the countertop in front of the mirror. My plan was to take out the 2g taper, put back in a 4g plug, and try again later. My ear had other plans.

As I mentioned earlier, I could not move around the taper. My ear had clamped down on it because of the swelling and I could barely touch it without spiraling into a fit of owwy-induced rage. Now, prior to the actual attempt to remove the taper, I thought once I got it out of my ear, my earlobe would just be red and swollen for a while. I WAS SO WRONG. SO VERY, VERY WRONG.

After a good minute or two of wiggling the taper around in a sad attempt to loosen it up, I finally got it to scoot forward in my ear a bit. I would feel accomplished about this, if not for the sickening tidal wave of pink, bloody puss that immediately began to pour from my ear. My earlobe was doing its best impression of what happens when you stab an elephant in the jugular with a carton of milk and I did not appreciate it. And, by "did not appreciate it," I mean I was freaking the fuck out because I was rapidly losing a lot of blood and it hurt and there was puss everywhere and I was entirely convinced in that moment that I was going to have to amputate my own ear. 

It was horrifying. I ran to my kitchen, got our bottle of hydrogen peroxide (why we keep hydrogen peroxide in the kitchen, I do not know) and ran back to my bathroom, immediately soaking my ear in the stuff. It started fizzing on my ear, which is hydrogen-peroxidian for you done fucked up.

After around an hour of nursing my poor, infected ear in hydrogen peroxide, I was still bleeding, but it felt a little better because I didn't have a huge ass piece of oddly shaped acrylic jewelry in it. 

As of today, two days later, my ear has closed up almost entirely. It still hurts a bit, and it's all scabby and gross. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna have to re-pierce it and start all over. But, I am not discouraged in the least. In fact, I'm actually kinda excited. I now have proof that I am a superhuman, because I fought off a major infection with my own immune system, some chemicals, and nothing else. I am invincible. Fuck you, inevitable pandemic that will one day wipe out humanity, I survived an earlobe infection. You can't fuck me up.

But for realsies, the moral of this post is:

Because when you don't clean stuff, especially when engaging in the body modifications, you're gonna get poked right in the butthole with a two-by-four.

Day of Silence: success!

We fuckin' did it.

Me, Bella, Sky, and Emi

(all their blogs are on the "my favorite blogs" page)

Love is an old dead fish

So according to the, like, one comment on my "March Polls" post, people want me to write about a certain embarrassing moment in my life. Well, here goes.

In 6th grade, I accidentally dropped a dead guppy into the sweatshirt hood of none other than my crush.

As you most likely already know, I'm a very strange person. I've never exactly been prime girlfriend material. I'm really awkward and figuratively stub my toe a lot when it comes to romance; it's just the way I am. And, to top that off, in 6th grade I looked like a shaved baboon with chicken pox. Even with this aesthetic disability, I had a crush on this guy who was more or less on my level of disturbing, mid-pubescent hideosity. Essentially, I had a crush on somebody who was just as ugly and weird as I was, so I actually had a chance with this person.

So we were doing this project towards the end of the year where we were making our own ecosystems out of liter soda bottles, dirt, water, worms, snails, and fish. After a few weeks, when the project was over, most of the fish in the artificial ecosystems had died. It was disgusting, and our science teacher made us clean everything up, including the quickly decaying fish corpses.

When we were cleaning everything, my group elected me as the fish-cadaver-cleaner-upper, probably because I was so awkward and slightly resembled the dead fish. We had 2 fish corpses to throw away, so I put some gloves on and threw away one carcass with no problem. Then came the 2nd one.

This is where shit had hit the fan. I was walking towards the garbage pail, fish corpse in hand, when le crush bumped into me, smiling in all his awkward glory. I think I might've blacked out for a moment because of the sudden legit human contact with somebody who didn't think I was the result of a botched abortion. He turned around to throw away some old dirt, and I kinda leaned over his shoulder to awkward-flirt.

I dropped the fish into his sweatshirt hood.

It was an accident. I was so intoxicated by my pure derpy love for him that I lost my grip on my fish, and it landed right in the hood of his sweatshirt. I didn't say anything, purely out of the fear that he would never talk to me again if he knew that I had put a partially decomposed guppy into his clothing. I almost cried, and I walked away very quickly. Very quickly. 

In 2nd period, he noticed. It was math class, and somebody commented that he reeked of death and diarrhea. Everyone searched all over him to find the source of the stench; everyone except me. I was too scared. What if they could've traced the fish back to me?!

So they finally found the carcass in his sweatshirt hood. A girl who had originally been searching him was gagging and puking for quite a while after that. The crush was flipping the actual fuck out, accusing everyone except me of placing the fish in his daily attire. He never found out that I was the one who ruined his sweatshirt with a deceased fish. In fact, later that year, he became my very first boyfriend. I mean, we broke up after realizing that we did not know how to relationship, but that was a secret I still to this day will never tell him. Except for now.

Old 6th grade crush, I was the one who put that smelly carcass in your sweatshirt hood. Woops.

I like girls! (day of silence)

Hold onto your strap-ons people, it's time for a serious post.

April 11th is the official 2014 Day of Silence. I participated in this last year, and I'll be doing it again this year, and the year after that, and every year until equality is achieved in the LGBT community.

Now, I am not a lesbian. I am what is commonly referred to as pansexual. I don't really feel like explaining in a big ass paragraph what the definition of pansexual is- I let the internet do that for me.

Now, the fact that I live in Utah, essentially the single most bigott-filled state in the US, makes this particular day all the more relevant. A lot of people in my school think that this day is insignificant and stupid, and that it will not do anything. These assholes seem to be missing the point entirely. The point of The Day of Silence is to raise awareness for the LGBT community, mostly teens, who feel that the only way to escape bullying, discrimination, and prejudice is to be silent and hide their true self. People often don't understand the fact that it's immensely difficult to come out as gay, lesbian, or bisexual when you're just a teenager. It becomes even more difficult in a place like Utah, where same-sex love is frowned upon. 

I want to live in a world where people can go anywhere in the world and feel safe and happy marrying whoever the fuck they feel like marrying. Hell, maybe one day I'll find a sexy lady and I'll want to put a ring on it. By the time I'm ready to put a ring on it, it'd better be fucking legal all across the world for me to put a god damn ring on it. 

Inconsistency

As most of you know, I began this blog involuntarily. This blog is an ongoing assignment that began last September for my honors english class. Every week, we're assigned a decent-sized blog post containing a photo, a link, and lots and lots of words pertaining to said photo and link. Now, I do this happily. So happily, in fact, that I began long ago to post on this blog without even being assigned to do so. I guess that's what happens when your school gives you a nice laptop but all the cool websites are blocked; you turn into a work dork and convince yourself that you're having fun, when you're really just subconsciously craving massive quantities of gay fanfiction on tumblr.

Some of these un-assigned posts are actually pretty damn good, examples being my post about periods (which is one of my most popular posts, you sick fucks), and this post about my current life as a band geek. My personal criteria for a "good" post, is the following:

-The post mustn't contain any loads of crap, "loads of crap" being random bullshit paragraphs that I just tend to throw in there during fits of hyperactive madness.

-The post must have at least two paragraphs between pictures. Basically, there must be more words than pictures. I mean, this isn't preschool anymore, this is high school. I know, I'm as depressed about it as you are.

-There must be at least one or two of my own original illustrations. I just feel really accomplished when I illustrate a post. It creates the illusion that I have my shit together.

-The post must be humorous. This blog is technically a creativity blog, but let's be real here; the only reason anybody reads this crap is because I use words like "penis," "fuck," and "cuntnugget" more frequently than I should. Do not follow in my footsteps on the matter. South Park made a whole song about why swearing is bad. Seriously, look up "It's easy, Mkay."

As I was saying, I try my best to write "good" posts as much as possible. However, with my being easily excited and distracted, I write a lot of short cruddy posts too. Like, I have a whole post that's just basically just pictures of Bolbi from Jimmy Neutron. One of my most popular posts of all time is literally no words, just two really creepy illustrations. All you people seem to really like all my posts, crappy or not.

All you people, of course, excluding my english teacher.

TO SAID ENGLISH TEACHER, MY POSTS ARE "INCONSISTENT." 

Apparently, dearest Mr. Parker believes that my posts are inconsistent in regards to quality. I am apparently nut-kicking (that was my own language used right there) my readers outs of decent posts half the time because of the sheer frequency of my "cruddy" posts. Well, mister "I grade all your assignments and I decide your very fate with the possibility that I could force you to fail my class and remediate it over the summer therefor making you unappealing to colleges and ruining your chances of ever getting a decent job in order to support yourself even with the most basic essentials such as 2-ply toilet paper," I will have you know, I am a top-notch example of a teenager with ADD. This assures that I make a bunch of worthless posts, but SO HELP ME, they are still funny. My readers are predominantly other teenagers, and we all have damn short attention spans. Hell, I bet half my viewers aren't even reading this sentence because they only come here to look at the funny pictures which, in my defense, take me a long arse time to complete.

So, english teacher. I encourage you to appreciate all my posts, even the ones I do not submit as assignments, even the ones that are just slightly entertaining screenshots of cartoon characters from the 2000's.

Everyone else, I still hate you for choosing "embarrassing moments" as my next post topic. Go sit in the corner and think about what you've done. Butt faces.