Hey. Let me tell you a story.
...
No. Actually, let me tell you a story.
Which sounds like the same thing (no, it doesn't sound like anything, unless you happen to be reading this aloud, which would be a bit like me reading food aloud without eating it! It never happens!), really, but you can see what I mean.
Now, if you ever saw a guy, you probably know he's either a weird dork, a hot stack of stacky hottitude, or a dorky weirdo. Alternatively, he can be an iguana, but that's rare, a bit like me reading food. But I digress.
A guy! Yeah, that thing. Anywho, you've probably met one, and, depending on who you are, what you've eaten for breakfast (very important), and if you've ever met a tortilla unwilling to commit suicide, you've got a deal! Wait, what?
Yeah, a deal. (sorry, alter egos just budge in wherever they want.)
Budge!
YEAH BUDGE. Anyway, they budge in. Wait, what was I talking about? Oh, right! Dudes! Guys! Fellas! Lads! Corking chaps! Fab footrests! I have no idea where that came from!
Guys! You know the type! Typically short-haired, two-legged and armed, not with arms, but arms, goshdarnitall! Bros! Pork chops!
Yeah, so dudes.
I'm kinda rambling here. But I'm getting there, I promise!
So guys. Yeah. We're everywhere! We're in your houses! Stealing your coasters up! 'Cause everyone knows there's no better way to...well, coast. Or be a coast. Coasters are pretty powerful toast, if you get down to the etchy-sketchy of it. They've got all the beverages! Your shakes ain't got nothin' on the fluids these babies hold on a daily basis without parental (or other) consent! Vodka? GOT IT! Chocolate milk? THEY"VE GOT YOU COVERED! WATER? DON"T MAKE ME LAUGH!
Wow, I got distracted there.
Ok, guys! Yeah! Guys! Ever met one? They can be weird, odd, strange, or even BAD! A lot like *quick Wikipedia abbreviation check* that one Russian armored car thing! Yeah! Dangerous, liable to drive right over you, tires and all! It's like it almost doesn't care, or has a chip on its shoulder! Actually, the BAD-2 doesn't really have a shoulder. Maybe it'll be in the movie. OR THE INTERSTATE HIGHWAY VERSION! *WINK*
So it's been a while since I wrote. Well, not really. But I mean wrote! Like the Ejyptians seemed to do so much. Y'know, with those guys just freaking out with their hands and stuff. I haven't really looked at much Ejyptian art, but GOSH TAHT DOES NOT LOOK LIKE EGYPTIAN.
Oh.
G.
*facepalm*
AAAAANYWAY!.
See, I don't write like this often! Just rambling, caring not, and twisting the proverbial fabric of life to squeeze all the slightly more understandable now that I've introduced an analogy drops of life. Gosh, run-on sentences. Self-commentary for the win! OH GOSH NOAH DON"T DO THAT!
HAH YOU CAN"T STOP ME!
Wow, I feel like a dork. That's pretty much...who...I...am...
*sobs into hanky*
I FOUND MYSELF! Oh, wait, I'm just sitting here. Can't have just found myself. That's unlikely.
Well. Anyway. It seems the stuff is happening in the place that's around me. OH OH OH! I'm getting a thing in the mail! I'm being ambiguous because if I outright told you, you'd just 1. Not understand. 2. Shake your head, trying to get the techno-jargon out one or the other of your ears, and 3. Proceed to either (stupid) GO AWAY or (SMART) STAY.
Wo, I'm being all kinds of freakish imposing and stuff.
Y'know, I really like it when she likes to see me. Sorry if I sprung that on you like a slinky on a sloth, but the perennial conversation of my life is whatever grill I happen to be obsessing about at the time, and what the heck just happened. Yeah. I just misspelled girl egregiously. And spelled egregiously right, without using a dictionary, Google, OR spell check! How's that? How 'bout them apples? (apparently spellcheck doesn't think spellcheck is correct. On the other hand, spell check, in fact, IS.)
Yeah, this is probably the longest post I've written this year. DON"T QUOTE ME ON THAT!
"Yeah, this is probably the longest post I've written this year." -- Noah
...
DANG.
Well, people. The thing in the mail? It'll help things. Maybe! I mean, there's another thing that might help as well, but, gosh, this might cook the beans! Or the...IRON ORE.
OR WHAT, YOU SAY? This post is not yet available in podcast format, so you couldn't possibly have mistaken ore for or. Gotcha?
Well, I did, so that's how that happened.
But you know this girl? OH! RIGHT. I think she likes me. It's weird, 'cause she kinda sorta...
1. Kissed another guy.
2. Took a picture while doing so.
3. Posted said picture on Facebook.
HEY, IF YOU"RE READING THIS, YOU, OR YOU, I"M SORRY, BUT I"M A PROBLEMATIC PRAWN! IF YOU DIDN"T WANT TO BE THE SUBJECT OF A RAMBLY BLOG POST BY THE WORLD"S LEAST WELL-KNOWN AUTHOR, THEN YOU SHOULDN"T HAVE POSTED IT ON FACEBOOK! OR TAKEN IT! OR KISSED IN THE FIRST PLACE!
Sorry. Had to get that off my chest. OF GOLD!
Well, actually, while gold is pretty palpable, it would probably make for a pretty sweet six-pack. No fat on the top, either.
AND THIS IS WHERE YOU HEARD IT FIRST!
In another five decades, they'll somehow synthetically create gold and offer Gold-Chestification for exorbitant prices.
So, yeah. That's how I started licking rocks.
Oh, wait. Did I skip the part about being raised by deer? Or deers? I think there were enough of them to warrant a grammatically-incorrect plural.
TAKE THAT, ENGLISH LANGUAGE!
On a side note, completely unrelated, and, might I say...
Ok, I won't.
!Noah!
September 07, 2012
September 03, 2012
A Gore-Enjoying Antilogical Moron
Suddenly I know how to talk to everyone but the person I most love to talk to.
It's horrible of me to keep going back to this. It's in almost every possible way a dead dream...I mean, she's not engaged or anything, but still.
I am a blockhead. It's probably not exactly my fault that I'm where I am. Not entirely. Not in the ways I most care about, I mean. I guess I can't really describe it.
It's weird. When I'm with people besides my family, I don't talk much, and I feel like I'm not doing my share of the conversatin'. Then again, when I do start talking, to some degree, I can't stop. I haven't gotten much of a chance in a while, really. I haven't gotten a backscratch recently, either. That's important.
Hoppipolla. There's actually an accenty-thing over the I, but besides that, the name's right.
Sigur Ros. Accenty-thing over the O in that one, as well.
It's really beautiful stuff, but we were talking so fast that when she first told me about them, I didn't even realize what she was saying.
Or is that what we had is gone, and all that was gained through it?
No, I'm different, better because of her. Dang it.
I wish I could tell her, but honestly, my heart is far too confusing a place to just say something like that.
Honestly, I just want to talk to her again. But she's living her life, loving her friends...her boyfriend, and I'm here, wishing I was some small part of that mosaic.
I feel like something went wrong, that, somehow, her life going in a different direction than mine can't be everything. I wish I could go and tell her how I feel, how I wish things could be, and make that happen, like in the movies, but I don't think the girl would appreciate that.
I overthink. I guess I should ask her out.
Except now I'm talking about a different girl.
!Noah!
It's horrible of me to keep going back to this. It's in almost every possible way a dead dream...I mean, she's not engaged or anything, but still.
I am a blockhead. It's probably not exactly my fault that I'm where I am. Not entirely. Not in the ways I most care about, I mean. I guess I can't really describe it.
It's weird. When I'm with people besides my family, I don't talk much, and I feel like I'm not doing my share of the conversatin'. Then again, when I do start talking, to some degree, I can't stop. I haven't gotten much of a chance in a while, really. I haven't gotten a backscratch recently, either. That's important.
Hoppipolla. There's actually an accenty-thing over the I, but besides that, the name's right.
Sigur Ros. Accenty-thing over the O in that one, as well.
It's really beautiful stuff, but we were talking so fast that when she first told me about them, I didn't even realize what she was saying.
Or is that what we had is gone, and all that was gained through it?
No, I'm different, better because of her. Dang it.
I wish I could tell her, but honestly, my heart is far too confusing a place to just say something like that.
Honestly, I just want to talk to her again. But she's living her life, loving her friends...her boyfriend, and I'm here, wishing I was some small part of that mosaic.
I feel like something went wrong, that, somehow, her life going in a different direction than mine can't be everything. I wish I could go and tell her how I feel, how I wish things could be, and make that happen, like in the movies, but I don't think the girl would appreciate that.
I overthink. I guess I should ask her out.
Except now I'm talking about a different girl.
!Noah!
Ice Cube Tray Logic
I seriously need a do not disturb sign for my computer.
Why?
Because I feel like it. A lot. Maybe not much of the time, but when I feel like hanging a do not disturb sign somewhere nearby, I REALLY feel like doing it.
It's not you, it's me.
Well, that's comforting. To no one.
I once asked how to spell no one, because I thought it ought to be one word.
Noone.
I may have met a girl once by that surname.
More likely it was spelled Noon, but that's beside the point.
So over the last few weeks, I've been trying to figure something out. Namely, who it is who leaves the ice cube tray with either zero cubes, one cube, or just a bunch of broken fragments in it.
Most of the time, I say to myself, Take it, Noah, it's not like you can change them. It's not like it would be profitable to call the family together, ask who does it, and squash that proverbial bug, but I still want to.
What happens a lot is that I say, hey, I'll take two cubes and leave two, and someone else will empty it.
And then I keep thinking, "Karma, Noah, karma."
Because they're always still there.
I tried another method. Simply empty the trays and leave them there.
That didn't work very well either. After a couple days of that, I ended up refilling the trays today myself.
It's stupid that I should ever have to think that I'm the only one who does anything, but I'm guessing it's not just me. Are we all wrong, are we all right, and does it even matter?
I found out within the last couple days that my computer has several flaws. First, two of my four memory slots are nonfunctional. Inserting memory into them results in a total freeze (can't even muster a BSOD) and necessitates a reboot.
Life is so complicated.
Last night I thought I'd start a how-to channel on Youtube, and today I realize that the microphone I purchased mere days ago, combined with the positively awful Realtek audio, doesn't record at normal volume levels unless I amp it up 30 decibels. The alternative is to use one of the dozen or so USB headsets Daddy got a few days ago for a buck apiece, but the audio quality should be much worse.
The electric griddle is flakey.
Daddy turned the proxy back on for our network.
The effect of this is to make a number of things impossible. Some of them are necessary or worthwhile, but most of what it stops is us kids doing fun and useful things. I hate it.
Because of this, I use a neighbor's internet connection to do this. It's faster, most of the time, but it's fickle. People can join it at will, and that probably means a few dozen people are using it most of the time.
I'm not complaining. Not about the internet connection, I mean.
And despite the fact that I don't have enough money to rub Franklin's two cheeks together, I'm spending and thinking about spending all day long.
Everything seems so pointless. Resistance especially. I wanted to DO something with my life, but at every turn it, seems like either I don't have the motivation, or a nuke-proof brick wall is in my way.
And the girl? She kissed another guy months ago. So what? That's what I keep asking, but what possible reason would she kiss him if she not only loved him, but also wanted to...
The possibility has been suggested to me that she's "just that kind of girl." That she'd "play the field," so to speak.
It hadn't really occurred to me before, actually, but it doesn't come as a surprise, somehow.
I just hope she doesn't try to play on my corner of the field.
!Noah!
Why?
Because I feel like it. A lot. Maybe not much of the time, but when I feel like hanging a do not disturb sign somewhere nearby, I REALLY feel like doing it.
It's not you, it's me.
Well, that's comforting. To no one.
I once asked how to spell no one, because I thought it ought to be one word.
Noone.
I may have met a girl once by that surname.
More likely it was spelled Noon, but that's beside the point.
So over the last few weeks, I've been trying to figure something out. Namely, who it is who leaves the ice cube tray with either zero cubes, one cube, or just a bunch of broken fragments in it.
Most of the time, I say to myself, Take it, Noah, it's not like you can change them. It's not like it would be profitable to call the family together, ask who does it, and squash that proverbial bug, but I still want to.
What happens a lot is that I say, hey, I'll take two cubes and leave two, and someone else will empty it.
And then I keep thinking, "Karma, Noah, karma."
Because they're always still there.
I tried another method. Simply empty the trays and leave them there.
That didn't work very well either. After a couple days of that, I ended up refilling the trays today myself.
It's stupid that I should ever have to think that I'm the only one who does anything, but I'm guessing it's not just me. Are we all wrong, are we all right, and does it even matter?
I found out within the last couple days that my computer has several flaws. First, two of my four memory slots are nonfunctional. Inserting memory into them results in a total freeze (can't even muster a BSOD) and necessitates a reboot.
Life is so complicated.
Last night I thought I'd start a how-to channel on Youtube, and today I realize that the microphone I purchased mere days ago, combined with the positively awful Realtek audio, doesn't record at normal volume levels unless I amp it up 30 decibels. The alternative is to use one of the dozen or so USB headsets Daddy got a few days ago for a buck apiece, but the audio quality should be much worse.
The electric griddle is flakey.
Daddy turned the proxy back on for our network.
The effect of this is to make a number of things impossible. Some of them are necessary or worthwhile, but most of what it stops is us kids doing fun and useful things. I hate it.
Because of this, I use a neighbor's internet connection to do this. It's faster, most of the time, but it's fickle. People can join it at will, and that probably means a few dozen people are using it most of the time.
I'm not complaining. Not about the internet connection, I mean.
And despite the fact that I don't have enough money to rub Franklin's two cheeks together, I'm spending and thinking about spending all day long.
Everything seems so pointless. Resistance especially. I wanted to DO something with my life, but at every turn it, seems like either I don't have the motivation, or a nuke-proof brick wall is in my way.
And the girl? She kissed another guy months ago. So what? That's what I keep asking, but what possible reason would she kiss him if she not only loved him, but also wanted to...
The possibility has been suggested to me that she's "just that kind of girl." That she'd "play the field," so to speak.
It hadn't really occurred to me before, actually, but it doesn't come as a surprise, somehow.
I just hope she doesn't try to play on my corner of the field.
!Noah!
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