per aspera ad astra

I prefer them.

They have the prongs for stabbing and the bowl for scooping.

Must never leave jobs half-complete.

So, idly browsing MySpace a while ago, on a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend’s page, I found this gem:

Now, maybe it’s just me, but if you’re taking your pre-prom pictures around a big old tractor… Well, it says something about you. x]

I’ve got a friend, Rachel [another Rachel, not the one previously mentioned] who lives about fifty miles south of me. Needless to say, I don’t get to see her that much [hopefully that shall change now that we're done with school and all] but we correspond over–go figure–the internets.

Since she’s turned eighteen, she’s run out and gotten all these piercings, and a tattoo, with plans for more… I think she rushed into some of these, and I wasn’t entirely wrong; she got a Monroe [small stud through the skin above the lip and below the nose, offset a little, which supposedly emulates Marilyn Monroe's beauty mark] and hastily got rid of it, deciding it was, “stupid.”

She hops online yesterday and bombards me with excited messages that she underwent the needle again. “I got my bellybutton pierced,” she expostulates. I commented that I was surprised she didn’t have it done prior.
“Oh, but it isn’t normal,” she confides.”
“What’s different, then?”
“It isn’t just one.”
“…what?”
“Yeah, I got it pierced four times.”
“Did they mess up or something?”
“No, I got a hole in the top, bottom, and in each side.”
“…that’s bizarre, I’ve never seen that.”
“Me either, that’s why I got it done!”

So Rach then sends me a picture, thusly:

In the top is a normal, navel-style jewelled, likely surgical steel, curved barbell [14g] and in the bottom and sides are just plain surgical steel curved–albeit shorter–barbells, also 14 gauge.

…WTFZOMG I LOVE IT.

My mom saw and she’s pretty grossed out by it [I said I'd like to have that done...xD] and phixious doesn’t like it; aw.
Regardless, I’m considering it, just for the hell of it. After all, I enjoyed–oddly–getting my first one done, so hey, why not? Fortunately I’d only have to get three of the four at once and..yeah. However, cleaning it would likely be a bitch, and I’d be intensely terrified of them snagging on each other..

AKA: The things you find online…
After perusing an old friend’s blog–we used to be fairly close, and we were friends since early childhood–I found this. I don’t know if she wrote it, but probably not…this isn’t anything close to how she writes. Anyway…I chuckled at this, at least.

1. Most importantly, to do so in person. This is the most effective method of delivery.

2. Word choice/Diction. Aim for a happy medium here. Don’t speak like a lightning-blasted stump, but don’t orate as an Oxford Professor would, either. Clarity and conciseness is important; there’s no need to take three years to convey your point.

3. Vocal clarity. Don’t attempt when drunk or in an otherwise state of compromised sobriety. Desirable results will not be reached unless you aimed for a drunken brawl…which is not the aim of this.

4. Overt use of vulgarities do not make you look more intimidating, make your argument more effective, etc. See aforementioned note about being a bitch, but add, “ignorant.” There’s a time and a place, and when they would be appropriate modifiers, use them [wisely]. Incoherently spewing obscenities does not make one appear to be badass, it makes them appear to be trying too hard.

5. Maintain a relatively collected manner, even if deceptive. Allowing any sort of annoyance, rage, etc. to show through could possibly leave a weak spot. Plus, it pisses people off so much more to get punished by someone who appears to be completely calm.

6. If you must attempt through a text-based source [be it letter, email, instant or text message] ensure proper spelling, punctuation, and other respect to grammatical function. Again, makes you look like less of an idiot…and if you’re trying to rip someone a new one, looking like an idiot simply won’t help your case.

7. Do not use YouTube. YouTube arguments are for douchebags.

8. Conversely, you may utilize PornoTube or YouPorn for random banging of girlfriends, drunken blowjobs, etc. However, these carry a risk [read: getting the shit beaten out of you], so use wisely and with moderate caution.

9. No complex plots, no schemes, no plans. Simple, verbal ass-rape. Plus, plans usually involve people, and this needs to be mono y mono…else, bitchdom is acheived.

10. Don’t try to be too clever. It can backfire miserably. That, and it just makes you look like a bitch. This is what you need to ultimately avoid.

After we were done working today in my IT class–we had a simple test, everyone finished pretty quickly, our topic of conversation scaled many realms and eventually dusted religion.

Well, more specifically, our own choices [and this was a pleasantly non-preachy conversation and flowed very nicely], and that of our families/their opinions of our own, and then lighthearted joking around [like: "People should be Presbyterian because we're COOL." Me: "What if that was actual reasoning to get people to convert...and what if it worked?] stuff like that.

I was explaining how my dad was raised strict Roman Catholic [but is no longer, and never really was, himself] and how his being left-handed tended to be problematic for him–what with psycho nuns beating the shit out of him for being possessed or something, and then further beating him for not being able to write with his right hand–growing up that way. Garrett [the kid with the Presby comment earlier], a freshman, comments that he would’ve been raised Roman Catholic but for the objections of his mother who he said found Catholicism, traditional Roman in particular, to be [and so he quoted], “ornate, self-absorbed, and overt in the inflation of the ego of the Vatican.” He continues with his own words, “I don’t really se–” and meant to finish, “-e how it is that big of a problem…” but was interrupted by one of the two seniors in the CISCO CCNA program.

“The fuck did you say?”
“I was saying it wasn’t a big deal.”
“No, BEFORE that.”
“Oh, I was quoting my mom. She’s pretty igno–”
“Watch your fucking mouth. That or beware of who you’re around.”
“Oh, so I take it you’re Catholic, then? Sorry, didn’t mean to offend.”
“Shut the fuck up. And you better be sorry. Fuckin’ Presby faggot…gonna get your ass kicked.”

And I’m just sitting there, in the middle of this–literally–growing continuously annoyed at the demeanor of this kid, James.

He’s a little rich boy–deemed pretty by some–, his daddy has some money. Daddy has a yacht, a six bedroom house with a pool, country club membership, smokes fancy expensive cigars, bought wittle Jamesy a little convertible Lexus–which he proceeded to wreck within three months of having–and then a Dodge Viper which he claims to race. He has no redeeming qualities whatsoever and plans on leeching of off his parents’ economic cushion as long as he can, because school and work are just too far beneath him. Therefore, he constantly skips and makes grotesquely poor marks when he’s there and then, of course, complains about not being Valedictorian. And he most certainly is not a devout Catholic; he most assuredly does not attend Mass and only styles himself as Catholic because he was indoctrinated into it to his Confirmation around age twelve..pft.
Anyway, all the privilege he’s been given by Daddy makes him seem to think he’s entitled to talk to anyone any way he pleases.

After missing some of the haphazardly spit threats while contemplating what a worthless piece of shit this kid is, I spoke up.

Me: “Both of you. Shut up.”
Garrett: “But I–”
James: “Stay the fuck out of it.”
Me: “Garrett, you hush because it’s for your own good. James, you shut your mouth because that’s no way to talk to or in the presence of a lady. Kid didn’t mean any harm, so keep your pugnacious tripe to yourself…”
James: “Well, for one, you aren’t a lady, you’re some nosy, know-it-all bitch. Fuck your 97 average; who cares? Little goddamn prick needs to learn some respect.”
Me: “Nosy? You’re yelling across my face. It’s you’re fault I’m involved…and I don’t bost my grades. Anyway, God is watching you, James…”
James: “The fuck?”
Me: “As you sit here needlessly bashing someone over something they don’t agree with, swearing and taking your precious Lord’s name in vain, your God’s watching you. So before you continue your empty threats–because I don’t know about everyone else in this room, but I have $20 on the fact that you’re just a hot-headed moron who’s trying to compensate for measurements–think about THAT. Now please shut up and return to not understanding subnetting and thereby failing your CISCO course. And if you don’t understand what I just said, ask Zach.”

Hrm. Maybe I’m too righteous.
I get caught up in the moment and tend to make speeches on the spot. x3

It was just…obscene. Garrett’s a completely harmless, mild-mannered kid, pretty silly at times, definitely not out to insult people.  It really annoys me when people like James–who have this false sense of entitlement due to their parents’ money and the fact that they’re an upperclassmen–fuck with the kids that don’t do anything. ESPECIALLY over religion. :/

We have pumpkins growing in our backyard from Halloween. [They put the ones we didn't carve in the back when they began to grow soft, in a corner of the yard, near the fence.] My little sister is very excited about them–what with Halloween being her favorite holiday and with pumpkins being her favorite…fruit? Well, to look at/play with/otherwise covet–so my mom is tending them and keeping them healthy so we can harvest them this autumn.

While doing so today, mom was being meowed at through the fence. So she reached through and pet the little cat outside. She noticed that she was awfully thin so let her in the yard so she [mom] could go inside and get food for her. The kitten, who is about Washu’s age and size [length and height-wise], nearly dove into the dish and mauled it all, ravenously. She then followed my mother inside and was very social and lovey to all of us. Evidently, she was an indoor cat, but with the state of her fur and of her weight and from the marks on her face–assumed from fighting, I guess–I wonder if she is either lost or abandoned? She’s a very sweet kitten, much more so, admittedly, than Washu [who is, no nice way around it, a territorial little bitch] and my mom already gave her a name [Stella]–just so we’d have something to call her, not to say, “Oh, we’re keeping her.”

We’re going to post around the neighborhood to make sure she doesn’t belong to someone else who is here and who misses her. I like her, but it wouldn’t be nice to take someone else’s kitty…I’d be pretty upset if someone took my kitty.

Meantime, she can and will stay with us away from the elements and will be well-fed. She’s cuddly as anything, and not remotely pugnacious…Washu’s approached her hissing and growling, and she’s just…not reactive in a pissy way.

She made herself right at home on my sofa..

So I got up, showered, blow-dried my hair with meticulous care [I'm actually very bad at it, but the lady at the hair salon required tidy moussed and blow-dried hair for the updo appointment I had.] My hair took about an hour–and over a hundred bobby-pins and about a gallon of aerosol hairspray–and was very intricate. Sadly, I don’t have any *good* pictures of it, but it was…hm. I’m not used to having to sit so long for hair, and I’ve never had an updo. My stylist was pleasant and not too terribly chatty…although one of the other clients *was* and I feared that she’d distract my stylist. Fortunately, it was fine.

I then went to Rachel’s house, where I did her nails and hair because she’s incapable of both. I needed a little help getting into my dress, what with the application of the dual-sided tape and proper placement of the dress, etc. [I needed help from both Rach and her mom. My mom was upset that she had to work that day, but murr.] The tape was passable, but didn’t function as well as I’d like…turns out that I really just did need slightly bigger boobs for it to fit properly. Oh well, it was still cute. There, her mom did her makeup because her mom is fussy, and also insisted that she put some on me. Ack! Personally, I don’t care for cosmetics. I’m pretty obsessive about skincare, and I don’t want to phxck up my complexion with makeup. Mrs. Horne convinced me to endure eyeliner and such though, and not a lot. However, to me, the eye work looked pretty drastic. It’s weird what a little line along the lower lash line can do.
Rachel’s date eventually showed up, met her parents, and they did the little corsage/boutonnière bit and started the pictures of them. After taking directions, Jeremy showed up, we did group pictures, he met Rachel’s parents, etc. Her dad started the shotgun cracks [as he always does in the presence of dates]…Jason looked a little nervous, but Jeremy was laughing.

So eventually, we left. Rachel went to dinner, and Jeremy and I were trying to figure out what to do. [Formal sit-down-ness was out, we decided.] Mom wanted me to come see her at work so she could see the dress on, etc. We drove to Friendly’s, where I felt super over-dressed, walked in and was like, “MOM. Come see, quick. Raaawr. Nissa, you know you wanna make me a mint chocolate chip milkshake, right? I’ll give you a dollar. Just kidding, I’ll give you like $4.89.” They didn’t charge me, which was super. The wait staff was fawning over me, and Elaine [older, super-ditzy (yet sweet) waitress] comes up and tells Jeremy that he has to treat me right or, “fifty waitresses will make you regret it.” We laughed, left, grabbed something fast, and proceeded to where prom was. Which…I vaguely knew the location of and was pretty sure I knew how to get to, but we double checked with the GPS shit on his new HTC Mogul. Fun.

We got there too early. Grr. So we walked around, and around, and around. There was, randomly, the top half of a pineapple on the sidewalk outside…which I took a picture of, just for whatever’s sake. We eventually go in at, what, a quarter after eight. There are only a few couples there, and a bunch of obese chicks in too-tight gowns. Ugh. Also, the refreshments table was meager and there was no ‘responsible adult attendant’ to make sure the punch didn’t get spiked–as a result, I refused to drink from it–and apparently, later in the evening, after we left, it did [get some alcoholic fortification].
The DJ was wretched. He played a small selection with many repeats. In the couple hours we were there, at least five songs were repeated at least twice. WTF. Songs like, “I’ll Make Love to You,” [Boys II Men], “Crank Dat Soulja Boy,” [Soulja Boy] and other tripe…and the Electric and Cha-Cha Slides were played like eight trillion times. Laaame. That, and the DJ was horrible at mixing and fading, the speakers were entirely too loud, and they were distorting the songs like hell. It was pretty horrid. Jeremy was like, “…I could do a better job than this, just lemme go get my damn laptop out the car…”

He wanted to leave, butI insisted that we wait [especially since I spent as much as I did on dress/tickets/etc] in the hopes that things would improve and so that we could obtain a friend of mine who was arriving with another party [she was coming with us for afterwards-ness] who would have a similar opinion of the night. We were there for perhaps ten minutes after she arrived when we left. xD Funny stuff.

We didn’t dance at the prom though–I mean, seriously, it was *really* bad. It was really really super pathetic and neither of us could bear it. So he danced with me back at the hotel, which was really cute. :x

I did have a good time even though the “objective” of the night was worthy of face-palming. The *rest* of the evening was peachy, but I needn’t elaborate on it because I am, after all, a lady. :3

Pictuuures…

Rach and I. I do not like my eyeliner or where her corsage is pinned.

Okay, so we completely don’t match, Charlotte [Rach's sis] can’t use anti-red eye flash, and I definitely look like a little kid. But goddamn it, I’m a cute little kid, and I remind myself of Cinderella in that dress. x3;

Jason, Rachel, me, Jer. Red-eye strikes again, as both Rachel and Jeremy look pretty demonic. Meep. Erm…I hate my smile in this one, but it was as I was about to crack up laughing because I just can’t post for pictures.

Right clickity for linku to full-size picture, I s’pose. :3

From a friend, at prom:

Yes, those are Christmas-style icicle lights in the background. Lame.
We honestly played with his phone there more than anything else. Hah.

Alright, May is a month full of birthdays for friends/family/&Phixious.

May 3: Mandi, longest known friend–we’ve drifted, though.
May 9: Phix! <3
May 10: Jerrica [little sister]. Oh man, five already? Where does the time go? [Also Sid Vicious. While on fame-y people, Trent Reznor's is on the 17th.]
May 19: Rachel–major driftage.
May 21: Aunt.

Alright ladies and gents, chillax with the early-mid August lovin’. My wallet can only take so much of a beating. :]

Alright kids, it is pretty evident, I think, that I don’t like to skirt around things. It wastes time/energy/effort; getting right to the point is much more efficient.

Earlier, while at work, I was informed by one of my coworkers that I am, “mean.”

“Mean? Cruel? How am I either? I am only honest. It isn’t my fault that the truth can be as unsightly as it often is.”
“Well so am I, but you’re just a bitch about it, Jenn.”
“I adore these discourses…”
“What? What’s a discourse?”
“Consider retracting that query before I say something you’ll deem, ‘mean.’ Nevermind, I’ll just give you a freebie–these discussions, conversations, etc.”
“Why?”
“It always seems that the people who make such accusations against me are the type of person who is far more complacent with whispering and smirking behind the backs of her victims. Who, then, when caught, vehemently deny having said anything to try to save what little face she has. Unlike that type of person, however, I have, at the very least, modicum of manners and decency…I, unlike she, feels it to be in better taste to allow my victim the ability to retort or challenge me. I am not so high on my metaphorical horse, Heather. Oh no…am I again being cruel?”
She is silent.
“If that’s so…it isn’t without ostensible reason. I don’t make a point of voicing my observations, etc. to hurt or be ‘bitchy;’ there is always provocation, as you, yourself, must have surely noticed by now.”
She’s still silent.

Does honesty equate to bitchiness or cruelty? I see how it can, of course, in excess…but moderation is key, and I tend to abide by that. Hrm..

Good golly gosh, who would’ve thought?

http://www.thinkgeek.com/stuff/41/betamaxhd.html?cpg=70H

Make sure to watch the video…amazing how and why someone would want to convert an obsolete Betamax into a lost-out HD-DVD.

Also, three.