So I'm negative

So I've been talking with my therapist lately. She's been telling me that I'm too negative. Well, lemme tell you something.
.
.
You're damn right I'm too negative. That's just me.

First off- I absolutely hate people. Don't get me wrong, I'm all about positive vibes and meditation and having good friends and all that pussy shit, but I just genuinely hate people, aside from everything else. I can't stand large groups. Everybody smells like shit. People don't know how to control their damn volume. Hasn't anybody heard the term "inside voices?" Hasn't anybody heard the term deodorant?! I hate the smell of other people. Even if it's not particularly bad- it just disgusts me.

Hating things just comes naturally to me. If I see something, the first thing I do is try to find out the positive aspects of said thing. However, the problem with that is, finding good things is very difficult for me. If you're my friend, consider yourself a wizard, because it's seriously some sort of black magic that takes place when my brain decides to let me like things. I'm gonna list some things that I like:

-black

-music, specifically grunge, nu metal, progressive death metal, and psychedelic rock

-my like 5 friends

-rain

-trees

-Westport Beach (at any time other than summer, by myself)

-my piano

-sleeping

-carbs

And that's pretty much it. Other than that, I suppose I can find joy in things, but eventually it'll start majorly pissing me off and I'll start to hate it until further notice.

I do like things, I swear. I'm just not good at showing it. I think sometimes it might be somewhat difficult to be able to tell whether or not I like you. Wanna know how I like you? Look- if I talk to you, I like you. It's as simple as that. I don't talk to people who I don't think are worth my time. Sometimes I appear shy in public, but anybody who really knows me knows that on the inside, I'm really just like:

I believe this ego is part of being a negative person at heart. Contrary to your average teenager's view of their own self as a fat ugly monster that nobody will ever love even if, in reality, they're freaking gorgeous, I'm the opposite. I know my own level of intelligence, and if I believe somebody is too severely below that level (unfortunately, meaning about 3/4ths of my generation) they're simply not worth my time. If you think the sun is a sun and not a star or something else of that degree of idiocy, I refuse to look further into your being and you've lost your chance to prove yourself to me as an adequate human being, and I will kindly ask you to stop hogging my oxygen. 

So this has been a rather egotistical post. You know what? Good. I'm feeling bitchy today. Fuck all y'all, I'm a classy lady. Good day.

April polls

Happy May!

Ah, once again we have seen another month pass. I, personally, think April is one of my least favorite months. It's like, the weather is still not at all consistent here in Park City; sometimes it's seventy degrees out with 2% humidity, and then when you wake up the next morning there's icicles hanging from your nostrils and a foot of snow is waiting outside for you to angrily stare at from your window. At least we had this month's poll to keep our spirits up (or at least above the point at which somebody commits mass homicide).

In regards to the majority, I'm rather pleased. However, I just want to make sure people took the following into consideration when they decided the most desirable choice was to where a hideous sweater forever: you have to wear it when you shower, when you have sex, when you go to the club, when you get married, when you go swimming, when you get married, when you go in for a job interview, when you're taking nudes for your significant other, at your high school and college graduation, and at your funeral. You can never take it off. EVER.

Now, I find it rather thought-provoking that the next most popular choice was "to be fisted." I should've put down "anally, without lube." Like, seriously? You would rather be violently butt punched, therefor impairing your walking and shitting abilities for weeks, than eat a nasty old fish? Huh. Interesting.

To the five people who chose "chew glass," do you know how fucking bad that would hurt? Like, you gotta chew that shit. You'd most likely require some degree of surgery to replace your teeth and remove the shards of glass from your flesh and tongue. 

One person chose to constantly pee their pants; this is the one I would've chosen. I mean, you could just wear a diaper all the time and only have the sexy times with individuals with a pee fetish. 

One psychopath chose to eat a live baby. Hmmm.

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.

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.

What has band done to me?

GOD DAMN YOU, CONTEMPORARY CLASSICAL SYMPHONIES, YOU ARE RUINING ME. LOOK AT THE THINGS I AM LISTENING TO. I AM A FAILURE AS A METALHEAD.



LET ME EXPLAIN.
So I joined my school symphonic band around 3 months ago. I play the trumpet. I started playing trumpet in 5th grade, in my elementary school band. I continued playing trumpet in the school band until last year in which I took a break, but this year I took it up again, and let me tell you something; our symphonic band here is about 8000% more amazing than any other symphonic band I've been a part of. Like, for reals, we're like really tired, hungry, hormonal professionals.

Lately we've been working on this big ass piece called "Dusk," and it's like the noise angels make when they win the lottery. It looks easy, but you have to pay such close attention to how much force you put into each note and every single dynamic and when to stop and exactly how everyone else is doing it and there are parts when we have to hold whole notes for like THREE LONG ASS MEASURES and it's DIFFICULT but it's SO DAMN PRETTY OH MY GOD.

Yesterday in band practice we just did this song over and over for basically an hour and a half. I guess this forced it deep into my subconscious and fate then decided that I was destined to be a huge nerd and I become obsessed with that damn song.

I went home, and instead of doing my homework, I looked up Dusk on youtube and just kept playing it over and over again. I was dancing around the living room like a deranged chimpanzee, attempting to be graceful while conducting an invisible symphony band. My dad was there the whole time and he didn't say anything pertaining to "Stop that and go do your homework," as he usually does. Honestly I think he may have assumed that I was on hard drugs and that it was best to just leave me alone with my classical hoedown.

My mom gets home every day at 5 pm, and by this time yesterday I had been insulting the good name of dance for about two hours. My mom walked in the door and just kinda watched what was going on in her home, which consisted of her mature teenage daughter having what appeared to be a well-structured seizure and her husband sitting in the corner with his laptop and not doing anything about anything.

Then she promptly began conducting and dancing with me.

So instead of actually doing any sort of homework last night, my mom and I just spent the whole night on the interwebs looking up songs similar to Dusk so we could conduct more. Now I'm obsessed entirely with contemporary classical symphonies. They're fucking beautiful. I'm taking a break from being a metalhead in order to be Beethoven.

The struggle is real

So I like to think that I'm a relatively privileged individual. I'm not totally rich, in fact my family is below the poverty line set for Park City (which means my family makes a very sufficient amount of money because Park City is like fucking Atlantis), however, we're still in the middle class. This means, despite my incredibly large amount of luxury and future when compared to the rest of the world, I have fucktons of problems. These problems are the bane of my existence. I wish they would all die. What kind of problems am I talking about, you may be wondering. What I am talking about are the things that haunt our very psyche. They follow us until the day we die. They eat away at our sanity and motivation to live until we are reduced to quivering lumps of skin and tears.

What I am talking about....are first world problems.

What is the deal with first world problems? Why must they haunt us?

Let me recall my first memory of having my own first world problem. I was around three, I believe. I was on my way to tap dance class, and I was hungry. Like, bitchy hungry. I was sitting in the back seat, bitching at my mom that I was really hungry. She kept telling me two things:
Thing #1: I had just eaten a butt ton of eggo pancakes
Thing #2: There was gonna be a huge ass buffet at tap dance practice because it was our last day of class.
I just couldn't wait the 10 minutes down the freeway to get to the dance studio, because the abundance of butter slathered carb-circles apparently wasn't enough for me. I had just eaten, but I was still hungry and I didn't want to wait for my mom to drive me in a 20,000$ car down the well-kept highway to my expensive tap dance practice in order for me to stuff my face with more food.

COMMON FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS:

-I'm hungry, but I'm too lazy to get off the couch and get food.

-My arm is too fat to fit in the Pringles can.

-I kinda want to be a vegetarian but meat is so delicious.

-I'm super comfy in my bed and I want to go to sleep, but I'm too comfy to get out of bed and turn off the lights.

-I just got in bed and now I have to pee.

-I just made a sandwich and realized I'm not that hungry.

-I'm not poor enough to have welfare buy me whatever the fuck I want, but I'm not rich enough to buy myself whatever the fuck I want.

-I ran out of red hair dye so I had to use the blood of my enemies instead.

Oh goodie, illness!

I am rather ill on this fine March day. And, by "rather ill," I mean "You know, I should probably go to a doctor. I'm horrifically sick. This isn't even sickness, this is Satan's own attempt at violently rearranging my vital organs. I can't feel my brain. Mommy?"

That may or may not be a slight exaggeration, but you get the idea. I have some sort of stomach virus shit going on and it is not pleasant, unless you are an emetophiliac. First of all, I hate puke. I hate it. If somebody even mentions that they feel kinda nauseous in front of me, I get the actual fuck out of there. I can't even stand it when my dog pukes, even though she enthusiastically fucking eats it afterwards as if it's some kind of gift from the god of her own innards. So, vomiting uncontrollably for 24 hours is seriously my nightmare. I'm pretty much all out of puke at this point. That kinda sounds like a good thing, but let me share with you the downsides. My whole body aches, I'm shaking like a hairless cat stuffed into a refrigerator, I feel constant urges to brush my teeth, I'm afraid to use my own toilet, and I'm afraid to eat even a god damn salteen cracker because of the lingering possibility that it could bring another onset of vomitapocalypse.

This all started late yesterday morning. I was in english class, and very suddenly, I went from feeling perfectly healthy to having a raging x-caliber headache in about 4 seconds. Now, this usually isn't a problem. It didn't exactly feel like a migraine, so I figured it was just a random headache and that it would pass within the hour. With this logic, I went to my next class (geography) without a problem besides this pain in my skull. This was a mistake on my own part. 

In geography, we were having a counselor come in and give us a 90 minute lecture about registration for next year. This was basically an hour and a half of bullshit. About halfway through this lecture, my headache morphed into a disgusting, throbbing migraine and nausea. I didn't feel comfortable interrupting her though, because she was really into her groove of bullshit and I didn't want to share out loud with the entire class that I needed to throw up. So, I waited for her to make us go on some registration website to excuse myself from the class. I packed up my shit and went to the nurse's office. Hell ensued.

Long story short-ish; I texted my dad to pick me up, he immediately responded saying he was on his way, I spent an hour and a half in the nurse's office vomiting my guts out, the office lady kicked me out and sent me back to class, half an hour later my dad finally showed up and blamed his 2 hour late-ness on a business call and told me I needed to calm the fuck down.

But now, over 24 hours later, I've stopped puking, so now I'm like:

I still feel like shit, but as long as there's nothing being forced out of my esophagus, I'm happy.

My very favorite songs

I guess one could say that this post is a continuation of this post about my favorite bands. This one is most of my favorite songs. NOTE: I listen mainly to progressive death metal, nu metal, grunge, and hard rock. I'm pretty sure there's some indie rock and psychedelic rock from the 60s in there too, though. These are in no particular order. (Another thing; I had to fucking look up how to embed grooveshark songs in blogger, specifically for this post. You'd better appreciate this shit.)

Needles by Seether

GENRE: nu metal/hard rock

Spheres of Madness by Decapitated

GENRE: progressive death metal

Bleed by Meshuggah

GENRE: progressive death metal

Blooddrunk by Children of Bodom

GENRE: melodic/progressive death metal

Out of My Way by Seether

GENRE: nu metal/hard rock

Gasoline by Seether

GENRE: hard rock

Lions in Cages by Wolf Gang

GENRE: indie rock

Let it Go by Fossil Collective (NO, NOT THE ONE FROM FROZEN, ASSWIPE)

GENRE: indie

Heart-Shaped Box by Nirvana

GENRE: grunge

Inside the Fire by Disturbed

GENRE: hard rock

Indestructible by Disturbed

GENRE: hard rock

El Negro Cósmico by Caifanes

GENRE: spanish soft rock

Snuff by Slipknot

GENRE: soft rock

Psychosocial by Slipknot

GENRE: nu metal

People=Shit by Slipknot

GENRE: nu metal

Aneurism by Nirvana

GENRE: grunge

Isolation by Alter Bridge

GENRE: rock/hard rock

Breath Again by Alter Bridge

GENRE: rock

Voodoo Child (live) by Jimi Hendrix

GENRE: 60s rock

Fuck It by Seether

GENRE: nu metal/grunge

Quotes (mostly from Filmcow)

"And don't forget to swish-and-flick the shit out of your wand, like this! NYEEHNG!"
-Professor Flitwick

"Caaarl, there is a dead human in our house!"
-Paul the llama

"Even with cake, I feel nothing."
-Marshmallow person #2

"I've always wanted to shoot someone from a clock tower."
-The Cloak

"That's funny, as a communist, he should've either combusted or turned into a giant red squid of some sort." "He's got a temple recommends card..." "Well crap, he's not a communist, he's a Mormon. That explains his need to make everything in his company all safe, and kid-friendly......and well dressed"
-The Cloak and Robert Mitchum's severed head

"I am the banana king!"
-Charlie the Unicorn

"So what does everyone think about cat abortions?"
-Dennis

"Alloess Pewdie!"
-Stefano

"I can't hear you, it's too dark in here"
-unknown

"These are all the little things that make me smile, these are all the things that make life worthwhile, everybody knows the holocaust was a lie, so let's sing about the things we like and don't be shy!"
-A ferret

"Not even my best friend Dennis showed up, and he always shows up 'cause he's an idiot."
-Horse Man

"I can feel my triangular awesomeness leaking out of my face!" 
-Triangle Man

So some of these quotes are not from Filmcow videos, but most of them are. Filmcow made Charlie the Unicorn in case you were wondering. Filmcow makes me very happy. I've been watching their videos  since I was ten, and they never fail to make me laugh until I ruin my makeup.

My life of vocals

I started attempting to be a singer at the tender age of about, I don't know, three and a half seconds old. I think I was pretty good. I could definitely have been a death metal vocalist at that age, but I seem to have lost my touch.

Just kidding. But seriously, I think every single girl out there dreamed of being a music star at some age, usually pretty early on. My earliest memory of wanting to be a singer was at my 5th birthday party.  I had it at Sharkey's kids hair salon in Westport Connecticut and it was fabulous as fuck. I mean, I knew I was fabulous from the time I knew how to say the word "glitter." I took the liberty of going onto google images to find some pictures of the place. So many glittery, fabulous memories.

I mean, this was top-notch fabulosity. This was a hair cutting place. Now you can have an idea of what a glamorous child I was, not to mention how badly my mom wanted me to be one of those child pageant queens. ANYWAY, at this "glamour girl" party, after we ate fabulous cake and dressed in fabulous clothes, we had a fabulous kareoke session. That's the day I realized that I was completely, horrifically tone deaf. As a fresh, new five year old who didn't really know shit about music and half the time still slept in pull-ups, this didn't bother me in the least. However, as the years went on, I began to care more and more about my singing voice.

After many years of practicing my singing (in private), I stopped being entirely tone deaf. However, I couldn't exactly hit the notes very easily. I'd know exactly what note to hit, but my voice just didn't want to hit it. I also could not for the life of me do that fancy WOOOoooOOOOOooOOOO hitting-tons-of-different-notes-within-two-seconds-without-taking-a-breath thing. I was okay, but I also kinda sucked. I tried really hard to do all those fancy things with my voice, but to no avail. Instead, my life was kinda just like;

Until I was about twelve, that is. I got kinda good that year. I still couldn't do that fancy WOOOooooOWOOOOOOO thing that I mentioned earlier, but I had hit puberty. That meant that my voice was a lot richer and deeper and it just sounded nicer. It also meant that I had awkward boob nubbies and acne on absolutely everything. Let's not dwell on that though. 

Okay. We can dwell on it a little bit. 

Ha, haha, ha. Oh god. 

Anyway, then 8th grade happened. I say this because I have no explanation as to why the hell I suddenly got really, really good at vocals, so the only way I can say what happened is, "8th grade happened." I finally was able to do that WOOOooooooOOOOOOooooOOOOOOOOO thing. I learned how to scream, kinda. I don't think I'll ever be able to do a death metal growl, only because I'm a lady and my voice can only go so deep. I really do wish I was able to, though. Then I could go in public and scare the actual fuck out of everybody who passes by me. I'd be all like, lol I'm just a tiny little 5'2 teenager girl and people would be like lol I'm just walkin past this tiny little teenager girl and I'd be all like hello random pedestrian nothing unusual here I'm just a polite little teenager girl and they'd be all like hello little teenager girl and then I'd be all like FUCKING DEATH I'LL MURDER YOUR FAMILY WITH MY FAT BLACK DICK UP YOUR BELLYBUTTON AFTER I DINE ON UNBORN FETUSES WITH UNICORN BLOOD AS BARBECUE SAUCE

Anywho, I guess I'm also the lead vocalist in a band now. I'm pretty happy about that, because I'll get to be all musical with some of my besties and that'll be fun. I mean, as long as I don't have to do death metal growls.