tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41177081257551056562024-03-05T02:29:08.176-08:00SisterhoodPettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-15845572744220808352014-08-01T00:02:00.001-07:002014-08-01T00:04:36.594-07:00Nanowrimo<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: purple;">Today's the last day of Nanowrimo. I have exactly fifteen minutes to write the 20,000 words I've been neglecting. I think that the 50,000 word goal was a bit too ambitious for me.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">I would <i>love</i> to say that I've been busy, that I haven't been able to carve out any time to write; but that's bullshit. I've been sitting around on my ass for nearly two weeks now, just procrastinating. Not even procrastinating anything too difficult, even just things such as "update blog" and "check on Figment". Although, in my defense, I <i>did</i> sit down once to write, but I ended up downloading a game-making program and beginning to make an rpg. On the bright side, I'm learning scripting.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">I think half of my reluctance to write is the story itself. I'm a stone's throw away from the climax. Heck, I've just finished up a rather provocative scene, strife with complications and twists; the only problem is that I don't know how to fix it.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">I've never been this far in a story to know what to do, so I've virtually written myself into a corner. There is <i>nothing</i> my characters can do to win, the events have become so hopeless. On top of that, I've neglected to end a relationship I've been meaning to end, and now with the sudden reappearance of another character, I'm afraid there's going to be a bit of a conflict of love. Nay, there <i>is</i> a conflict of love. I'm so clueless as to how to navigate these waters, I'm afraid that whatever route I use is going to end up being not very pretty.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">As much as I wish to explain the dynamics to you, my dear reader(s), half of it is routed in some very irrelevant non sequiturs my subconscious dredged up when I dreamt the story in the first place.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">Mind you, this is probably a good time to tell you: do NOT base a novel off a dream, no matter how cool the dream. All you will end up doing, is make a completely incoherent plot that hinges on vampires jumping into lakes to age and ghosts that turn into spirits with a parasite called 'Wothig'.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">Dreams should stay as they are, in your head. Not in print.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">It's currently 12:02. I've failed the Nanowrimo challenge. Oh well, there's always next year.</span></div>
Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-25272452316933995302014-07-31T23:35:00.001-07:002014-07-31T23:38:44.218-07:00The Shower Incident<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div>
<span style="color: purple;">After days of silence from me, you may be wondering why I choose now of all days to do rapid-fire updating with three posts in a row. To tell you the truth, I'm slightly scared shitless to take a shower tonight.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">Before you judge me too harshly, first I would like to say that I'm in a dark and creepy apartment, and that it is currently night, and I've been watching "American Horror Story" episodes for hours. Which isn't too difficult, seeing as each episode IS an hour.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">Anyways, I think I will take this time to recount what is commonly known as (to me at least) The Shower Incident.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">I've had many shower incidents over the years. They're episodes of pure terror while I'm taking a shower, primarily spurred on by images of the typical ghost/possessed-person crawl; that strange crawl with inhuman contortions and movements outside the physical range. Ever since I was seven and I saw a commercial for the Grudge 2, fantasies involving these things crawling across the bathroom and climbing over the shower curtain has terrified me to this day. And while not all the horror movies scare me necessarily, they certainly put me in a scared frame of mind, where I can swear something is behind me. Actually, right now I'm repressing the urge to whip my head around to see behind me.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">But what separates The Shower Incident from the smattering of other shower incidents over the years, is the noise. For once, my fears had been proved to be true.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">I was just taking a shower, not even in one of my terrified frames of mind, when I heard what sounded like three slow footsteps in the hall outside the bathroom door.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;"><i>Thump, thump, thump.</i></span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">I thought it was Mom coming in to check on us, as she does occasionally when we're up too late. As we often are.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;"><i>Thump, thump, thump.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: purple;"><i>Thump, thump, thump.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: purple;">The footsteps didn't seem to be getting closer.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><i> </i></span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><i>Thump thump thump.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: purple;">In fact, they seemed to start far away yet come closer by the end of each repetition</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><i> </i></span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><i>Thump thump thump.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: purple;">And they were getting faster.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><i> </i></span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><i></i><i>Thump thump thump</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: purple;"><i><i>Thump thump thump</i></i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: purple;">I tried to convince myself that they were a figment of my imagination, that there was nothing to be afraid of. That is, until I realized they were getting louder.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: purple;"><i>THUMP THUMP THUMP</i></span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: purple;"><i>THUMP THUMP THUMP</i></span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: purple;">They were right outside my door.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;"><i>THUMPTHUMPTHUMP</i></span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;"><i>THUMPTHUMPTHUMP</i></span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;">At this point, I was so terrified, I did the only thing I could do: I leaped from the shower, grabbing a towel and shoving the door open.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;"><i>THUMPTHUMPTHUMP</i></span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;">I felt all of ten seconds of terror as I realized the noise was in my younger sister's room, when I spun around and saw what was inside.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;"><i> </i></span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="color: purple;">My sister was up, prancing around on a yoga mat while jazzy music was playing from the computer, a youtube video entitled, "Cardio Exercise".</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;"><i>THUMPTHUMPTHUMP </i></span></div>
</div>
Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-47930656932230291012014-07-31T23:12:00.001-07:002014-07-31T23:41:07.607-07:00Hunger Games pt2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: purple;">Considering my previous post, I think I will post an essay I posted on Figment a while ago because I was fed up with people bickering over whether Katniss should've chosen Gale or Peeta.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Peeta could’ve been a cop-out, though if it were it was because he
was definitely the more developed character. Gale did have going for him
the “life-long friend”, whereas Peeta had going the decisively more
confusing (for Katniss) “I don’t really know you, but we kiss a lot and
I’ve been in love with you for a long time plus I’ve save your life a
few times and you feel sorta guilty and angry about me in general”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But boys aside, what I really liked about this series was that she
didn’t care. Not once did she go pining for either one; they were there
to serve their purposes in her life, purposes which had nothing to do
with romantic endeavors at all. The romance she feels came mostly from
her confusion. Peeta? She faked love for him until she realized that HE
wasn’t faking, which caused her to feel guilty and angry (as stated
above) plus she was already feeling weird about him because he’d saved
her life by throwing the bread; then to make matters MORE confusing, as
she’s thrown into circumstances where both of their lives were
threatened, she begins to care about his sake because after they’d been
trapped in a cave together, risking their lives for each other and
“faking” their love for each other the care just started to happen.
Katniss had never been in love before, so care makes her confused and
then (what do you know) Peeta is whisked away and tortured out of his
mind to hate her. The direct contrast between his hate and his prior
care makes her even more confused about her feelings.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Then, as for Gale; he was her rock, her dependable friend. She’d
never been interested in him in the slightest, that is, until Peeta
comes and throws her life (and emotions) into confusion and Gale becomes
jealous. Here’s Katniss, guilty at not feeling anything for Peeta while
he was in love with her, and now Gale comes along and he shows his
obvious disapproval of something that she never wanted in the first
place. Not to dismiss Gale, however, as he was most likely realizing his
own emotions over Katniss by seeing her with someone else. After all,
she was always irrefutably HIS, that is, until this stranger waltzed in
and confused her. Gale probably doesn’t realize what he feels over her
either, so that leaves the two of them just strange and distant, as
though Peeta were always between them. And then, there’s the whipping
scene; Gale’s confused Katniss with two kisses by now (or was it one? I
don’t remember exactly), plus she still believes (or hopes more like)
that her emotions to Peeta are purely platonic, AND Gale is her closest
friend, right? Everyone expected them to get together and all that. So
naturally as she sees that Gale is in massive pain, crippled and
unconscious, she gets confused (in the same way that she was over Peeta
when he gets hurt).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">All of this winds her up into a girl who can’t tell what she’s
feeling, even though she never wanted to fall in love or even be
confused into thinking she is. As she’s completely torn between these
two boys she didn’t want in her life like this, she turns to one then
the other as each falter. Peeta’s gone? Gale is her number one
companion. Gale designs the bomb that kills her sister? Peeta.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">On the topic of the bombing, OF COURSE she would choose Peeta. Here’s what’s happening at this point:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Gale and Peeta are virtually neck and neck so far as her emotions go
for them. She’s too broken by the games and the Captiol to go on her own
with no emotional support anymore, and she refuses to rely on her
mother, her sister, or Haymitch (well, who would rely on Haymitch for
emotional support?) so that leaves the two people she IS willing to rely
on, no matter how twisted her feelings are or how convoluted her
reasoning: Peeta and Gale.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Then her sister dies. It may have been a cheap death, but it was
world-shattering for Katniss; literally, her only reason for being alive
(she wouldn’t have tried to survive a number of things if it weren’t
for Prim) is gone, and Katniss feels irrationally that she should’ve
saved her. She’s wracked with grief and hatred for herself and the
Capitol, and she is DONE with emotional babbling from two boys she
would’ve preferred never have cared that much about her in the first
place. When she finds out that Gale set the bomb, she found something
concrete and simple to vent all her anger and hatred and frustration
into; she is NOT willing for second chances. Gale is completely out of
the picture for her, and she finally can choose, so she chooses Peeta.
Not just because she’s mad at Gale, remember, but because they’ve been
through so much and care about each other in confusing ways.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As for why Gale drops out of the picture? I don’t really know, but I
assume that Katniss wasn’t even giving him the time of day, he had no
reason to stick around and watch the happy couple if he couldn’t even be
friends with Katniss anymore (though, even without the bombing
incident, I doubt they could’ve remained friends without teetering back
into romance). IF he had managed to stick around and not become bitter
about Katniss and Peeta (which I doubt given his already possessive
ideology on Katniss), then she may have forgiven him and the ending
would’ve been less happy-go-lucky and more turbulent. But as it is,
Katniss can choose, and she can vent all her remaining resentments and
guilts surrounding Prim and the Capitol (and possibly the man himself)
in Gale.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So, all of this is why I say team Katniss all the way!</span></div>
Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-4785428303361847702014-07-31T22:59:00.001-07:002014-07-31T23:35:22.525-07:00Hunger Games<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: purple;">Here comes the shameful admission: I love the Hunger Games. And the more I read them, the more I love them; it's an endless cycle of embarrassment.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">Currently, I'm re-reading the series for the.... Third? Fourth? Some time after two, certainly. I forget how many times I've read them. And even though I read them repeatedly, I still have to tear up for certain parts.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">I've hardened for the first book. When I first read it, I got teary with horror at the scene where Katniss is wrenching the bow and arrows from Glimmer (was that the name?). Particularly, the line where she says something to the effect of "and I can't do it, I can't do it, the whole event is so horrific..." (I don't remember the exact words, so sorry if this is incorrect). It still makes me shudder, but at least I'm not crying over it. Rue's death still makes me cry. I know, this is a popular death to cry over, but the singing, the flowers, the fact that she's <i>twelve-fucking-years-old</i>... It's hard to <i>not</i> cry.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">In the second book, certain scenes make me break down every time I read it. Mag's death, for one. The fact that they have no time to grieve, that she just goes and <i>does</i> it, and poor Finnick... He just nods his head and goes with it, even though he breaks down later. Then, possibly the <i>hardest</i> death for me, even over Rue's, the female morphling from 6. I just got to that part now and had to set the book down because it just always strikes me.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">She just... <i>appears.</i> Out of the blue. If she'd just died right then, another nameless tribute, I would be fine. Heck, even if Peeta did his whole spiel with the colors but she didn't react, I would be... Well not okay, but not teary-eyed. It's the flower she paints on his cheek.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">She's dying, but that's not new for her; in a way she'd been slowly dying since she gave up food for morphine. The difference is that now she has someone to hold her hand as she dies, someone to coo to her about colors and paint, as though she were a child. And the image of her, painting some illegible shape with the only material she has, her blood, on the only canvas she sees, Peeta. It's so impulsive, so insane, so stunted and sad innately, completely child-like that it just brings me to tears every single time.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">And I wonder, as I do with all of them, if she'd survived and lived outside the arena... who would she be? </span></div>
Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-48117931361981747992014-07-12T18:19:00.002-07:002014-07-12T18:21:21.582-07:00A Trip to the Doctor's<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: purple;">Today was our "annual" (note the sardonic quotes around annual) doctor's visit. Turns out, I should be eating healthier and exercising more, which came as a surprise. Even though that the visit today was the first time I left the house in about a week.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;">The visit started with an awkward survey that I had to fill out with my mother, with questions such as "Do you or anyone you know drink alcohol often?" (yes) and "Do you always wear your seatbelt when you're in the car?" (no) and "Are you sexually active?" (hell no). Of course, this immediately made me think "What does sexually active even <i>mean?</i>" I didn't understand my own reference to Juno for several minutes, and spent them wondering what the heck I meant.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;">Survey was done, and then my sister and I were shunted through halls and hurried through the regular junk: blood pressure, height, weight, etc. I mentioned that I wore glasses, and then I was compelled to also admit that I wasn't wearing them, nor was I wearing contacts. The nurse who'd been asking plastered a slightly irritated smile on her face then said, "Well, I guess we'll just have to test you without them, hmm?"</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;">I did the seeing test, while my sister did the hearing test at the same time to save time. This arrangement was perfectly fine, that is, until we both finished and switched. That was when I knew that this just wasn't going to word.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;">The hearing testers were these massive head phones that covered the entirety of one's ears to block out noise; or they would if they fit properly. The band was too big for my head (big surprise- nothing fits my head) so the head phones slid halfway down my ears. On top of this already awkward arrangement, my sister was a foot away booming out in her loud voice, "D, E, C, D, O, K...", so I was forced to strain my ears to catch the minute sounds being emitted an inch below my ears.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;">Needless to say they told me that I probably had a few hearing problems.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;">Aside from the rather disastrous test, there was nothing major wrong with me. However, it seemed that it'd been a few years since they'd tested my blood. As much as I attempted to impress upon my doctor that really, there was <i>absolutely no need</i> to test my blood for anything, she still just shook her head and said I was due for it.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;">I was number 174. The other people weren't taking too much time in the shot room, but every person who left had a massive gauze bandage taped to their inner arm, allowing the observer to too easily exaggerate the wound beneath the pile of absorbent fabric.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;">Waiting in the waiting room was possibly more nerve wracking than the actual shot itself; especially in the case of number 170. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: purple;">I didn't notice who'd gone in for number 170, but I noticed that whoever they were they were taking an awful lot of time; three minutes, five minutes, ten minutes... Right at the fifteen minute mark, when I'd begun to panic for number 170, a man was wheeled out in a wheelchair, completely passed out, with a large bandage (well, larger than the other ones) strapped to his arm. After he'd been wheeled out, they didn't call another number immediately after like they generally did. They waited another five or ten minutes before continuing to 171.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">Needless to say it was slightly unnerving.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">My blood was drawn with no fuss whatsoever, and the technicians in the lab seemed to be perfectly unfazed. But still, I had to wonder what happened to poor 170.</span></div>
</div>
Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-45088697221437724562014-07-09T21:15:00.002-07:002014-07-09T21:15:23.083-07:00Stats<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVoPK3UT4HgRN-l4_MqL-Q3pDgUO2ll4d4kQ0tgm8FAA5pjPmdbBIESZnEEZM8pPw-MTFmWsIpup9NkNk9zPDe1XF15H_YNVehR0GXjmYik5dTQw0nBzXFVHZNfNjSp94TFPLu1QV9bGgM/s1600/dunnowhatsworse.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVoPK3UT4HgRN-l4_MqL-Q3pDgUO2ll4d4kQ0tgm8FAA5pjPmdbBIESZnEEZM8pPw-MTFmWsIpup9NkNk9zPDe1XF15H_YNVehR0GXjmYik5dTQw0nBzXFVHZNfNjSp94TFPLu1QV9bGgM/s1600/dunnowhatsworse.PNG" height="108" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: purple;">I don't really know what's worse. That all my stats look similar to this....</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigVow4CjD1Jx00ZfOtir2MWDnjxgnCo2TPm3P0iUJM604bU5Jq26i-Xwevdef14PljwBF6_3SytPem8QIQ9SIzRfg8OwmIKhPv7YwwWDVydBlqr6gWS4eSb-PPw8KHWm0p4C6QHcnELvdf/s1600/reblogif.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigVow4CjD1Jx00ZfOtir2MWDnjxgnCo2TPm3P0iUJM604bU5Jq26i-Xwevdef14PljwBF6_3SytPem8QIQ9SIzRfg8OwmIKhPv7YwwWDVydBlqr6gWS4eSb-PPw8KHWm0p4C6QHcnELvdf/s1600/reblogif.PNG" height="282" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: purple;">Or that everything they record was me.</span></div>
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Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-27428539320572134312014-07-09T21:02:00.001-07:002014-07-09T21:30:04.638-07:00The Next Blog<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: purple;">For years, my narcissistic take on life has caused me to repeatedly ignore the "Next Blog" button on the top of this page. Until today. I ventured out into the unknown, and this is what I found:</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">The first time I clicked it, I came to a highly advanced blog (certainly out of my league) consisting of hundreds, if not thousands, of posts, all of which were nicely presented in attractive little squares that flip over upon the mouse gliding over them. I believe the blog was called something like, "FairyDance", but I was so frazzled being attacked by an accomplished blogger that I immediately hit the back button and settled back into my own mediocre blog.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">Eventually, I gathered enough nerves to click it again. This time, my eyes were assaulted by a sleek black blog entitled "Surf Dog's Blog the Art of Shawn Boyles". Approximately two things registered first: That "Boyles" was a really unfortunate name, and that he ended every post with a proclamation of "Cheers". This, along with his name being Shawn caused me to automatically assume he was from the UK. Naturally, I was forced by my own masochistic impulses to comb through his entire blog to find evidence of his origins; eventually, I did. One post was entitled "Welcome to Monsterpice Theatre", "theatre" being the operative word (spelling) here. Naturally, I did not look at his profile to find where he was from, because that thought only just occurred to me right now. Anyways, once the accent thing was sorted out, I began to notice the art; it's superiority to my own caused me to short circuit once again and hit the back button.</span><br />
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<span style="color: purple;">The next blog immediately caught my attention, even before it was fully loaded, as it was named A2W. First was a graph on the NBA average, which I scrolled past without a second glance. My previous assumption, having had been correctly proved, gave me the confidence to roll off another one: this was some kind of sports blog. Naturally, I was dumbfounded on seeing that the next post was a gif showing graphs on the last letter of boys' last names each year from the 1880s to 2012. All I could do was stare as it cycled through each year, showing the trends switching from y to d to n to d again and back to n, which from the 1960s just climbed and climbed as the other letters dropped down. After I'd stared at it significantly, I decided that it wasn't a sports blog, but a random poll blog. That was the only way to explain it. Therefore, the next post was naturally a map of Richmond. Ah, but not any map; a <i>judgmental</i> map. I've never been to Richmond, so I cannot say if it were accurate or not; but if it is accurate, then I must say I'd rather use the judgmental map than an ordinary one, because an ordinary one wouldn't outline where the Botox addicts in yoga pants lives, or where drugs possibly happened and definitely happened.</span><br />
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<span style="color: purple;">Curious, I then clicked the attached link, and was brought to a tumblr page wherein existed dozens of maps. Unfortunately, I haven't found one for Long Beach yet. I've found, however, a lovely and highly accurate map of Los Angeles, which I will post for your viewing pleasure. Though I suppose there will not be any pleasure if you are unfamiliar with Los Angeles, in which case, I've posted it for your viewing comfort.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNgTazHF589YaMhctUElEQyEhwq86b2soOYOmk6Uv38HpkCTC9mwhrbBkpVSVdIb_2-58WhgJkF2mbBSb9jXjiGlt1nIJXLLovJ8wxP3KuYhLIR1a-NBYlIjfciA-Cqz8fdcJTHjht03NU/s1600/map.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNgTazHF589YaMhctUElEQyEhwq86b2soOYOmk6Uv38HpkCTC9mwhrbBkpVSVdIb_2-58WhgJkF2mbBSb9jXjiGlt1nIJXLLovJ8wxP3KuYhLIR1a-NBYlIjfciA-Cqz8fdcJTHjht03NU/s1600/map.PNG" height="515" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">I live in the direction of the Nouveau Riche Dicks, Surfers, Oil Refineries, and Republicans.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">As so I do not discredit the author and be liable for copyright related suing and/ or guilt, here's the link as well: http://judgmentalmaps.com/post/78473663186/losangeles</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">Judgmental maps aside, I never understood what the blog entitled A2W was about, and I doubt I ever will.</span></div>
Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-65510448998178508302014-07-09T19:41:00.000-07:002014-07-09T19:41:33.363-07:00Catchup<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: purple;">Why hello. I feel that it's time I took it upon myself to begin this blog anew. I see I have three followers out there, but it should be safe to assume that they're three of my parents (hi parents). </span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">It is currently the middle of summer, a rather depressing time of summer, I must admit. The time when people begin telling me that my birthday's coming up, which is alarming for a number of reasons: one, I have to think of things I want for my birthday, which I can never think of until the opportunity for telling has passed; two, I have to prepare invitations and work up the nerve to give them to my friends, setting myself up for rejection; three, I have to think of a setting for my birthday, as just hanging around the house doesn't sound very celebratory, though usually it's all I want; and finally four, it means summer is ending, as my birthday is August 20th. A miserable time, I never want to prepare for it. Honestly, the best thing my birthday could hope to be is a consolation for the beginning of school.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">And speaking of school, I managed to get a 4 out of 5 on my AP History test. Naturally, I'm happy, relieved, and my expectations have been fulfilled. But I still get this strange disappointment in not getting the perfect and rather impossible 5. I didn't study, so really a 4 is phenomenal; I never expected a 5, so I wan't getting my hopes up in the least. In fact, I prayed for a 3. I'm not entirely sure what to make of this.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">From today on, my mother has decided to take it upon herself to be my swim coach. I suppose it will get me out of the house, prepare me for swim team come fall, give me a nice tan and clear my skin, and help me get into shape... but at the same time... I'll have to leave the house and <i>exercise</i>. Everyday, pretty much. Ugh, it gives me pains to think about it.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">On top of my daily obligation to swim, I've also decided to join in on Camp NaNoWriMo. For those of you who don't know (I'm pretty sure all my parents know about it at this point, but just to be sure) NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month, which is ordinarily November, but they were so successful that they've decided to have summer opportunities as well. My goal is the norm, 50,000, but it's also quite frankly the most I've ever written. Currently I'm about a week in and I've got 14,000 words, which is good, but I think my story might just be hurtling down a cavern of no return. Bad things are happening there; the tone is off, the characters are flat, the plot is virtually nonexistent, the writing atrocious, and typos abundant. All that aside though, I think it's coming out pretty well.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">I've been made a moderator of a group on a website called Figment. That's been pretty fun, though I've been neglecting it slightly due to my NaNoWriMo obligations, and my persistent need to ignore them until the very last minute. </span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">I also was due to write a review on Figment several days ago, but at this point I'm not sure I ever will.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">I think that's all I want to say for now, as I'm certain my life isn't all that compelling to you. This was fun to write however, so I think I'll keep up on this blogging thing. I'd never really gotten the hang of it; or rather, I had the hang of it for about one year (see my first posts) then I lost it. I guess, keep yourselves tuned, parents, and I may or may not return with more updates, anecdotes, and/or complaints on my life and how it's going.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">Bye!</span></div>
Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-34714348095425829992011-09-04T17:27:00.000-07:002011-09-04T17:27:15.790-07:00Mimi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (+ Minnesota)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div closure_uid_1vqx5d="120"><span style="color: purple;">Whew! Just got back from Minnesota! I know its sad, but its the first time I've ever been off the west coast. We went to the state fair, saw piglets being born ( sounds gross, but really wasn't) tried deep-fried snicker bars (mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!), and stayed in various hotels the whole time. And then Mimi picked us up at the airport! I'll try to get pics on here. Her hair's longer and curly now, and can roll and <em>almost</em> crawl. And I just want to say thank you to all my resders out there! this is only made possible by you!</span></div></div>Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-84947590197273482112011-05-25T18:01:00.000-07:002011-05-25T18:01:32.593-07:00Wedding Reception Party<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">our cousins' (well, <i>step-</i>cousins') parents are having a reception party for their wedding last week. We jost went to Khols (weird word, huh?) to get these awesome dresses and shoes. My dress is a white strapless dress with one black rose on it, and it has one small black short-sleeved black jacket on top. My shoes are sorta hard to desribe, so I'll see if I can get a pic on here instead. Deal? oh and by the way, one more Mimi picture!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYFvgWXhBd9_6V_yzYR4K6XV6qrb2jOCFXW6SyNjbCsTWpI6JJvJPiLwpvz02kmhocWxN213Vk0v0-B9qG_5XMjpVtYHtgnV8kOrPAfuAe3HielCIKbKOTuXkSbMfBlincIuZ77uslp3a2/s1600/HPIM4985.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYFvgWXhBd9_6V_yzYR4K6XV6qrb2jOCFXW6SyNjbCsTWpI6JJvJPiLwpvz02kmhocWxN213Vk0v0-B9qG_5XMjpVtYHtgnV8kOrPAfuAe3HielCIKbKOTuXkSbMfBlincIuZ77uslp3a2/s320/HPIM4985.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div>Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-42855204841749585462011-03-25T16:05:00.000-07:002011-03-25T16:05:06.706-07:00Mimi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">next to me is Mimi, in Lynne's arms(www.hollyhockfortune.blogspot.com) resisting sleep. What usually helps her is when we put on the brown noise on simplynoise.com, bounce on the yoga ball, and repeat something over and over in her ear.<br />
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I'm making a book called <i>The Book of Weird Volume 1</i>, and before you start tihnking I'm ambitious for planning on several volumes after this before I'm even finished, it's because I didn't have room to fit everything in it because the staples don't go through more'n 8 pages at a time, and I want an introduction and a page devoted to every topic I'm going over. But It's looking pretty cool, the cover is half black half brown, a square is cutout from the middle showing the red beneath.</div>Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-62788452516439918322011-03-13T11:44:00.000-07:002011-03-13T11:44:21.104-07:00Hello<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">My half sister, MiMi was born!!!!!!!!!!!! She is so adorable and completely cute. Once we upload the pics on the computer, I'll see if I can put some on here</div>Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-11548502911719646072010-11-09T07:38:00.000-08:002010-11-09T07:43:51.331-08:00Updates<span style="color:#cc66cc;">Hi all my readers! It's been a looong time since i've been posting things on here! Well here's the updates: I started 7th grade, one of my best friends went to Europe for the year, and I got new glasses! They are green RayBands that really make my eyes pop! Oh, and for my spring break, I might be going to Washington the state; on a plane, just me and Lele!</span>Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-53617988995487987382009-08-20T16:32:00.001-07:002009-08-20T16:48:22.725-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNX6FkYxDiNVRF-Z0NBY99W0mKS63bmsMpLdJUuj2b8GC5TXg5R8naAUcWu8yDjz18dE6XMJbafg171XyegleaaMDp0xQYdzbWrKI2dd1RGTiWBU_oTax-pka_tUhZK5LNcwS_3or0vGFl/s1600-h/Harold+Catnip.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372196949663503778" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNX6FkYxDiNVRF-Z0NBY99W0mKS63bmsMpLdJUuj2b8GC5TXg5R8naAUcWu8yDjz18dE6XMJbafg171XyegleaaMDp0xQYdzbWrKI2dd1RGTiWBU_oTax-pka_tUhZK5LNcwS_3or0vGFl/s400/Harold+Catnip.jpg" /></a><br /><div><span style="color:#cc66cc;">This is my cat Harold. As you can see (or not), he is fat. All he does is lie around all day and hope to be pet. Wenever he is outside untill midnight, he gets into fights with other cats and comes home with some kind of injury.As seen in this pic, after these injuries, he has to where these ridiculous cones around his head. But still, I love him </span></div>Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-10677766711331793422009-08-20T16:15:00.000-07:002011-03-13T16:35:49.842-07:00It's My Birthday!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="color: #cc66cc;">Today is my b-day, according to the title (which <i>never </i>lies, BTW*). So, today I got a new lock for my locker, a cell phone, the book <i>Are You There God? It's Me, Margret</i>, $40 dollars for Barnes and Nobles, tickets to P<i>onio</i>, and $50. I don't know about you, but that is a great bundle of stuff. I know I'm gonna be up 'till midnight making thank-you cards</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cc66cc;">*By the way</span></div>Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-67241519209324743352009-08-14T21:41:00.000-07:002009-08-14T21:46:10.799-07:00NEW STUFF<span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">L and I got a Nintendo DS! We also got the game <span style="font-style: italic;">Kirby Squeak Squad</span>.<br /></span>Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-40660944343647933482009-07-14T11:42:00.000-07:002009-07-14T12:07:33.064-07:00Seqoia<span style="color:#cc66cc;">Wow! I just went to Seqoia! The pictures aren't developed yet, so I don't have any to post. The trees were fantastic! General Grant (one of the trees) was the third tallest living thing and the widest living thing. Our lodge was far away from the Giant Forest, but we hiked around in it anyway. We only just drove back home, but we're getting ready for yet <em>another</em> road trip! This time all the way up to Washington!!!!!</span>Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-36296083482872460032009-03-15T18:57:00.000-07:002009-03-15T19:03:11.281-07:00bedroom<span style="color:#cc66cc;">Chichi has a new tent! she sleeps in there everyday.<br /><br />Yesterday, I went to Chinatown with dad, grandma, Lynnie, and Lele. we got really cute dresses.</span>Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-58208860061994870502009-01-25T11:44:00.000-08:002009-01-25T11:49:57.538-08:00I MOVED<span style="color:#cc66cc;">i moved! it is a really cool apartment.Leda and i have loft beds,so we plan to put bean bags underneath so we have a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">secret</span> area.</span>Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-15229269725776027652009-01-07T16:58:00.000-08:002009-08-20T16:31:24.328-07:00My Buddies<span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#cc66cc;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I have some really cool Buddies. THEY ARE VERY POPULAR. I hope someday ,when we live in our own houses, that we will still be best buddies</span>. :-)</span>Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-59780914138721661682009-01-04T16:20:00.000-08:002009-08-20T16:31:47.692-07:00My Penguins!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKKCUWdG7PwrFt7FofcRufzPlNPM0gd2_jvIxOq1g0bw-64l4Tw4EOAAtoE_7-LPX_n_Rn_DDcTnfRcaGJlujsy8YMuJypA6511NnY0Judo6PJkd5JQZ-isCyEBI4sMulu9AiXGBikC_OU/s1600-h/HPIM1124.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 287px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287599459673759010" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKKCUWdG7PwrFt7FofcRufzPlNPM0gd2_jvIxOq1g0bw-64l4Tw4EOAAtoE_7-LPX_n_Rn_DDcTnfRcaGJlujsy8YMuJypA6511NnY0Judo6PJkd5JQZ-isCyEBI4sMulu9AiXGBikC_OU/s400/HPIM1124.JPG" /></a><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)">LeLe and I made these penguins out of socks and felt. We used a hotglue gun to glue things together.This project was inspired by a page in a craft book.<br /></span>Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-38785720944342925922009-01-03T15:05:00.000-08:002009-01-04T16:28:07.985-08:00Lele<span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">Hi I'm LeLe. Well once again because my cat left me the younger one</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">again. Isn't it sad? I'm ALWAYS the crazy one to let whoever is reading this. anyway I just wanted</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">to say HELLO WORLD!!!!!!!!!</span>Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-26171569969084756522009-01-03T14:23:00.000-08:002009-01-03T15:05:27.243-08:00Art<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLF8OZ4lgxeZ3JbuqMglSXBgCRBDT3NOkk3zB9xj4iE73mG6ipNLDu1t_eqZYm4_eYpcUJAhbizbCjWXhwWm7a6KPhF9RrHZkQjq5wuTgp7uxdkNQHu9dc7PrBJTx8nfxQ_-oOM8QZiWA6/s1600-h/HPIM1076.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLF8OZ4lgxeZ3JbuqMglSXBgCRBDT3NOkk3zB9xj4iE73mG6ipNLDu1t_eqZYm4_eYpcUJAhbizbCjWXhwWm7a6KPhF9RrHZkQjq5wuTgp7uxdkNQHu9dc7PrBJTx8nfxQ_-oOM8QZiWA6/s400/HPIM1076.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287198233108190338" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">My dad does art. This is an example of what he CAN do. Normaly he does collages.<br /></span>Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4117708125755105656.post-8047159476309224172009-01-02T22:25:00.000-08:002009-01-02T22:34:28.883-08:00my sister<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-5Igs-Rues0U_30H0V2w_b0uRI-vn5QGh1zcgGcz5Iocg5sXPpVH0PC3WBzY70ZZQ41uh99kRdI6nlGyaVrUvcrRGNuKp92LBPUgZlinIfxI7R_usL1vcijXoPpff_3r75cd9-vfGmwyO/s1600-h/HPIM1114.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-5Igs-Rues0U_30H0V2w_b0uRI-vn5QGh1zcgGcz5Iocg5sXPpVH0PC3WBzY70ZZQ41uh99kRdI6nlGyaVrUvcrRGNuKp92LBPUgZlinIfxI7R_usL1vcijXoPpff_3r75cd9-vfGmwyO/s400/HPIM1114.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286952039085355890" border="0" /></a><br /> <span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">My sister and I are stuck together for the rest of our lives.</span>Pettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12790958979540918511noreply@blogger.com3