Society Told Me Not To

Society: I wouldn’t do that if I were you.
Me: Shove it!

Society has told me (yep, it speaks) that I shouldn’t do these things in public:

1. Don’t dance down the skywalk.
People can see you. It is weird to drive down the street, look up for a moment, and see someone gettin’ jiggy with it in a suspended hallway. Also, people who are walking through the skywalk while you are dancing in it will be scared and/or confused. They will not join in with you, because life is not High School Musical and people don’t all dance in sync at random moments. No matter how much you wish you could, you should not dance in the skywalk.
Know what I say to that? HAHAHA, because I do it anyway. Yeah, I’m that girl flailing around in the skywalk.

2. Don’t sing in the rain. Or anywhere else where people are watching, for that matter.
Yeah, Gene Kelly did it, but that doesn’t mean you should. Technically he wasn’t in public, because it was a fictional movie. Singing in public, no matter how overjoyed you are, is annoying and will make people want to hit you with rotten fruit (though why anyone would carry rotten fruit around with them, nobody knows).
Know what I say to that? I don’t believe in fiction. Everything is real. Also, I don’t care, I will sing if I like. I will burst into song in the middle of lunch. (I will swallow my food before I burst into song in the middle of lunch.) I will burst into song when I’m walking down the street and the air smells good and I bloody well feel like singing.

3. Don’t laugh so much.
It makes your face go all red and spreads your nose across it. That is not attractive. Also, too much laughing can give the impression that you’re stupid.
Know what I say to that? Hahahahahahhahahahahha!

4. Don’t do creepy things to people, no matter how hilarious you might think it’d be.
Don’t wink or wiggle your eyebrows suggestively at people who are only slightly your friends (even if you are obviously joking, because people are stupid and won’t understand that you’re joking). Honestly, you just shouldn’t joke when around with people because your sense of humor is easily misinterpereted as insanity and someone will chuck you into the loony bin.
Know what I say to that? Nothing, but I do give it a suggestive eyebrow wiggle and a pat on the bottom.


Ohh, the Irony.

Writer's block = FRUSTRATION.

I named my blog Writer’s Block because I couldn’t think of anything besides “I’m Insane” or “Jelly Beans Taste Good.” Little did I know, the title would come back to haunt me.

I am writing a novel. My characters used to flow out of my mind like water down a downspout. I’m not sure that’s a very good simile, but it is what it is. Plus, it was either that, or a peeing analogy.
I was chuggin along for a long time, but I stopped writing for a couple weeks when life got busy and I kinda forgot…it’s practically a SIN that I forgot. The ultimate sin. If I were Catholic, I’d be hailin’ Mary all over the place.

But I’m not Catholic, I’m just a writer whose characters hate her.
Female main character: Has fallen out of my brain.
Male main character: Well, I’m too in love with him to let him screw up. But he has to screw up, or the book is complete crap.
Main character’s friend: Is driving me nuts.
My characters hate me. Whyyyyyyyyy?

I’ll tell you why. Because I neglected them for almost 3 weeks. What kind of author am I? I may as well have abandoned them on the side of the road. Or killed them all off one by one. I may as well have given them all STDs. I may as well have sent them off to war.
Or not.

My writer's block apparently turns into my hands eating my face.

Maybe I should bribe them with chocolate. Or let really good things happen to them (to trick them) and then delete the good things after I extract some life out of them. Because my characters are flat. How dare they?!
This blog post was an attempt to shake the writer’s block (and the cotton fluff – Winnie the Pooh reference, what’s up!?) out of my brain. I don’t know if it worked, but at this point I’ve begun telling you about my life so much that I might as well babble on about my obnoxiousness (and my stale cornflakes).

My Mind: The Ultimate Three Ring Circus


To the blogging community (and everyone else out there, I guess): I have gone completely insane. My blogs from now until eternity will probably contain an edge of bitterness and cynicism that should not not not not not be there. Why?

Cuz I’m insane. Didn’t I already mention that?
Prepare for a ramble-fest.

My mind runs in too many circles. Props to GirlOnTheContrary for writing a similar post earlier (except not, cuz she didn’t say she’s mentally unstable, just has a crazy jumbled/crowded brain). Anyway, my mind is like a circus ring. I’m pretty sure there are elephants romping around, too. And these aren’t cute Dumbo elephants. They’re angry elephants on crack.
Don’t give elephants crack. It’s damaging to my…me-ness.

I feel like jumping around and screaming. Actually, I already did that (and blasted some Strokes and sang along until I practically passed out). Maybe I feel like doing it again.

Nothing happens to actually make me this way. I just become this way. And while I’d really like to blame it on my period, I already did a post about that…no repeat material here. I become this way because every little teeny tiny inconsequential thing that ever happens to me is immediately analyzed and then stored to the back of my brain for further analysis at random points throughout my life.

This blog is getting entirely too personal for my liking. Onward.

One time, I held hands with someone’s boyfriend. It wasn’t meant to be romantic, because I didn’t like the guy that way and it was kind of a joke but then it turned out to not feel like a joke because I liked it. Then I felt guilty for like 2 weeks because of it.
I’m not the boyfriend stealing type. There was no reason for me to feel guilty, really. I didn’t do anything, I didn’t plot to steal him away from her, I didn’t do it again, and I definitely hadn’t started it. But I couldn’t stop thinking.

One time, someone told me all their problems and that they felt sad about life (hmm, like I’m doing to you). I carried those problems around for a month before I totally flipped out and told them we couldn’t be friends anymore.
Why? Cuz I felt like cutting myself every time I heard about their sadness.
Probably not the right way to deal.

ONE TIME, I accidentally acted uninterested in what someone had to say. Then I analyzed every possible bad feeling they could’ve felt as a consequence of me not saying nice things to them. And then I felt terrible.

I don’t want to be the person who says, “I’m always so nice to everyone and I’m so empathetic that it’s just a huge burden on me.” But sometimes I am. The empathetic part, that is.
See, my point is to make everyone happy and laugh and whatnot. And while sometimes I can be really mean and sometimes I’m hard to deal with, I feel guilty about it about 3 seconds later. But because I am completely crap at communicating my feelings when I’m upset in any way, I end up making it worse. Or just sounding like an idiot.

And then I get super emotional and tell people things I shouldn’t. Like right now. But I think maybe you should know that:
One time, my brain exploded because I overthought everything until I went crazy.

I Am: George Hincapie

I bicycle. The route I usually ride has a large hill at the end. That hill hurts. 

When I ride up that hill, it takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to get off my bike, sling it over my shoulder, and just hike up the hill to my house. It would probably be harder and more painful to do that, but I constantly find myself thinking about it…just jumping off and sprinting up that hill like a madwoman. 

Sometimes, I think maybe I could just puncture my tire and bribe someone to put my bike in their truck and drive me up the hill. Heck, I carry mace. I’m safe. 

And sometimes, I think maybe I should just sit down on that asphalt and cry. Because my legs hurt. And my body is tired. And cars keep passing me really closely and sometimes they flip me off and it makes me really sad. 

SIDE NOTE: Why would you flip a bicyclist off? I mean REALLY? It’s scary and unnerving and stressful to be flipped off as you’re practically biking your legs clean off your body. If you, Mr. Jerk in a Pickup, were to hit me, who would die? Who would die in that situation? I would. Don’t you be flippin’ me off. I will sass you. 

Anyway, sometimes I want to cry because I’m a wimp and can’t handle the mental and physical challenges of biking, even though I love it and it makes me feel like I’m flying. It’s a weird and complicated thing, biking. 

When I feel like that, I pretend I’m George Hincapie. It started during Le Tour de France, when I was like, “Hey guess what, if I married George Hincapie, my name would be Cappy Hincapie!” Also, if I married him, I’d be considered some kind of gold digger or he’d be a total creep, but it don’t matta, cuz I’d have a really amazing rhyming name.
It started that way, but it’s ended up as my motivation to get the heck up that hill. I announce the climb in a British accent like the guys who announce the tour and pretend that I am Hincapie. It goes something like this: And Hincapie takes the lead, passing Armstrong on the climb! Oh my God, this is magnificent! Hincapie is taking the lead! Hincapie has just won this stage of the Tour de France!!!
I don’t know how it works, but it always does. I get my booty up that hill and tend to want to ride more…it’s a pretty magnificent method. 

The funny thing about this is that I stick my tongue out when I play sports. Always.

So…Georgie, if you want to send me a Cervello bike (or…anything), I’m totally cool with that. Or we could just hang out. I could pretend I’m you and you could pretend you’re me. It’d be a party.

This Is My Life

My happiness is like the combined happiness of these people.

Two recent searches that brought people to my blog caught my attention today. Someone typed in “Bella Swan stupid,” thereby restoring my faith in humanity. Someone else (who I really really love but who might have a pretty intense form of ADD) wrote “I love you are my best friend big dinosa.” That’s it. They didn’t even finish the word…and the sentence barely makes sense. I’m glad such incoherent babble directs people to this blog.
Whoa. Idea. Maybe the person who typed that in had writer’s block and couldn’t figure out what else to write in their search! This blog is aptly named, if that’s the case. Everyone here has writer’s block. Except me, ironically, because I post sometimes 3 times a day. Oh that is so sad… 

Basically, I love the universe because HELLO, people are actually reading what I write and I can guarantee I don’t know at least 2,000 of them. Which is actually probably pretty weird since Mommy told me not to talk to strangers. 

I think I might mention this drugged-up chick too much.

People told me not to write posts about “pop culture ‘things.'” I told them to shove off. If those people had actually read my posts, they’d know that the majority of them are actually me blithering on about how to do things totally inappropriately/crazily/stupidly. So there. Honestly, I bet some people would rather I wrote a million posts about Ke$ha, but too bad, cuz I’m not gonna do that either. I am a free spirit.

On a side note, my sister just attempted to imitate Eminem, going “hrrnehnur HEH nrr nrr nenny nenny hehnunna.” I might have just peed a little. I wish I could add a little voice clip to this post, but I really don’t think I should bother. It might startle people with heart conditions. 

I wish there was a feature on the blog stats monitor that beeped every time you had a hit on your blog. These past few days, I could’ve been sitting in my room listening to my computer beep like mad. Then when I go back to having 64 readers a day, I could just imagine the beeps I once had and cry, alone, clutching my stuffed bear and rocking back and forth. 

What if, with that blog stats beeper, when you didn’t have any hits it would just make a noise like you were flatlining. You’d know, then, that you should just delete your blog forever and find a new hobby, like knitting or saving orphaned ladybugs. 

I love all of you. I love all of you so much, because I wrote a post about Barney that thousands of people read. The funny thing is, I was so close to throwing that post in the trash because I didn’t think anyone would like it. So I wrote it, almost trashed it, posted it instead, got Freshly Pressed, and created a long dialogue between at least 70 adults about how much they love/hate/don’t care about Barney. I’m so glad this happened. My life is complete. Ish.

Long Time Ago When We Was Fab

Once upon a time, there was me. I was pretty cute, little, and very (shockingly) blonde, in a 4-year-old model sort of way. I still look like that. Incredibly attractive, blonde…did I mention incredibly attractive? I don’t look 4 anymore though…

Anyway, I had this great friend, Jenny. We were pretty tight until she got married to Mark (it was customary in ImaginaryLand for people to get married at the age of 6). She had to move away, but I became President of ImaginaryLand in her absence. My new best friend (sent by the palace to replace Jenny) was named Annie and was my second in command.

We were on top of the world. Literally, as ImaginaryLand exists in the troposphere. I would make my daily speech (broadcast from my driveway), then Annie and I would go out into the wilderness and search for criminals to defeat. One day, on a family trip to California, the evil Cup Hand (so named because he had a cup on one of his hands – it had been placed there by Jenny years earlier when he’d tried to kill her with his bare hands) surfaced. Literally. We met him in a pool.

The point is, Cup Hand surfaced and Annie and I tried to defeat him, employing our mermaid army. But Cup Hand escaped in the crowd of small children wading through the water and wasn’t seen for a few weeks. Finally, he found my fortress (house/palace) and challenged Annie and I to a duel (he was pretty cocky and thought he could take both of us on at once). A battle ensued, ending in the death of Cup Hand (I shot him with a soda bottle) as Annie and I emerged with minor injuries that were quickly healed with root potion.

That was, in the words of George Harrison, a “long time ago when we was fab.” I like to think we still are.

Annie and I went on many more adventures. Boys tried to infiltrate our ranks, but we never let them lest we become weak with love. Jenny and Mark visited a few times, but the bond Jenny and I once had could never compare to the one Annie and I still do. And you’ll be pleased to know that the ImaginaryLand government defeated Sadam Hussein long, long ago with love and compassion (and maybe a few mermaids) and there is still peace throughout the land.