Monthly Archives: November 2011

D’awww, you guyssss!!! On a side note, I refuse!


Okay, so I just got a very kind mention on another blog and it just makes me soooooooo happy! I’m not even going to complain about the lack of comments made on my blog on this post because I’m just sooo super psyched that it’s not even funny!

Now, as I’ve been ridiculously deathly sick with a side of flu, I haven’t been the most inspired bloggerbot out there (Yes, I am a robot, yes, you should fear me because I’m capable of the most intelligent and real robot talk ever). BUT!!!

I am absolutely determined to go back to school tomorrow and see all my pretty friends! Also, I preeee much have to go back because on Thursday I have a double header basketball game to go watch and my mum won’t let me do so unless I GET SOME SCHOOLING DONE!

Wanna hear what I semi-sarcastically laughed about today? No? Well, I’mmunna tell you anywhooo! What now, blogging world?

Every single person in my high school is posting statuses like:

“Ughhh, I so cannot WAIT until Christmas breakkkkk!!!!!”

Okay, so since these statuses were posted DURING Thanksgiving break, I’m laughing a little about how lazy and whiny teenager are. Trust me, I do this too. I whine ALL THE TIME! I just go off and go

“Moooommmmm, I feel soooo sick and I’m cold and tired and so you should let me on the computer to post my dumb blog that no one looovvveessss!”

I can even manage to put tears in my eyes as I say this, and yes, I’m dying and so it’s preee legit, but the thing is…the THING issss…

I’m a nasty whiny complaining baby-faced terrible horrible ridiculous sometimes angry angsty blarghyy blurghhy teenager JUST like everyone else.

If you have a problem with that, you prolly should not be reading my blog, okay sillies? OKAY, LINDSEY?! YOU’RE JUST AS BAD!!! <I Love You>

We have blogging moments of the week!!!

Teehee moment: The fact that the day I had the most views, the most views just happened to land at 69. Teehee

What the Hell moment: The day after I got 69 views…ZERO VIEWS ON MY BLOG. WHAT IS THAT?

Pure Bliss moment: When I was MENTIONED IN SOMEONE ELSE’S BLOG WITH A POSITIVE CONNOTATION, DUHHHH!

Ahhhhnnddd the ‘Me Moment of the Week Award: The fact that up until today, I’ve been posting all of my blogs on a small device (well, it’s large phone-wise), with twitchy, sore, achy fingers, tired eyes and having been dying, JUST BECAUSE I LOVE YOU ALL SOOOO MUCH AND I DIDN’T WANT TO LET YOU DOWN.

It’s about time for me to take a bow.

*Takes a Bow*

Now, being the oh-so-dynamic writer that I am, I am CHALLENGING you guys to give me a topic to write about, okay?

I mean, I can persevere through sickness and sadness and roawrness and antiglomp, so I can write about what YOU want me to write about.

So, basically, our topic(s) for the day is/are REFUSING!

Here’s a short list of things I totally refuse to do:

I refuse to be sad for longer than a week at a time.

I refuse to stop eating or regurgitate my food in order to be a better model of the human race.

I refuse to eat red meat (for now).

I refuse to conform to the idea that I’m not good enough.

I refuse to be good enough.

I refuse to refuse.

I refuse to die, until I’m ready, and how I want to go. However, I’ll be ready when I die, and I’ll go in the way that I was meant to.

I refuse to take no for an answer (Unless I really want no to be the answer).

I refuse to kiss boys (unless I want to)

I refuse to get good grades because I cheated.

I refuse to cheat because I’m expected to get good grades.

I refuse to make blogging my life, my priority, and my everything. Instead, I will just keep it as a very important outlet for my various refusals.

I refuse to EVER fully grow up.

I refuse to give up my blue skies and my belief in magic.

I refuse to look at happiness as anything less than my absolute goal in life.

I refuse.

Okay, I think I’m done with my refusals for now, but I have about a million more, and those were just the ones I came up with off the top of my head while furiously trying to type my blog and pay attention to a movie I’m watching with my mother.

I REALLY REALLY REALLY want to hear about your refusals. We may agree. We may agree to disagree. We may refuse to give a shit, but that might be pushing it a little far, don’t you think?

As always, you can reach me at my email address under my contact name if you want to share anything with this almost sad excuse for a blog. If not, just leave a comment, because some of the brightest parts of my day are hearing your feedback, good or bad.

Ohhh, I’m also going to share with you a little sad video that my older brother starred in. Because I’m supposed to support him and all that jazz, and also because I really feel as if it was a decent piece of work.

Okay, so I’m going to wrap this blog up with some happy music and a smile, and then I’m going to go back to school tomorrow and flourish as a goofy, offbeat young teenager with a hidden agenda to be beautiful in my own eyes.

I send my love to all of you.

“Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion’s starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don’t see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, it’s not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it’s always there – fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge – they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion… love actually is all around.”

– Prime Minister, Love Actually

I shall ever be known as the chick with way too much swagg to be healthy. Wait, what?


I had Strep, as you guys prolly know if you pay any attention at all to my bloggeratingery.

Now I’m really sick again with a flu that does not allow me to eat, but does not cause me to puke.

I feel like a failed bulemic.

I’m cold all the time, my body aches, my throat hurts, I’m tired, and I have this weird symptom where I complain A LOT to strangers who read my blog.

The thing is, I’m absolutely positive I would feel at least 4% better if I had a cute boy to snuggle with.

This is where I go like those bloggers who ask for monetary donations or ask for people to send them books.

Send me an incredibly cute mail-order snuggle boy.

He has to be age-appropriate. I don’t want snuggles from 3-year olds and I don’t want snuggles from anyone 27 and up. Unless it’s Jared Leto, Channing Tatum, Jared Padelecki, Jenson Ackles, etc.

Then it’s perfectly fine and screw their wives!

Okay, so today we’re going to discuss bad grades.

Right now, I have them, because I was gone from school for a week with Strep, didn’t get all my late work in before thanksgiving break, and now am sick again.

Wow, some dqys my life really does suck, doesn’t it?

YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO SAY YES!

I’d like to apologize to B.E, because I was going to use your stuff in this blog post, but I can’t from my phone. Pooey. I still love you.

By the way, what is a topic you would like me to discuss, world?

I’m really truly smart enough to discuss a TON of things, and if I can’t I bullshit, and if that doesn’t work I use this cool thing people call

COPY AND PASTE!

Soooo, back to grades. I’m a Junior. I need really good grades, because this is the year that really counts!

Also, I need to get into my college of choice. Just sayin’.

I have a ton of late social studies assignments due, and I’m really freaking out bad because it’s taking all my energy just to type this, much less write a fourteen page outline on the reasons why the U.S and Japan got involved in WWII!

This blog probably isn’t interesting anyone at all, and for that, I am incredibly sorry. It is just not my day to be witty or stupidly funny, and the thing is, I thought my last blog post was fucking hilarious and

You did not.

So, that is incredibly sad.

Let’s talk about my mum’s car.

It’s choking and dying.

This is where you go:

“Ohhh that’s so sadddd!”

Because, really, it is. See, what if it was a Transformer?

Even if it’s not, we can barely afford to put food on the table (thank you, state food stamps for helping us out with that), much less get a new car.

It’s a sad sad story, and I’m kind of hoping you at least did a sympathetic

“Awwww :-(.”

For our troubles.

I’m gonna wrap this up now, since I have nothing more to say to you right now.

“Dear future me,
I don’t care if you get fat.
But I do have dreams and aspirations, so don’t let me down.

Telea.”

– a letter to the future me.

We are being observed by dinosaurs/Ohhhh goddd, Ironhide, please don’t die, you stupid fucker!


Don’t you just hate it when your bladder wakes you up and you were still trying to sleep?

“Wake up, fucker, I gotta empty my contents.”

You’re layin’ in bed going:

“Shit no, please, please just eight more hours, okay?”

The worst part is that your bladder is never nice about it. You never feel your bladder going:

“Hey, Telea, I have got a load of urinary waste in me. Could I, no, may I please, be allowed to dispense it into the nearest open urinary facility?”

Never happens. This is never a question or an option. YOU HAVE TO DO THAT SHIT! If you don’t, you’re in serious trouble. See, your bladder has got an ATTITUDE! Your bladder will FUCK YOU UP!

Because the problem is that your bladder never, ever submits. It doesn’t happen.

“Okay, since you’re tired, I’ll just wait. I’ll just hold back for a few more hours. I will take the pressure off of you.”

NO, YOUR BLADDER GETS MAD! It starts putting on the pressure, just pushing you to your limit. It’s like you’re a rogue spy for the Russian Intelligence Agency, and your bladder is the CIA agent who caught you and is now fucking your shit up for info.

“You like that, bitch? Can you feel the heat? Can’t take it? THEN TAKE ME TO YOUR FUCKING TOILET!”

You’re at the brink of tears here, and it’s not cool, because you know from experience that tears don’t come from the bladder. Crying spastically will not relieve the pressure you feel. Those are not urinary tears.

So, now you’re thinking you might just wet the bed, and this gets a barrage of comments from your surroundings, as follows.

Bed: “You’re gonna do what on me? Ain’t it bad enough that you talk in your sleep?”

Bladder: “Ooohhh, so this how you’re gonna play it. Well done.”

Body: “Ermm, excuse me…excuse me? That might chaffe.”

Nose: “You know I can’t sleep in these conditions. Piss smells shitty, sorry, asshole.”

Asshole: “Naw, bro, it’s okay, Left Buttcheek made that same joke just the other day.”

And finally, here’s the mind going:

“Ohh no you fucking din’t!”

Now here’s the thing. If your mind does not want you wetting the bed, you can’t. It’s an epic painful battle between your mind and your bladder, and your mind (that righteous fucker) ALWAYS FUCKING WINS.

At this point, you’re going crazy. You’ve been laying in bed for the last half an hour talking to inanimate objects, and your bladder starts flipping.

“Fuuuuuckk, what are you doing to me? Ohhh god, whyyyyy?”

You just got turned into the villain. You’re sitting there going:

“Who are you, my mother?!”

Now the guilt and pain is far too much, and you HAVE to get up.

“You may have won this time, bladder, but next time you pull this shit I’m gettinf fucking catheterized!”

“You fucker, now I’m gonna talk to mind, and mind ain’t gonna let you go to sleep.”

I hate my life.

Our topic is a little skewed today, but we shall make it by.

Firstly, I would like to say that dinosaurs still exist. You just can’t see them or hear them or smell them, and there is absolutely no evidence that they exist at all.

But they are there, and they are watching you. Us. The human race.

They do bad shit, too. They make you rob banks. Nooo wait…

Hold up, those aren’t dinosaurs, those are things called envy, greed, need, debt, lack of morals, and being crazy as fuck!

Also, we always need to discuss Transformers.

*SPOILER ALERT*

Decepticons are bad.

Ohh, you knew that?

CENTINNAL PRIME IS AN ARROGANT DICK WHO NOT ONLY HELPS THE DECEPTICONS BUT ALSO KILLS IRONHIDE.

You may not believe this, but I cry every time an Autobot dies or appears to have died.

It comes to a scene where Shia LaBeouf has to choose between Megan Fox and Bumblebee, and I’m standing up, screaming:

“FUCK THAT BITCH WITH A TOE-THUMB! YOU GUYS ARE GONNA BREAK UP! RUN AWAY BEFORE SHE BUSTS YOUR ASS! BUMMMMMBBBLLLEEEBEEEE!”

Everyone else in the movie theater is going:

“What is this bitch doing? Sit down! SIT DOWN! We are trying to watch a movie here!”

I’m on the phone, crying because in movie three you think all the Autobots are fucked, and I’m sobbing spastically to my bestie, who has yet to see the movie.

“Lekresha, they’re in fucking space, and they just got their shit fucked up by the decepticons, and ohhhhhh gaaawwwdddd, I gotta go… my phone is breaking because of my tears.”

Then everything turns out okay in the end except for the fact that IRONHIDE AND LIKE, FOUR OTHER AUTOBOTS ARE DEAD.

My mom has to drag me out of the theater.

“Telea, it’s not real, Autobots do not exist.”

She says this in the parking lot, and I go:

Shhh, mooooomm, you don’t say that! They could be any one of these cars out here.

Screaming at the top of my lungs twenty minutes later in the Walmart parking lot:

“I believe in you Autobots! I WILL BE THE SAM TO ANY ONE OF YOUR BUMBLEBEES! Just show me you exist.”

Cops come out.

“Excuse me, ma’am, is everything alright here??”

“No, no, I’m not okay, because Ironhide is DEAD, and your dirty nosy asses still exist right now, okay?”

Conversation OVER!

“You feeling lucky, punk?”

– Ironhide

Don’t you sass me, small one. Your diva attitude is just WAY out of line. Yes. I do say these things to my own mother.


Do you have that parental figure that is always always ALWAYS pestering you, even when you did everything that was asked of you? You know, the one who is so frustrated with their own life that they take it out on their kids with harsh words like these:

“Okay, so I asked you to take the trash out, and you didn’t.”

Mom, there’s a tornado mixed with a blizzard going on outside right now.

“Don’t make excuses! I asked you to do something and you didn’t. You are disrespecting my authority!”

But mom, we’re legitly barricaded into our house by walls of fire and acid rain. There’s a chasm in our driveway that I just CANNOT get over.

“This is why we shouldn’t have had kids. Obviously I’m a bad parent. Those blahblahblah kids wake up every morning BEFORE SCHOOL and milk a barn full of cows, and you can’t even take out the fucking trash.”

Mom, I swear I would, but we’re all trapped under a collapsed ceiling. There’s a barrage of zombies and fat people and Al Capone out there, and I am not risking my life for this.

“Uh, none of this ever woulda happened if you had just taken the trash out in the first place.”

BAM! DID YOU FUCKING SEE THAT? My own mother just found a way to blame the end of the world on me.

All the while my dad is sitting by, twiddling his thumbs going:

“Man, I wish I had a computer and a bag of chips. I would eat those chips. I would eat those chips so hard. Lets get some sour cream and onion goodness all up in here! Then I’m gonna discuss politics and my daughter’s deepest secrets with strangers on my facebook account.”

Doesn’t it just get fucking scarier than the apocalypse when not only does your father spend more time on facebook than you, he also has MORE FACEBOOK FRIENDS THAN YOU?

This is the part where I just bail.

I swear, I grab the bag of trash and take off running. Yeh fuck you guys, I’ll take the end of the world!

Now, you may be all like, man, this chick exaggerates so hardcore. To which I reply:

Spend a week in Wisconsin you fucking jackass.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love the shit out of my parents, but some days I sit on my bed with a shotgun in my hands, rocking back and forth repeating this mantra:

Don’t do it, Telea. Don’t do it. You know you’re no good at not dropping the soap. Put the gun down.

Then I calculate how much time I have left until I can legally move out, down to the second.

Two hundred and fifty four days, twelve hours, thirty nine minutes, fifty three seconds. Two hundred and fifty four days, twelve hours, thirty nine minutes, twelve seconds. Two hundred and…

I think you get the point.

“Telea! Stop fucking around on your phone and help stuff this turkey!”

Go Team America

Guess who can’t sleep? Guess who doesn’t give a fuck? You wankers!


I’m a creature of the night. Lindsey is prolly sleeping, as for everyone else.

I may or may not be funny at night but I’m just gonna give this a shot here…mmmmmmmkay?

How fluent are you in Teleaspeak? You’re not, alright?

The thing is that I havs all these thoughts that seem so sensible in my head, and then I try and say them out loud and people are all like:

Seriously, Telea, what the fuck are you even talking bout?

Well I was discussing the politics of what a motherfucking dumbass you are, but uhm, lets move on, okay?

I always wanted to be a comedian. Pop out jokes wherever I go, class clown, goddamn, better than being the fucking pope, alright?

I always try to keep it real with people because that is always really important. That doesn’t really mix with comedy, because people know I keep it real, and so when I say something like:

Your mom has the biggest wizard sleeve ever.

People just go:

Wow. Telea, I can’t believe that you just said that to me about my mother.

Then I try to tell them that I’m joking and this is inevitably whqt they say:

Too far, Telea. That was just going wayyyyyy too far.

My friend on the left of me, who doesn’t possess standards about honesty, makes the same joke five minutes later, and this is what goes down.

“Ahahahaha, Cody, you are so freaking funny.”

And here I am going…

Seriously guys, what the fuck is wrong with you?

So basically I’m sitting up listening to Pandora radio, which is amazing. I happen to be on the comedy channel, so I’m hearing all these standup acta and going:

Fuck, if only I was funny.

Know who is really funny?

George fucking Carlin.

Just sayin.

Okay, I’mma cut this short before I really embarrass myself with my sad idea of comedy, mmmmmmkay?

“Shit piss fuck cunt cocksucker motherfucker tits.”

– George Carlin

Blogging is like my life. Hopeless and a lot of work. Just kidding, fuck you.


Okay, so I am obviously not a very reliable blogger, but I am trying really hard. I happen to have no computer access and I happen to hate blogging from my phone which is exactly what I happen to be doing right now. I promise that I will get better as soon as break ends, I’ve just been super distracted with life and love and everything in between.

Lucky for me, I’ve gotten loads better at typing on this thing, so I should get a round (or two) of applause for that. I have this friend named Jonas, and he was actually the inspiration for the first blog I ever had, because he was always just so smart and witty and I just loved reading his blog posts.

The reason that I am bringing him up today is that he would frequently blog from his phone, which I believe was also just a full touchscreen phone. He was pretty amazing.

I haven’t seen him in a very very long time and I quite miss him even though he was so much better than me at everything.

The coolest thing was that I bused to his house this one time while I was staying in the cities with my grandma, and he convinced me to like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches so now every time that I eat one, I think of him.

Moving on from the nostalgia now, I really would like to apologize for being so unreliable, but there has been one thing getting me down.

When I’m casually browsing through other people’s blogs…I notice that there are soooo many people that are just generally better writers than I am. At first it’s just like:

Ohhh good for them that they’re so awesome and amazing and talented.

But then I start thinking about how I wanted to be a writer for so long, and I spent hours doing stuff to better myself at writing and then I go:

Damn them all! Maybe I would have a career if I was that good, and my books and blogs would end up being on Oprah’s seal of approval list!

Now really, it can be said that I’m only seventeen and that I really do have a good start, but I don’t believe that one bit. I mean, look at the guy who wrote the Eragon books. Well, really, just look at the first book because the next ones kinda go over the edge as far as how descriptive he gets, but I’m jealous of him because he did something I couldn’t do.

He became famous because of him imagination. I mean fuck! How cool is that? Of course I do understand that a lot of hard work went into writing those books, but in the end, people didn’t love the books for the hours he spent pouring over the manuscript, did they? No, they loved the books because of the imagination, the good story line.

Here I am just blathering on about writing, and I’m really getting nothing done. Not making you laugh or think or any of that. I’m actually not that good at making people laugh. Not good at making them cry, not good at expressing how I feel through the text in this blog, because then it would be boring to the people who actually might read it. I could post me ‘deep’ poetry and ask for your opinions, but why bother?

So, writing is out of my career field. The one thing that I truly love and never ever get sick of is music. I sing and dance and play music every day. It’s amazing, and if there weren’t so many people going into that field, I would do it.

Can I be witty or funny today? I think not, so this humpday has officially been wasted. It doesn’t matter though, seeing as how so few people even bother to read my blog.

I’m not giving up though. No way. This is something that makes me happy, and I don’t care what you OR the cops say.

What now?

The reasons why I chill out in fedoras (an informative blog)


image

Okay, so included is a picture of me in a fedora. The reason for this is that fedoras rock my freaking socks off, and that may be the only reason. Let me explain to you as well as I possibly can without embarrassing myself or my llama.

But first.

I’m gonna use my phone’s prediction app to make up a ridiculous sentence that may or may not make any sense at all.

Sense by judge me miss you talking from scratch from hell with interest by hand over there.

Okay. Let us discuss at length the meaning of that sentence.

I don’t even know where I would start. Let us move on to slightly less confusing subjects. Like fedoras.

It just crossed out my text and I have no idea why. Devil phone.

Fedoras are just amazing and beautiful, especially ones that are pink and plaid and on my head, okay? Okay. I’m glad we have all that cleared up.

I have to think of something serious to discuss that everyone on the internet would like to discuss with me.

Let’s talk about the pros and cons of Omegle, mmmkay? OKAY!

Pros:
There are some really interesting people on there (like Kevin).
It’s a boredom buster.
You can learn a lot of new things.
You get to meet new people.

Cons:
A lot of people are just there for cybersex.
You see A LOT of penises.
There are weird old guys.
You see a lot of pedos.
There are some really rude people.
Chicks on there are total whores.
Everyone wants to see your tits.

What did I just hear from you? There are more cons than pros and that means that I shouldn’t go on there?

Well, fuck that! I want to meet another Kevin.

Okay, so discussion questions for you.

Have you ever used video omegle?
What kind of experience did you have?
Would you do it again?
What is the funniest thing that has happened to you on Omegle?
Do you think that Omegle is a good idea. Why or why not?

Okay, finishing up, I’m gonna use a quote that I heard from a person I omegled with today.

“Just look at this guy, he has goat muscles, like Tumnus from The lion, the witch and the wardrobe. He’s our own little Mexican goatman.”