But there is one grammatical mistake that I particularly enjoy encountering. It has become almost fun for me to come across people who take the phrase “a lot” and condense it down into one word, because when someone says “alot,” this is what I imagine:
The Alot is an imaginary creature that I made up to help me deal with my compulsive need to correct other people’s grammar. It kind of looks like a cross between a bear, a yak and a pug, and it has provided hours of entertainment for me in a situation where I’d normally be left feeling angry and disillusioned with the world. For example, when I read the sentence “I care about this alot,” this is what I imagine:
Similarly, when someone says “alot of _______”, I picture an Alot made out of whatever they are talking about.
If someone says something like “I feel lonely alot” or “I’m angry alot,” I’m going to imagine them standing there with an emo haircut, sharing their feelings with an Alot.
The Alot is incredibly versatile.
So the next time you are reading along and you see some guy ranting about how he is “alot better at swimming than Michael Phelps,” instead of getting angry, you can be like “You’re right! Alots are known for their superior swimming capabilities.”
somewhere, sometime, I must have fallen in love with someone in a dream. Like not an actual dream I remember, I just feel like theres something/someone in my life that I can’t find, like they’re supposed to be here and I’d know them if they were. But theyre not and I’m stuck thinking either I’ve officially lost my last marble, orr, this is the essence of love in life and finding soulmates or whatever. It’s weird-feeling.
nah itskayy girliee. me too. and I have homework to do. :|
I also wish I could be doing something funner and more fulfilling to my life than this at the moment.
lets do a bunch of fun stuff during summer, kayy. like a bunch of stuff. see bunches of movies, go to the beach, go bowling with groups of people, swim, act like.. well like us, sing, dance, bike, go placess.
Interpersonal synchronization of stepping happens when people walk side-by-side. Little is known about this, but it has practical uses in therapy. In 2009, this phenomenon was the subject of a study to help impaired people in rehabilitation. Subjects were paired together to walk on treadmills side-by-side. The result? People started walking faster to keep up with their partners.
“In my opinion, the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for EXACTLY what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you. The right person is still gonna think the sun shines out of your ass. That’s the kind of person that’s worth stickin around.”—Juno (via kari-shma)
so after starfire suzanne had to/got to get a photoshoot of conner gordon+bryce miller+dirk. and the way it went down was:
conner and bryce played the in-love gay couple. and had to act seriously gay.
dirk had to look on disapprovingly in a “no I won’t marry you two” fashion.
and all this had to be accomplished without any and all of them cracking up. which was a big accomplishment. needless to say, it took a few tries.
me and claire watched. ummm it was priceless.
then devin and sarah were watching outside the room. which made it better when the models realized they had an audience.
conclusion: it was just all great.
on another note: somehow the majority of starfire arrived at the 15-to-20-minutes-late point like everyoneee came within a five minute period of everyone else. but of course it would have been better if people actually arrived within 5 minutes of on-time instead. mreh.
This rant was written because a nice girl finally snapped.
I’ve read the tribute to the nice guys; this is my response.
This is my tribute to the nice girls. To the nice girls who are overlooked, who become friends and nothing more, who spend hours fixating upon their looks and their personalities and their actions because it must be they that are doing something wrong. This is for the girls who don’t give it up on the first date, who don’t want to play mind games, who provide a comforting hug and a supportive audience for a story they’ve heard a thousand times. This is for the girls who understand that they aren’t perfect and that the guys they’re interested in aren’t either, for the girls who flirt and laugh and worry and obsess over the slightest glance, whisper, touch, because somehow they are able to keep alive that hope that maybe… maybe this time he’ll have understood. This is an homage to the girls who laugh loud and often, who are comfortable in skirts and sweats and combat boots, who care more than they should for guys who don’t deserve their attention. This is for those girls who have been in the trenches, who have watched other girls time and time again fake up and make up and fuck up the guys in their lives without saying a word. This is for the girls who have been there from the beginning and have heard the trite words of advice, from “there are plenty of fish in the sea,” to “time heals all wounds.” This is to honor those girls who know that guys are just as scared as they are, who know that they deserve better, who are seeking to find it.
This is for the girls who have never been in love, but know that it’s an experience that they don’t want to miss out on. For the girls who have sought a night with friends and been greeted by a night of catcalling, rude comments and explicit invitations that they’d rather not have experienced. This is for the girls who have spent their weekends sitting on the sidelines of a beer pong tournament or a case race, or playing Florence Nightingale for a vomiting guy friend or a comatose crush, who have received a drunk phone call just before dawn from someone who doesn’t care enough to invite them over but is still willing to pass out in their bed. This is for the girls who have left sad song lyrics in their away messages, who have tried to make someone understand through a subliminally appealing profile, who have time and time again dropped their male friend hint after hint after hint only to watch him chase after the first blonde girl in a skirt. This is for the girls who have been told that they’re too good or too smart or too pretty, who have been given compliments as a way of breaking off a relationship, who have ever been told they are only wanted as a friend.
This one’s for the girls who you can take home to mom, but won’t because it’s easier to sleep with a whore than foster a relationship; this is for the girls who have been led on by words and kisses and touches, all of which were either only true for the moment, or never real to begin with. This is for the girls who have allowed a guy into their head and heart and bed, only to discover that he’s just not ready, he’s just not over her, he’s just not looking to be tied down; this is for the girls who believe the excuses because it’s easier to believe that it’s not that they don’t want you, it’s that they don’t want anyone. This is for the girls who have had their hearts broken and their hopes dashed by someone too cavalier to have cared in the first place; this is for the nights spent dissecting every word and syllable and inflection in his speech, for the nights when you’ve returned home alone, for the nights when you’ve seen from across the room him leaning a little too close, or standing a little too near, or talking a little too softly for the girl he’s with to be a random hookup. This is for the girls who have endured party after party in his presence, finally having realized that it wasn’t that he didn’t want a relationship: it was that he didn’t want you. I honor you for the night his dog died or his grandmother died or his little brother crashed his car and you held him, thinking that if you only comforted him just right, or said the right words, or rubbed his back in the right way then perhaps he’d realize what it was that he already had. This is for the night you realized that it would never happen, and the sunrise you saw the next morning after failing to sleep.
This is for the “I really like you, so let’s still be friends” comment after you read more into a situation than he ever intended; this is for never realizing that when you choose friends, you seldom choose those which make you cry yourself to sleep. This is for the hugs you’ve received from your female friends, for the nights they’ve reassured you that you are beautiful and intelligent and amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy; this is for the despair you all felt as you sat in the aftermath of your tears, knowing that that night the only companionship you’d have was with a pillow and your teddy bear. This is for the girls who have been used and abused, who have endured what he was giving because at least he was giving something; this is for the stupidity of the nights we’ve believed that something was better than nothing, though his something was nothing we’d have ever wanted. This is for the girls who have been satisified with too little and who have learned never to expect anything more: for the girls who don’t think that they deserve more, because they’ve been conditioned for so long to accept the scraps thrown to them by guys.
This is what I don’t understand. Men sit and question and whine that girls are only attracted to the mean guys, the guys who berate them and belittle them and don’t appreciate them and don’t want them; who use them for sex and think of little else than where their next conquest will be made. Men complain that they never meet nice girls, girls who are genuinely interested and compelling, who are intelligent and sweet and smart and beautiful; men despair that no good women want to share in their lives, that girls play mindgames, that girls love to keep them hanging. Yet, men, I ask you: were you to meet one of these genuinely interested, thrillingly compelling, interesting and intelligent and sweet and beautiful and smart girls, were you to give her your number and wait for her to call… and if you were to receive a call from her the next day and she, in her truthful, loyal, intelligent and straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell you that she finds you intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would you or would you not immediately call your friends to tell them of the “stalker chick” you’d met the night prior, who called you and wore her heart on her sleeve and told the truth? And would you, or would you not, refuse to make plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and once again return to the bar or club or party scene and search once more for this “nice girl” who you just cannot seem to find? Because therein lies the truth, guys: we nice girls are everywhere. But you’re not looking for a nice girl. You’re not looking for someone genuinely interested in your intermural basketball game, or your anatomy midterm grade, or that argument you keep having with your father; you’re looking for a quick fix, a night when you can pretend to have a connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the condom you were using during it.
So don’t say you’re on the lookout for nice girls, guys, when you pass us up on every step you take. Sometimes we go undercover; sometimes we go in disguise: sometimes when that girl in the low cut shirt or the too tight miniskirt won’t answer your catcalls, sometimes you’re looking at a nice girl in whore’s clothing - - we might say we like the attention, we might blush and giggle and turn back to our friends, but we’re all thinking the same thing: “This isn’t me. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be wearing a teeshirt and flannel shorts, I’ll have slept alone and I’ll be making my hungover best friend breakfast. See through the disguise. See me.” You never do. Why? Because you only see the exterior, you only see the slutty girl who welcomes those advances. You don’t want the nice girl.. so don’t say you’re looking for a relationship: relationships take time and energy and intent, three things we’re willing to extend - - but in return, we’re looking for compassion and loyalty and trust, three things you never seem willing to express. Maybe nice guys finish last, but in the race they’re running they’re chasing after the whores and the sluts and the easy-targets… the nice girls are waiting at the finish line with water and towels and a congradulatory hug (and yes, if she’s a nice girl and she likes you, the sweatiness probably won’t matter), hoping against hope that maybe you’ll realize that they’re the ones that you want at the end of that silly race.
So maybe it won’t last forever. Maybe some of those guys in that race will turn in their running shoes and make their way to the concession stand where we’re waiting; however, until that happens, we still have each other, that silly race to watch, and all the chocolate we can eat (because what’s a concession stand at a race without some chocolate?)
so my ring is actual silver so it doesn’t turn my finger funny colors. and it’s not super tight either. so why so I feel like there’s less feeling in my finger where it was? and now I”m scared my finger is going to fall off in the middle of the night because it’s dead or something.
I mean it’s my right hand so I’d be fine.
it’d just be kind of all bad.
but that’ s my life.
whap. so far behind it’s almost funny. not even going to get into it. just really behind and it’s just bad.
bio. behind. and need to do test corrections and make sure I understand stuff.
math. behind. and 3/4 final next week. :|||||
inclass english essay tomorrow (though it’s regular english itll be fine)
still can’t find my camera charger.
slight SLIGHT tan from spring break/mexico/the two and a half days it wasn’t pouring
california in general. it’s just cool.I like my state.
fairly emotionally confused
not enough time to do what I want
ex: learning piano (to some basic extent), actually having a social life and hanging out with people outside of school and/or church,
hair has its own attitude, as always
star testing this week. possible girls night friday? idunnoo
no more caffeinated sodas and virgin strawberry daquiris because i’m not on spring break anymore
frustrated with self because of not getting stuff done well/ADHD and not really doing anything about it because I can’t help it really and the stupid meds (4th? ones I’ve tried) haven’t really done much to help me focus and I don’t want them to get more complicated but still need some way to improve my getting-done-of-homework-at-home situation
fairly clear skin (due to change because no more ocean water or hot sun. stress and classrooms and such)
dance spectrum rehearsals
I feel kind of too busy even though its stuff I like doing usually (except for HOMEWORK :| )