tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31671594410201334262024-03-14T02:34:20.094-07:00The Awkward MenagerieMsKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05353524820203152152noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3167159441020133426.post-88577817561206760262012-07-31T13:20:00.002-07:002012-07-31T13:20:36.513-07:00The Inherent Possibility of the Good Christian Boy<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I
recently decided to take a break from the dating world. It being summer, I
wasn’t likely to meet any new prospects anyway and I wanted to continue my
detox from my latest endeavors. My mom knows that I have trouble finding
prospects in better circumstances (Working 99% of weekends and generally being
a recluse will do that) so she asked her coworkers if they could think of
anyone to set me up with. Only one came back with her daughter’s ex. The only
description my mom and I got was that he was a Good Christian Boy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Of course, she was trying to cast
him in the best light possible. God knows how she described me to him or my mom
to her, for that matter. However unbeknownst to her, I’m a closet agnostic with
bad past experiences with Christianity. So I’m probably one of the only people in
Arkansas who would react to that with slight trepidation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My mom’s aware of both these things
and initially we reacted skeptically at her coworker’s suggestion and basically
shrugged it off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I receive word
that GCB is actually interested and some Facebook finagling is going to be
attempted to bring us into contact. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I reacted with another dose of the
aforementioned trepidation and my usual disbelief when confronted with a boy
who might Like me. Then, I kinda warmed up to the idea. I wondered what he was
told about me and assured myself that Christian probably wasn’t his defining
trait. Plus, I try to be open-minded and give people a chance. (Up to a point,
no chance for you, hobo) </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">As I have sat on this
blog post refining it, at least a week has gone by since those conversations
and I have no new updates. The entire issue has the possibility of fading into
the background. Indeed, I had barely thought about it except for the time it
took to write this. Sometimes, I don’t know if these flashes in the pan keep me
sane or contribute to my madness. Whether they taunt me or provide hope. <o:p></o:p></span></div>MsKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05353524820203152152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3167159441020133426.post-25171682350041112042012-07-23T14:31:00.000-07:002012-07-23T14:31:36.872-07:00It's My Party And I'll Blog If I Want To
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I’m finding myself looking forward to my
upcoming birthday more than usual. Growing up, I almost dreaded my birthdays.
Getting older didn’t bother me. The celebrations were the trouble. I was so
settled in my own little bubble, I didn’t know what to do with my meager supply
of friends and lack of interest in group activities. My parents usually just
took me to the movies sans friends. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">For my seventeenth birthday, I got that
happy, fuzzy feeling when I had enough acquaintances to have a normal party (I
got 11 attendees!). Which was nice and all, but I found myself mainly hanging
back and soaking in my perceived popularity instead of joining in very much. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">My last birthday consisted of a low key
affair that I’m more suited for and I’m planning on repeating with my
nineteenth. So I’m not anticipating being the center of attention at a big
shindig. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Personally, I believe eighteen is
starting to feel like a naïve age that I want to outgrow. I started it out
feeling all mature and like I actually had my shit together. Then, I finally
entered the dating scene and realized that I’m probably not as mature as I
thought I was. For one, I went fairly far with any guy who provided an
opportunity (there were only three, I only had sex with two and not a single
one was very good). I put up with far too much shit in my first relationship
with a guy I wasn’t that attracted to, all because he had a British accent and
momentum, I guess. Then, I had my first encounter with a fascinating creature
known as The Player™. I managed to (temporarily, thank God) fuck up my
interactions with dad due to the aforementioned British Asshole. Word to the
wise; make sure your minority boyfriend is worth it before you mention him to
your racist Southern father. And I went my entire freshman year of college
without finding That Place Where I Belong. I didn’t find any clubs or groups
where I fit in, Craft Club notwithstanding. I’m the secretary and I don’t even
fucking craft. I made a trapezoid pretending to be a scarf two years ago and
that’s about it. I made a total of one friend (who I happen to love, btw) and
that’s just because the stress of dealing with British Asshole has the same
bonding experience as war. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Maybe I think being nineteen help my
character judgment and prevent fuckups in my personal life, not likely. That
I’ll be transformed into this cool, mature possibly sophisticated person with
her shit actually together. Someone who goes forth into the world and interacts
with people and is Part of Something Larger than Herself, without joining some
creepy religious cult. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Logically, I know
that day is going to come and go without magically making me the person I want
to become. But it can mark the passage of another year closer to me finally
meeting that person. </span>MsKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05353524820203152152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3167159441020133426.post-70155026257121235442012-06-18T20:01:00.003-07:002012-06-18T20:01:58.022-07:00Introducing Myself to Mary Jane<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> The
scene opens on a party. Two groups of young people stand before a bonfire just
starting to die down. I stand within a circle of my coworkers, overhearing a
conversation after conversation about work. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Eventually, the rest of my familiars
went inside or left. The majority of my acquaintances started heading to one of
their cars in a bout of chaos I had a hard time grasping at the time. What I
did understand, however, was that I was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i>
going to allow myself to be left behind completely alone with strangers so I
raced after them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I found myself in the backseat with
two other girls. One I worked with and she borderline annoyed me during that
time (Let’s call her Sabrina). The other I met that night, Megan. My womanly
intuition and the fact that I’m not blind told me that she had some sort of
romantic type thing with the driver (or she wished there was, at least). The
actual owner of the car sat in the passenger seat. I have decided to name them
Josh and Drake, respectively. Due to the illegal nature of this post and the
fact that I haven’t consulted them in any way shape or form, I have changed all
their names. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>First, the first stop was to Kum N
Go. Walking around the store, I had a feeling that I’ve spent awhile searching
for, that feeling of late night hijinks with people that could have pretended
to be my friends. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then, we drove around random streets
while Drake prepared the joint. I remember finding the process very
ritualistic. He gutted something that looked like a cigarette dressed like a
cigar. Then, he packed it with the marijuana carefully and rolled it up. He
licked the edge to seal it all together which is kind of gross now that I’m
thinking about it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I had said earlier that I didn’t want to
participate (I usually have an anti-weed policy for myself) so I was initially
skipped as the joint made its rounds. However, as I watched its progression, I
found myself wanting it. My earlier shots had mostly worn off and I wanted to
smile and laugh and feel included. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So I asked for some and tried my
first hit of weed. My attempt wasn’t very successful. Apparently, smoking
requires more than inhaling it. You’re supposed to like swallow it into your
lungs. I guess to help me, Drake started shotgunning it. That’s where he put
the joint in his mouth and inhaled the smoke to blow into the receiver’s mouth.
The rest of the hits were consumed this way. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The rest of the trip kind of blended
together. One really hit home just before we stopped at another convenience
store so the boys could pee. My throat felt all scratchy, but I had this
general happy feeling that must be what being high is. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> So ends the broad strokes tale of my first experience with illegal drugs (besides alcohol). Other things happened. Somehow I had a minor faux pas after saying "Fuck Jesus". Not the best thing to say in the Bible Belt. I'm unaware of how this incident (or any of the others I plan on putting up here)will fit into my larger life story, but I'm gathering the puzzle pieces here. Even if none of them ever match up, but this will certainly be a journey.</o:p></span></div>MsKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05353524820203152152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3167159441020133426.post-36419815076356059502012-03-25T22:20:00.002-07:002012-03-25T22:20:43.995-07:00Feminism: The Lonely Option?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> A conundrum has appeared to me. My friend, Truffles, and I were discussing the new Hunger Games movie (It’s awesome). Of course, the Peeta-Gale debate came up. I claimed Team Peeta, but Truffles asked if it would be more feminist for Katniss to be by herself instead. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>For some reason, this left a bad taste in my mouth and prompted me to hit my blog. It seems like a pretty sound theory. A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle and all that shit. However, a feminist is still a person and most <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">people </i>(not just women, although that it is stressed more in our society) desire close connections with other people. Close connections that usually sometimes include romantic or sexual aspects. To suggest that Katniss (or any other fictional character or person in general) give up this basic human want to satisfy a feminist policy is absurd. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Love triangles in general don’t lend themselves well to feminism (something I may cover in another post). We could squabble about which choice fits our particular brand of feminism, but I just wanted to take a moment to point out the flaws in the third option. I understand this is tricky terrain to walk around in and may the odds be forever in your favor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>MsKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05353524820203152152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3167159441020133426.post-54328517286004146362012-02-15T11:58:00.000-08:002012-02-15T11:58:25.406-08:00Nerdy Valentines<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcHRrWXUOe0eifA16g_V6DSi8j5TuSrkVPozBXV_7dlUfju4y514afHW4xKOhwXfgzbripnluONo1vO2WtJCxQpRobBHwO35wfTH0Qu4U6DSUX46jihBzynv5aKaMBSFoauv1q1sKT9Kt-/s1600/Being-Human6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcHRrWXUOe0eifA16g_V6DSi8j5TuSrkVPozBXV_7dlUfju4y514afHW4xKOhwXfgzbripnluONo1vO2WtJCxQpRobBHwO35wfTH0Qu4U6DSUX46jihBzynv5aKaMBSFoauv1q1sKT9Kt-/s320/Being-Human6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9GHmRcN5nc5I7yesTPpG_41JNnFG78UFW_8xWnYnUcye35z1N94a_2F62N2d6G_rLmfUab0l2wDOuEVW8lC6tCeznMgFpQNh5PDY1OIh8tKi53JgidGLUKpJ_HfSpPrsSK1a2LV-U9e0W/s1600/pll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9GHmRcN5nc5I7yesTPpG_41JNnFG78UFW_8xWnYnUcye35z1N94a_2F62N2d6G_rLmfUab0l2wDOuEVW8lC6tCeznMgFpQNh5PDY1OIh8tKi53JgidGLUKpJ_HfSpPrsSK1a2LV-U9e0W/s320/pll.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQgucXWdDBb0nTIffE2rqfJLGltTrQR7acVjRjBBt3PLOax_RPB9G0IHew8UeosWAkCRpUt1tNSNe-qga8mNyTGmG1QT5aa1kpQC81H0rOBddw55SlTkt_Xjw_X__2pxS6QIXnqVa7TtHt/s1600/Secretary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQgucXWdDBb0nTIffE2rqfJLGltTrQR7acVjRjBBt3PLOax_RPB9G0IHew8UeosWAkCRpUt1tNSNe-qga8mNyTGmG1QT5aa1kpQC81H0rOBddw55SlTkt_Xjw_X__2pxS6QIXnqVa7TtHt/s320/Secretary.jpg" width="205" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_RHXvm7XByVj4uFzEHPnpySHORe85xyiXbqRvMHeQUNiVqXgenJny-9VFTkOOG9qvT_CpL3_xq4s__g04aQ_vg7bH8Y2dOI01SU2YBg62V3hxT6VCc71G6PYqtJYmv8IQXEHOlrOFunfj/s1600/uvs051008-002-257x169.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_RHXvm7XByVj4uFzEHPnpySHORe85xyiXbqRvMHeQUNiVqXgenJny-9VFTkOOG9qvT_CpL3_xq4s__g04aQ_vg7bH8Y2dOI01SU2YBg62V3hxT6VCc71G6PYqtJYmv8IQXEHOlrOFunfj/s320/uvs051008-002-257x169.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4E5VE52JFlwKN__KxIkzAKp_z6fpGJqCWuUpnGmiQ9gXM-bzFFmKTPKP7-wBOWZ2q3b9dARZ-3kv_HtR8kUypq2IkufH1xuuwsGMhM1tyN-16gRWyCYHupT6EDhuCU_AnV4MPWSI2KIRc/s1600/Christine+and+Rauol.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4E5VE52JFlwKN__KxIkzAKp_z6fpGJqCWuUpnGmiQ9gXM-bzFFmKTPKP7-wBOWZ2q3b9dARZ-3kv_HtR8kUypq2IkufH1xuuwsGMhM1tyN-16gRWyCYHupT6EDhuCU_AnV4MPWSI2KIRc/s320/Christine+and+Rauol.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>I made these for my friends, and I hope everyone had a good v-day.MsKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05353524820203152152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3167159441020133426.post-4807254952833013002012-01-17T13:53:00.000-08:002012-01-17T13:53:30.283-08:00Brokeback Mountain I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but I happen to live in the South. Rednecks are part of the local wildlife and the easiest way to aggitate them is to simply mention a little film known as <em>Brokeback Mountain</em>. This will usually result in said redneck responding, "Fuck that shit. I don't want to see two motherfuckers kiss." (They're not the most eloquent demographic). <br />
This got me thinking. They're <em>gay</em>. The last person they're going to want to kiss is a mother. Wouldn't calling them fatherfuckers, be more appropriate?<br />
<br />
These people have no concept of political correctness, I swear.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieQsF7B1vfWog6uBuN_CXgf27JNJT-9EreS7o6C1mCHQAnn2dCnpGuaD2_zL8-tdcDhC2Dq5G6o5c_YZPhIOifE8753KAmN4RQlDwGwYmTe0aRAdQ6sfcG14NQBjZMdCtdPkdcRuzdnKm8/s1600/brokeback_mountain_kiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieQsF7B1vfWog6uBuN_CXgf27JNJT-9EreS7o6C1mCHQAnn2dCnpGuaD2_zL8-tdcDhC2Dq5G6o5c_YZPhIOifE8753KAmN4RQlDwGwYmTe0aRAdQ6sfcG14NQBjZMdCtdPkdcRuzdnKm8/s320/brokeback_mountain_kiss.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>In unrelated news, I learned how to add pictures to my blog. And the union between two attractive people is hot, no matter what their gender.MsKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05353524820203152152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3167159441020133426.post-44688711952521209272012-01-16T12:06:00.000-08:002012-01-16T12:06:53.289-08:002011 In Review A new year has begun. Traditionally, this is the time to reflect on the good times of last year and the promise of the year to come. However, no one ever said I was traditional so I can safely say that 2011 was a pretty . . . eventful year (I'm unsure how it falls on my shitfest to fucking-awesome meter). In no particular order, I . . . <br />
<br />
1. Lost my best friend (in the she acted all bitchy and I stopped being friends with her, not the 'passed away kind of lost)<br />
2. Got my first kiss (at eighteen. Don't judge me)<br />
3. Graduated high school. <br />
4. My wrecked car was fixed and returned to me. <br />
5. Got a 4.0 GPA for my first semester of college. (Totally bragging right now)<br />
6. Got myself a job.<br />
7. Accidentally cut myself a lot at said job<br />
8. Decided "what I want to do when I grow up"<br />
9. Saw the Lion King in <strong>3D!</strong><br />
10. Joined a writer's workshop and produced some of my best short stories there.<br />
<br />
You know, I initially looked on the past year with some major pessimism (number 1 was kinda traumatic) but most of those things are good things. Even the things I didn't include because I thing ten is the perfect list number. Good to know that my brain is doing a good job of repressing bad memories.MsKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05353524820203152152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3167159441020133426.post-29967543253522501062012-01-04T13:13:00.001-08:002012-01-04T13:13:10.067-08:00Hell's Roster<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I truly believe there is something fundamentally wrong with telling someone (no matter who that person is) they are going to hell. It is scientifically inaccurate (probably), dehumanizing, and just not very nice. The following story will demonstrate a . . . less general reason for this pet peeve of mine.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
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</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was little, my mom answered the door to see a recruiting preacher. He asked her if we went to church, a standard question. She told him no, the truth. The preacher then proceeded to inform her that she had condemned my sister and I (too young to even remember this incident) to hell. The number one way to get on my Shit List is to make my mother cry and this “holy man” had the audacity to do that on our property. I’m pissed just thinking about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>However, I recently discovered a group of people that I truly believe are going to hell. Before I earn my hypocrite label, let me explain. These people are drug dealers who surgically implant drugs into puppies in order to smuggle them. Most of the time, the puppies don’t survive the removal process. I will gladly put aside any and all of my moral convictions when faced with a dead puppy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>MsKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05353524820203152152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3167159441020133426.post-74567557206969983632011-12-25T12:18:00.000-08:002011-12-25T12:18:58.139-08:00The OceanI hope you had a very merry christmas. I'm playing with the tone of this blog so I prepared this slightly more serious, slice-of-life kind of thing. Hope you like it.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My parents took my sister and me to Florida in the summer of 2009. This included the mandatory beach trip. This wasn’t the first time I saw the ocean. That happened in junior high. I got pulled out of school to visit my uncle to help him through the wake of his roommate and/or best friend’s suicide.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Despite it being somewhere between February and March, my sister and I received boogie boards to arm us against the waves of the freezing ocean. I tried my best to boogie board, but my knees quickly suffered for all my efforts. The board cut under a wave instead of floating on top, carrying me with it. The undercurrent trapped me under the surface as I felt the rhythm of the waves burying me deeper. My father pulled me from this hell, my nostrils and throat burning with the sea salt. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s amazing how almost drowning can affect someone’s opinion of the beach. I didn’t return to the ocean until the aforementioned trip in 2009. I mediated on my prior experience as I stood in the middle of the Atlantic, water chest-high. I also thought about all the poetry that had been read into the ocean. Its fickle temperament and its status as a symbol for freedom and independence. I thought back to all the authors who had looked at this same body of water (probably) and saw something spectacular in it. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Personally, I was bored out of my skull.<o:p></o:p></span></div>MsKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05353524820203152152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3167159441020133426.post-30949383088735824272011-12-21T16:32:00.000-08:002011-12-21T16:32:26.416-08:00The Sims Unrated<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The Sims 3 is a popular simulation game suitable for all ages. However, I believe that this (somewhat) family friendly premise stops this from displaying some of the more interesting (fun) aspects of life. Sure you can woohoo (sex for the uninitiated) in the bed, hot tub, shower <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and elevator if you fancy, but that still leaves out such important facets of life such as . . . <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Masturbation: Why should sexual activity be limited to those with partners? Sometimes the right sim just never comes along. Maybe they’re waiting for marriage but still horny as fuck. Maybe you as the creator just enjoy watching digital people touch themselves in the special place.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Second Base: I think it is extremely unfair that (outside of woohoo (which we don’t get to watch)) these sims are forced to keep their hands in appropriate places. Besides that, I always saw second base as having two main purposes. First, as a sort of test drive for further activity. If you’re uncomfortable with the guy’s hand on your boob, he probably shouldn’t venture further. Second base also gives teenaged boys a more manageable goal when sex is definitely off the table. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Oral Sex: I do not have structured arguments like the ones above (although I have heard rumors about semen being good for your hair or something). I think oral sex would add variety and make the game more interesting in general. Sims have a right to be able to mix it up in the bedroom, just like real-life people can. Besides, straight woohoo (the positions are even the same every time) is bound to get boring after a little while.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: small;">4.</span> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Sperm donors: I believe sperm donors would add many benefits to the Sims universe just as they enhance this world, God bless the masturbating bastards and their joysticks. Lesbian sims would have the option of pregnancy and all that entails without relying on adoption to grow their families. The fellas would also benefit from this in the form of easy money which always comes in handy (pun intended). </span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Not too bad for my first post with actual content to it. I've got more than enough material ready for</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">a follow-up post on this same topic, but I'd love to hear your suggestions!</span></div>MsKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05353524820203152152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3167159441020133426.post-91596420938535327352011-12-21T16:21:00.000-08:002011-12-21T16:21:39.674-08:00My First PostHello there and welcome to my blog. I figured I'd offer a little background information about myself before I got into the more fun and interesting bits. I am currently eighteen years of age on the fast track to english-teacher-ship. I'm not entirely sure what this blog will consist of (hence the vague title), but I figured that would be grand journey for all of us to go on together. Now let's get started.MsKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05353524820203152152noreply@blogger.com0