PICTURE MEME THINGER:  (Stolen from golgibody )

• Post ten of any pictures currently on your hard drive that you think are self-expressive.
• NO CAPTIONS! It must be like we're speaking with images and we have to interpret your visual language just like we have to interpret your words.
• They must ALREADY be on your hard drive - no googling or flickr! They have to have been saved to your folders sometime in the past. They must be something you've saved there because it resonated with you for some reason.
• You do NOT have to answer any questions about any of your pictures if you don't want to. You can make them as mysterious as you like. Or you can explain them away as much as you like.

^ From my google homepage.  :D

Today I'm going to rehearsal, then sleeping over at Eric's house :P  We're going to Lake Compounce tomorrow!!!

(Short entry is short.)

Oh goodness.

For those of you who haven't heard me rant at great length about my new pal Code, PLUG YOUR EARS.

Now, I'm not a fan of talking to / befriending random scary people from the internet, but I have made an exception.  On the grounds that I met him via PostSecret.  And he's English.  We've been videochatting on MSN.

This probably has "bad" written all over it, but it's not like I'm going to go visit him, right?  Right? . . .

Anyway, HE SOUNDS LIKE NERIMON.  Right, had to get that out.  But cooler, because he is actually talking to me!!!  >_<  Oh gosh, fangirl'd.  And yes, the first time we spoke, I squealed like an idiot.  Well done.

No need for real concern, though, of course.  But he's a real sweetheart.  thefoolshope , you've gotta meet him.

And hey, he's cute, right?  And not just English?

I find this to be an interesting question - everyone's always complaining that the other sex has it way easier, or whatever.  But I think we each have our own difficulties. 

Things that suck about being a girl:

1.  Childbirth.  This is an obvious one.  Clearly very painful.
2.  Social pressure.  Girls can be ruthless to each other, and it can be really tough to fit in.
3.  Clothing.  This fits in with social pressure.  Fashion is a lot more difficult for girls than for boys.
4.  Large breasts.  I've never had to cope with this, but apparently having huge knockers isn't the best thing in the world.  Sorry, guys!
5.  Dealing with boys.  We don't understand you, either.


Things that suck about being a boy:

1.  Penises.  Everyone knows when you think someone's attractive.
2.  Balls.  Apparently it hurts to be kicked in them.
3.  Manliness.  If you're not tough enough, people will tease you and call you gay.
4.  Sports.  See manliness.
5.  Dealing with girls.  Yeah, yeah, okay, you don't understand us.  We get it.


In the end, I think it's pretty clear that nobody has it easy.  But hey, that shouldn't keep us from getting along!  (Except that boys have cooties.)

A few years ago, I like to think that I looked a lot like Avril Lavigne (remember her?)  Maybe because I was more "punk."



I've also heard that I look like Keira Knightley, though I'm not really sure about that one anymore.



If anyone looks like Keira Knightley, it's Natalie Portman, dontcha think?

According to one of those celebrity matchy websites, I look like Madonna, Billie Piper, Celine Dion, Grace Kelley, Brad Pitt (?), ETC.

Like thefoolshope said, I guess the only real course of action is to become famous myself.

recently getting much enjoyment out of xkcd's version of "googlewhacking." 

seriously, try it out.  it's lots of fun.

enter a phrase in google's search box (in quotes) and see how many results you can get.  the fewer above zero, the better.

for the record,

i want to have sex with randall munroe.

^there's another result for you.

Kay, so I was very inspired by j_l_bate's journal HERE.


Here goes!



















all images from www.jimsturgess.org - check them out!

hope you liked!

So this thursday (yesterday, that was) I woke up with a nasty sore throat. Ended up not going in to work, thank goodness. So I've been stuck at home, with no television or internet until after dinner (thanks, mom and dad). I was invited to see Hancock with friends, but I ended up falling asleep on the couch instead. Unfortunately, sleeping most of the day does not make for a good night's rest. Last night was probably the worst night of sleep I've had in quite some time.  

So now my throat's feeling a little better, and I'm stuck at my mom's office waiting for a ride home.

Get well wishes and consolation are welcomed.

so i totally truthed you guys when i said this LJ would never be updated.  last time i posted was something ridiculous like 63 weeks ago.  all the stuff before this post is all ancient and archaic.  and redundant.  aaaanyway, for anyone who reads this, i really still don't know how often this is going to be updated, since most of my posts are in the community t_shirt_surgery, and i don't post here since i'm terrible at journaling...which you may have noticed.

anyway, i love golgibody, who is my new friend from PA.  and she gets a shoutout because she's just that special.

PEACE.

TODAY IS THE DAY OF SILENCE

so stfu.

kiddinggg...

check it out..

here.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!”
Sophia’s backpack had split its seams and textbooks, papers, and notecards had spilled all over the floor. She scrambled to pick them up as the stampede of students barely parted to avoid stepping on her. Nearly as invisible as always, she thought. She managed to salvage the majority of her papers, but some had been kicked off down the hallway by unsuspecting feet. Who knew where they’d gone to? Putting on her now mostly useless backpack and carrying way too many books in her arms, Sophia trudged down the hallway to class.
The bell rang as she was seconds from the door of her math class. Sophia, still juggling her textbooks and various papers, managed to nudge the handle enough so that she could open the door with her body. Having accomplished this, it was only a matter of finding an empty seat without dropping her books again. Easier said than done. The class watched her plight in silence like a horde of hungry crocodiles watches the last monkey in a tree. Their eyes followed her every movement: if she swayed to the left unbalanced, their eyes tracked her. Sophia had progressed thorough at least six shades of crimson so far. And didn’t the only empty seat just have to be on the opposite side of the room? Time seemed to freeze as she walked to the seat. Finally, which showed, to her, that there must be a god, Sophia made it to her seat and slid into it. The time that had, for those agonizing (was it only thirty?) seconds, been absolutely frozen, began to thaw and the students began talking again. Sophia’s ears, which had boiled as she walked across the room slowly cooled and began to return to their usual shade of not red.
She stood her backpack up next to her chair, and it drooped pathetically forward. Sighing, Sophia took her math book from the stack she had placed next to her desk and placed it in front of her next to her notebook. She looked up at the teacher, Mr. Rosen, for further direction. Why he hadn’t done anything to save her from such embarrassment was anybody’s guess. He smiled, his perfect teeth shining like two rows of white corn.
“If we are completely settled,” he said, “I would like to begin class. I have written the date and vocabulary words on board—you know what to do.”
Sophia did, and obediently copied everything into her notebook, which had a dusty footprint on the cover now. The sound of scratching pencils on paper soothed her. Sophia kept half of her attention on what Mr. Rosen was saying—he had continued with the lesson—and let her mind wander. She was fairly good at this by now; she did it in all of her classes and was able to take notes while her mind was elsewhere.
Footprints…She thought about the footprints the seagulls left on the beach when she was at the Jersey Shore that past summer. She loved how the waves washed over the footprints and left a completely new slate for more. There was something existential about all that, she thought, something about the impermanence of life or something. She’d figure it out later. Scritch, scritch. Sophia had never seen a dead seagull. Where did they go to die? On the sea, perhaps? Or in the air? Do they die on the beach and the tide washes them away? Scritch. Seagulls are dumb anyway.
“Sophia, what’s the answer to this question?” Mr. Rosen asked, clearly trying to catch her off guard.
Sophia looked up. On the board was written
12x2 – 2x – 2
No sweat.
“Six X plus two multiplied by two X minus one.” That should show him, she tacked on mentally.
“Very good, Sophia,” he nodded, smiling at her in a way that made her feel satisfied with her work, yet slightly uncomfortable. He copied her answer on to the board. Sophia blushed and returned to her thoughts.
* * *
The bell rang, and Sophia got together her books. As she stood and waked over to the door, Mr. Rosen stopped her.
“May I speak with you a moment, Sophia?”
“Yeah, sure, what is it?” she replied. It’s probably about me being late, she thought.
“You were late today, Sophia.” It wasn’t a question, but Sophia nodded.
“I’m sorry, my backpack broke.”
“That’s okay, Sophia. Unforeseeable circumstances. I understand.” He paused, and smiled at her, those perfect teeth gleaming second only to his eyes, which were locked on hers. Sophia could not keep his gaze and looked at the ground. He continued. “You know you’re one of my best students, Sophia. You’re very smart. And very pretty.” He put his hand under her chin, forcing her to look back into his eyes.
“I—I have to go to class.” Sophia turned away, blushing. She could feel her ears turn scarlet on either side of her head. Her notebook fell to the floor, she was shaking so much. Bending down and trying not to let her books fall, Sophia picked up her notebook. But before she could stand up again, she felt warm breath and stubble on her neck and heard a voice in her ear.
“Very, very pretty, Sophia.”
She got to her feet as fast as she could and bolted out the door.