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.

March polls summary

So I put up new polls at the beginning of every month. Last month, I put up two polls. These are the results:

So in regards to the results for "Pick a Favorite," I'm not surprised. I certainly was expecting either titties or a unicorn to win. Honestly, I put "fapping to this blog" as a joke. Two of you still picked it. I mean, I'm flattered, but sweet jesus, you must have some weird fetishes to be able to get off to a high school student's creativity and humor blog.

Now, onto "What should my next post be about."
I hate all of you.
Now I feel obligated to write a post about my most embarrassing moments.

I'm deciding between several moments, because I want to dedicate the post to only one time. Here are the options:

OPTION #1: In first grade when I peed my pants

OPTION #2: The time I made my mom's black friend crash a motorcycle when I was ten

OPTION #3: The time in 6th grade when I accidentally put a dead fish in my crush's sweatshirt hood

There are you guys' choices. Comment what you want me to post.

How my music taste developed

Do pardon if this post is shitty. I'm having a major belt of hyperactivity and I'm typing faster than I ever have in my life it's actually really scary and I think I might need some medication to control whatever the hell is happening in my brain right now.

So my music taste is really weird. I consider myself a metalhead with great pride, because metal (in several different forms, nu-metal being one of my favorites) is my primary music choice. However, if we get into my other music tastes, you may begin to wonder who the hell brought me up. Well, let me answer that for you; I was raised by being passed around between my parents, my grandparents, and my uncle. By the time I was around ten, I had been raised on a solid foundation of classical music, Fergie, P!nk, Green Day, Pink Floyd, and other bands that start with a color.

In other words, I liked Boroque and Punk.

Then, 5th grade happened.

At this point, I was just uncovering that part of me that was like "I am rebellious but not too rebellious so I'm going to be a little bit rebellious but not enough to bother anybody but still pretty rebellious." I didn't really know how to deal with this, so I didn't. However, this was the time that I got my first ipod touch, which meant I could get apps. Along with Doodle Jump and Minination and maybe some apps that could be classified as porn, I installed the Vevo app.

In case you've been living under an extremely heavy and technologically impaired rock for the past seven years, Vevo is a music video viewing website. I had the app for about two months before somehow stumbling across Seether's music video for Fake It. I honestly cannot recall how I managed to find this video, but it was the single best thing that had ever happened to me, with growing boobs at a close 2nd.

Anyway, I had never listened to nor even really heard of nu metal or grunge before. That's why I believe I was so fascinated with this video/song. I had suddenly gone from listening to Big Girls Don't Cry to 35 year old men simultaneously playing loud instruments and smoking Marlboros.

one of these things is not like the others

So I have this weird mentality that has effected me since I can remember; if I find a band that I like, I'm afraid to listen to more than one or two of their songs because I'm afraid I'm gonna find a really shitty song and be disappointed and stop listening to said band. This caused me to listen specifically and only to Fake It and Remedy because I was somehow convinced that all of Seether's other songs would be shit. This went on for a good two years or so.

In 7th grade, along with blossoming into a fully fledged delinquent, I decided it was time to start listening to some more hardcore music. This evolved into getting into the well known genre of Punk, with bands such as Rise Against and Blink 182, besides Green Day which I had already been listening to since I'd come out of the womb. I felt so badass, like I should've been in a motorcycle gang. You know, one full of hormonal twelve year old girls who don't know what their own genitals look like.

Anywho, I was into punk for a good year or so after that, exceptions being like three Seether songs. Then, the end of eighth grade.

At this time, I had started listening to lots of grunge and 60's stuff. I had gotten over my fear of listening to new songs and Seether became my favorite band of all time, and at that status it still remains. But I had not yet discovered real metal. Until, that is, I discovered Children of Bodom.

Children of Bodom is a progressive death metal band from Finland, and they're a little bit horrifying. As I recall, I discovered them by shitting around on the interwebs for a while and I decided to look up "death metal songs" for some reason. Children of Bodom came up. I listened to a few of their songs. I was horrified. I think I may have shit myself. And I loved it.

After that fateful discovery, I began listening to more metal bands, such as Slipknot and Decapitated. I also got into black metal around the beginning of this school year.

Essentially, my music taste has just spiralled downward into this pit of horror and blood and screaming and inaudible lyrics and guys wearing makeup. Currently, I'm very happy with the music that I listen to, which consists mainly of grunge, nu metal, and death metal. I'm always open to new stuff, but metal will forever be the music I listen to in the shower; the most crucial and to-the-point time of music listening-to. I mean, you can't go and skip a song while you're in the shower. You'd better prepare your playlist for absolutely no skips, unless you want to require a new music-playing device every time you shower. Actually, if you're rich enough to do that, you could probably afford to just pay the actual band to come and play in your shower. But if you're like the rest of us, you know that shower time is time to listen to only your favorite music.

This post went downhill very suddenly.

Remember to shower regularly, kids.