Word on the Block About the Blog

‎"Reading the Blog is like...well...like nothing I have ever seen before. It's like...sorta like eating the most amazing pizza ever, handed to you by Johnny Depp. Just wonderfulness upon wonderfulness. So wonderful that I got the link address tattooed to my face."--Mother Theresa

"If you read this blog, and I'm assuming that you will...magical nuggets of wisdom will start sprouting out of your elbows and kneecaps. And you'll feel so gosh-darn dandy that you'll break out in a dance and whistle a tune. THAT is why you should read this blog."---Nelson Mandela

Read the blog or your ancestors will come and haunt you.--Abraham Lincoln

"Read Jenna's blog and she will make you into one swell-happy amphibian/mortal"--Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Read the blog or else all your ice cubes will be turned to solid gold. And we all know how that feels between your gums--like golden Hades, that's how. Bahaha! I'm Danish."--Beowulf.

Improve My Nuking Marmoset, Please, Mr. DJ.

Today I went to a parade. It was a terrible, lame, and smelly parade, full of little girls with makeup caked on like a second skin and horses that would rather be running in a pasture far, far away from people. I was standing next to the old folks home and I saw all the elderly, mindless people being parked in their wheelchairs to watch this ridiculous parade go by. There was no music in the parade. There was no laughter or creativity. Just buckets of stale candy and grumpy, overworked people. I wonder if the sad, depressed old people felt any better looking at that. I sure know I wouldn't.
But what would make a parade like that better? For one thing, music. Tons and tons of music. Blaring so loud and festively that you can feel it radiate in your pores. And colors. All shades and hues strapped tastefully around the bodies of fellow marchers whose faces are radiating and happy and smiling.
Also, less stale candy. No Dum-Dums. Those are ridiculously similar to licking a toilet bowl.

But that's just the horrors of living in small town Oklahoma. We have all the creativity sucked out of us and thrown back into the hot sun that rules over all of our withering bodies. What can I do to make it different? Well, I have plenty of plans for when I'm older, but at the moment, I wanna have fun. I wanna be sixteen and crazy and make everyone doubt that I have any maturity in my being. So, here are a few ideas to get up and go and get dangerous:

1. Play tag in a cemetery at night. Thankfully, my youth minister takes us to do this once and awhile, and we love him for it.
2. If you can drive, pull into a car dealership with a stopwatch and friends. Time yourself going in. As soon as a salesman approaches your car, take off as fast as you can. Then stop the watch and record your time. Proceed to another car dealership.
3. Dress like a goth and visit every single church in the town. See what happens.
4. Go to Wal-Mart dressed like a super hero and buy things to suggest your power. (e.i. weights for strength, sunglasses for x-ray vision, stretchy pants for stretchability). If the clerk doesn't guess, ask them.
5. Drive through a drive-thru without a car.
   

Some of these ideas where gathered by observing other sources. Thanks to all of you, even though none of you read the blog of wonder. :)

I am so sick of seeing "Christians" on Facebook cuss like a sailor. Seriously, can you not be more creative? Here are some other choice words of choice:

• Bloody Timberlake. Used in phrase like: "Well, you little Bloody Timberlake, maybe you'd like to buy your OWN parkas!"
• Marmoset. "Oh shut the marmoset up, you Bloody Timberlake!"
• Nuking. "You nuking Bloody Timberlake of marmosets!"
• Hash. "What the hash are you nuking doing you marmoset-like Bloody Timberlake?"
• Jojoba. "Jojoba hash of marmosets, Bloody Timberlake is nuking bananas!"

It's really that simple, Fake Christians. Now, clean up your mouth with some nuking Jojoba butter soap.

Who is this Mister Dee Jay and why must he turn the music up, Rihanna?

First Challenge and Black Mail Worthy Material

I was challenged by "Seven Deadly Sins" to write more than one song a day. Fair enough. Although, I can't write tunes, but I'm pretty good at lyrics. But I'll try to make them as amazing as possible.

When I was younger, I used to think I was amazing at everything creative. I wrote songs and I tried to sing them and I also tried to make a band. (OK, several bands with dumb names like : Black Rose, Skeleton Key, Smashing Walls, etc.) So, I will share with you several cringe-worthy songs that I wrote in my past in honor of this challenge. I won't count them as writing a song, considering that they sorta already exist and are extremely EXTREMELY lame. Feel free to laugh your head off at my seventh grade stupidity. Just please don't tease me if you ever see me.

First Song: Official Ladies' Player (Bonus points for using correct punctuation for "ladies'")

About: This pathetic boy in my class who I was "in love" with for four years.

Stupidity Level: ***

Lamest Lyrics:

You're a sweet-heart breaker,

A best-friend faker.

And most of all, a ladies' player!

Haven't heard you give me a ring.

But when you do, I sing,

Is this some sick plan.

Please grow up and be a man!

Translation: I wish I was hot enough to get you to call me and you feel bad about your lack of interest. No avail.

To be honest, he wasn't a player at all. But, I wanted him to appear to be a man-tramp.

Second song: Lonely Chemist (What the heck?! I sound like a super nerd...which I was...am....)

About: Me never ever ever ever ever ever ever getting anyone to be romantically interested

Stupidity Level: ****

Lamest lyrics:

Emotions mixing in a vat,

Churned by one who, that,

Has never had a lover.

Hopes fill the air instead of smoke,

Realizing love is no joke,

Is the thoughts of the lonely that has no lover.

Translation: I wanted to be severely poetic and depressing. This was my pre-emo stage. I also had no idea what a lover meant. So, don't think I was a sexually active seventh grader, please.

Who the heck uses the word "vat" in a song??

Third Song: Choose the One You Love

About: That same idiot boy who I wasted four years on.

Stupidity level: *****

Lamest lyrics:

Are we on or are we not?

Tell me, honey, get it while it's hot,

There's a two-day special, get it while it lasts,

Or else be prepared when heartache blasts!

Translation: Oh, hey, I'm an idiotic pre-teen girl who thinks that she is something sexy beyond those ugly glasses, curls, and braces. Oh, Little Me, if only you knew what an idiot you are.

Seriously? This boy who these songs are about was my first boyfriend. He didn't talk to me for five months. See what I mean by idiotic?

So, I shall now get started on writing DECENT, SENSICAL, PRACTICAL songs. More than one everday. And please, don't black mail me with this stuff. It's like my diary.

Veggie Tale: I Failed and Funeral Plans

So...being a vegetarian...didn't work out. I failed after I went to the mall and was offered a Freddy's burger, which, may I just say, does all cows perfect justice because they are absolutely disgusting unless they aim to be a Freddy's. So, I faltered, and I followed up with turkey bacon this morning for breakfast. I also broke my no-pop rule with a cheeseburger....I fail at life, I KNOW.

So, this is the deal. I will postpone the veg-head diet until I receive TWELVE CHALLENGES. Which, by the way, Inkbots, you are totally slacking on. GIVE ME A CHALLENGE or I will kill all your cattle. End of fairytale.

Funerals are something we all try to avoid. I mean, why not? You have a creepy dead body in the room, everyone is dressed to depress, and the reception is chock full of gosh-awful casseroles. So, I plan on changing things up in the funeral industry. What do I mean? Well, let me tell you. *winning smile*

FIRST! At my funeral, no one is allowed to wear black. NOTHING. No black socks, no black panties. And yes, people at my funeral will check for your betrayal of black panty wearing. You are allowed to wear every single color in the rainbow at once, because that would make me happy, even if I was dead.

SECOND! I do not want to be laying down like I'm asleep in a coffin. I want to be sitting up in a chair with a cigarette in my mouth, because, all though I've never smoked and never will, I figure it wouldn't hurt any if I started when I died. (Seeing about all those health risks being null and all.)

THIRD! If I was ever mean to you, don't lie to people and say I was nice. Tell the truth about me. One thing I can't stand is nice liars because they're a complete and total oxymoron. And I mean oxyMORON. But, I would like all the people who liked me to attend and preferably beat up those people who didn't. Hey, I didn't say you'd be treated nicely for being honest.

FOURTH! The reception shall be held at Chuck E. Cheese. That way, you are forced to eat delicious pizza and forced to have a great time. Just imagine me beside you, whacking the heck outta some pop-up moles.

FIFTH! Just remember me as nicely as you can.

This is also my mandatory funeral playlist:

• "Good Riddance" by Green Day
• "Dead!" (clean version) by My Chemical Romance
• "Thriller" Michael Jackson

If you do not follow these requests, I will turn into a zombie and ravage your brain. :) HAVE A NICE DAY!

Love Note Mini-Post

Dear The Color Blue,
How are you doing? I just saw you a second ago and I realized that we haven't spoken in so long. So, listen, I just wanted to drop a note and say that, well, basically...I'm madly in love with you. I know, that came a bit forward, but it's absolutely true. When I see you in the sky, or even when I see you on random candy wrappers, my heart is beating so fast that I'm afraid it'll explode and everyone will see my tiny little heart and they'll be like, "eww that girl is disgusting, she doesn't deserve the Color Blue" and I'll have to agree and I'll go into bouts of depression and have to take happy pills and gouge out my eyes so I don't see you anymore and my heart won't shove itself through my flesh and make me look like I walked out of a Saw movie....Yeah. So, for all these years, I've kinda tried to avoid you to avoid that bloody heart-mess thing. But I saw you today and I realized that I can't hold it in any longer (my love, not my heart--she's fine.) So...the Color Blue...will you be my favorite color?

Was that kinda creepy? I sure thought so.

Challenges and Hate Mail

"Pinkachoo! I challenge...YOU!" Get it? Pink? Like my hair? Which is actually pink and blue like monster cotton candy?
Have you ever wanted to try the impossible? To do the undoable? To prove all the hater-gaters wrong? I haven't. But what I have wanted to do is try something totally new and exciting and possible unhealthy. So, I am taking up what we will call:
Pink-Haired Peril Proposals.
Where YOU the reader challenge ME the blogger to do insane WACKO-JACKO feats. Here are your guidelines:

1. Nothing immoral
2. Nothing illegal
3. Nothing that could get me killed

So, there you have the rules. Follow them like they were Ghandi. My first challenge is already here.
LET IT BE KNOWN: TOMORROW AND FOR AN ENTIRE WEEK FOLLOWING, I SHALL BE A VEGETARIAN.
I made it up, because if you do not challenge yourself, you cannot face challenges afterward. Feel free to quote that and tattoo it on your arm. :)

If you have any challenges for me, comment like a fat kid sending requests for more pizza at CiCi's.

Dear Lesbian Hair Cuts,
Why do you exist? You are seriously causing many innocent teenage girls to fall in love with you and make us hit on your owners who aren't males. If you want to be attatched to a lesbian, go ahead. But if you are attaching yourself to straight-as-a-board teenage punk girls or serious female golfers, you're only having their orientation questioned. Do everyone a favor and stay on a man's head, or better yet, stick with the actual lesbians.
Sincerely,
The Straight (yet curly) Haired One

The Pee Ghost and The New Movement

I'll admit something to ya'll. Something I've never really expressed...
I AM A PARANOID FREAK.
Okay, okay, so, you knew that already. I figured. But let me just tell you how paranoid I really am:
I AM SCARED THAT GHOSTS (MOST LIKELY DEAD RELATIVES) WILL HAUNT ME IN WEIRD PLACES AT TIMES THAT I AM ABSOLUTELY AT A LOSS. Examples? Of course. [youknewthelistwascomingallalong]
Place/Events That Would Absolutely Bomb to be Haunted

1. Peeing. Think about it. Granpa decides he wants to tell you where the treasure of his life is hidden, and you're sitting on Jonny Porcelein with a magazine. Talk about awkward even for the after life.
2. Driving. This is Oprah's nightmare. I swear, this has to be over a hundred times more hazardous than texting and driving ever would be. I can see the bumper stickers now: DON'T HAUNT AND DRIVE. Seventeen will do a special on it next month, I'm sure.
3. Your honeymoon. Nothing says "Congratulations on your new marriage" like interrupting a special moment with the presence of the undead. You though Grandma was embarrassing when she was alive and you had boyfriends over....this is literally your worst nightmare.
4. Giving childbirth. Aunt Thelma died a year ago. You're naming your daughter after her alive and well sister, Beatrice. Thelma arrives just when you're getting that sucker out. "YOU'RE NAMING HER BEATRICE?!" Now is not the time, Ghost Aunt Thelma.
5. Reading of the will. I would hate this more than anything. They read that you get a million dollars from your grouchy cousin Mirtle. Mirtle shows up, glimmering and shouts "DON'T GIVE THAT MONEY TO HIM! I'm not giving that scum bag all my money so he can buy a zillion XBoxes with it! Give it some stranger on the street and he'll deal with it better!" Talk about embarrassing haunting situation.
6. Drinking water. You think water squirting out of your noise is bad? Imagine some burn victim's ghost showing up when you're taking a sip. Not only will you be frightened and having Ole Faithful reenact in your nostrils, but you have a high chance of heart failure then and there.
7. In the shower. Nothing says good ghostly hygiene when some Victorian era ghost girl appears in your shower to tell you that you've missed a spot.

Remember Viva la No Vampires? Well, that movement flopped. So, I give you another flop-worthy movement. It is called:
THE SNAIL MAIL MOVEMENT!!!!!!
I am sick of lame, half-hearted Facebook messages. I am SICK of text messages with one answer. Darnit, I want good ole fashioned pony-express worthy snail mail. If you know me, ask for my address. But if not, I suggest this:
A) You can go in the telephone book and look up addresses of random strangers. Send them wacky postcards, thoughtful letters, whatever you want. Just don't write a return address and don't advertise.
B) Write a friend. Not someone in Norway. That's lame. But just a good friend you've had for awhile. My best friend and I are sorta writing back and forth (which I hope we continue to do) and I love it. I like sending him random crap and I like getting his random junk because it makes me feel like I'm not just a lame Facebook friend, but an actual friend. Snail mail is way more personal than technology. It's like getting a hug from far away, because the person actually puts MEANING and THOUGHT into a letter. :)

Song of the Week: Please skip listening to Ministrel's Prayer. Delve into the other songs on the playlist. This week, I want you to listen to "Electric Twist". It's good stuff, I promise.

The War is Over.

"War! Huh! What is it good for?! Absolutely...NOTHIN'...War has caused unrest to the younger generation." --edwin starr. Look the song up, people. Inspiring stuff. Why this quote? Well, for one, it is tradition to shout this at the top of your lungs while walking to a certain pizza place in Chicago...at least in my family. Secondly, I have HAD it with the fighting! *rally shouts behind me* I have HAD it with the disputes! *wave posters* THE TIME HAS COME TO END THIS SUFFERING!!! What the heck am I talking about?
The Google vs. Yahoo war.

This is insane! Why must we treat our search engines for! I have gone neutral with these horrible arguments. But now, I must choose a side. The battle increases every time I log onto MLIA (mylifeisaverage.com--check it out). So, I ask you...who shall win? I did a study to find out.

Here's what I did: I typed in certain phrases on both search engines. These are the results.

Typed in: How many times do I:
Google: How many times do I have to kill you, boy?
Yahoo: How many times do I have to go against

Typed in: What the heck are:
Google: What the heck are you up to Mr. President?
Yahoo: What the heck are you waiting for?

Typed in: Why can't I:
Google: Why can't I own a Canadian?
Yahoo: Why can't I lyrics

Typed in: Why does:
Google: Why does Oklahoma have a panhandle? (bonus points: I live in Oklahoma)
Yahoo: Why does it rain?

I think it's pretty clear, Google wins by a landslide. I mean, come on, I have ALWAYS wanted to know why I can't have a Canadian for a pet. Or why does Oklahoma have a panhandle? Are we secretly God's cooking utensil? And...WHAT THE HECK *ARE* YOU UP TO, MR. PRESIDENT!?


Word of the week: Odyssey

I'm Not Having a Baby

Whenever I make friends with someone, I immediately feel the need to ask the question: WHAT WILL YOU NAME YOUR CHILDREN? I don't really know why, but to me, it's always a really interesting question. But I figured out that 1. Some girls would rather talk about boys and not baby names, which is perfectly normal and I know I'm not normal but at least I'm creative and you just have to sit there looking all pretty when all I have is stupid baby name questions and I know I'm overreacting but...*bursts into tears* haha just kidding :) OR 2. Boys do not want to answer that unless they're married to you. Which is also perfectly understandable.
So, dear Inklings, today I have decided to tell you my baby name ideas, not because I think you'll understand, but because I need SOMEONE to tell them to, and you simply have no choice in the matter. MUAH HA HA HA !

• Milo Alaska--Milo is a cool name for me. When I was little, I misheard a song lyric that went "Let my love open the door to your heart" as "Let Milo open the door to your car". So, now I can still hear the part where it says "Let my love" as "Let Milo". So, to me, "Milo" means "My Love". :) Alaska is for the book I'm reading at the moment, not the state. In the book there is a girl named Alaska who, unfortunately, dies. She was a bit of a bad girl, but she was mysterious, intelligent, and strangely appealing. So, I want to name my daughter after her. :)
• Jack Danger--I have always loved the name "Jack". Mainly is because I consider that name to be a tribute to Tim Burton (his character, Jack Skellington is kind, thoughtful, and fun-loving) and Johnny Depp (Jack Sparrow is amazing). I also love the middle name of "Danger" so that my son can always say "Danger? Ha! Danger...is my middle name!" I expect all my kids to be as weird as me, I think....
• Emilynn Wynter--I used to like the name "Emily". I also love "Emily" from Tim Burton's Corpse Bride, and my favorite babysitter's name was Emily. But everyone knows at least four Emily's. So I added "lynn" to the end. Partially because I like the sound, and partially because one of my best friends has that for a middle name and it sounds awesome. Winter is a beautiful season, but I hate the letter "I" and feel like "Y" should get more facetime.
• Charles McCartney--His name would be shortened to Charlie, which is for Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which is written by my favorite author. McCartney is for my favorite person. Paul McCartney of the Beatles, who sings all my favorite songs and writes them and I couldn't live the way I do today without him as a major inspiration.
  
• Violet Wisteria--Violet is from A Series of Unfortunate Events, who is an intelligent girl who loves her family passionately. Violet is also from The Incredibles who is sorta shy, but spunky underneath. It's also a color of purple, which I love. Wisteria just sounds amazing, there's no story behind it. BUT the two names combined is the name of my first successful character I've ever written. Unfortunately, she was in a very lame story, so I just want to name my kid that now. :)

Other random names I enjoy:
Ben
Atticus
Zeke
Xavier
Jonah
Renaissance
Ember
Willow
Marylen (combination of my grandparents' names)

SO, what names do YOU enjoy? Maybe we can be weird together! Sorry if this post bored any of you, I just had to get the secret out! :D

Ways that I am an Epic Fail/ Why You Should Hire Me

I realized two things the other day: 1. I focus on the negatives of people too much and 2. I never place the negativity on myself. So, today I shall be telling you FIVE WAYS I AM AN EPIC FAIL. Don't try to contradict me about it. All of these reasons are true and legit and there's no denying it, so if you try to argue about it, well...you're just a polite and sweet looney bin.

1. I am still afraid of the dark. And yes, I know, everyone says that. But my fear has escalated as I've grown older. My fear has become more complex than five-year old me. Now, instead of a monster may be in my closet, it's turned into "Maybe some Japanese demon will rip off my jaw if I step into this dark hallway...." or "Gosh, maybe in that darkened bathroom there's some sorta cannibal or masked child-killer....better just sleep on the couch again." So, I am a fail when it comes to my vivid imagination and the dark combining and having a baby of horror.
2. I cannot save money up to ten dollars. When I finally earn enough single dollars bills and quarters to equal to a double-digit figure, I have to spend it. I have to. If I see ten dollars, I am grabbing it and heading out shopping and no one can stop me. So if you ever want to give me money to go into savings, give to my mom, or else you'll see me with a whole bunch of tee shirts the next day.
3. I can't lie. Now, stop. I am aware that this usually isn't a fail. I am also aware that you think I'm lying. Both are untrue. Maybe an occasional evading of the truth, but never blatant lying. And this is bad. I know, it's good, but it ends up bad. For instance, say my mom got home and looked in the cookie jar. She'd ask me "Did you eat all these cookies?" and I would have to say "Yes, I'm a fat pig." Then, I would get grounded. It's like there's a little leprechaun inside of me who stabs me in the gut if I try to formulate a lie. So I just tell the truth, and I fail at trying to lie.
4. I am a terrible cook. Worse than any woman before me who has claimed to be one. I can ruin childishly easy meals as well as botch up any complex ones. Macaroni and Cheese? I always either: add too much milk, to little milk, forget to drain the water, forget the cheese packet, put too much butter, burn the noodles, throw the noodles down the drain on accident, and so on. Cereal? I always put the milk first, then the cereal flies in the air and the milk splatters on the ground. Peanut butter and jelly? Too much peanut butter resulting in a total mouth paralysis or too much jelly to cause the infamous pucker face of eating something totally too sweet. I fail at cooking more than anyone else in the world.
5. I can quote all the Justin Bieber songs. Enough said. I fail at music taste.

Now that I've ragged on myself significantly, I can now go on and tell you what sorta thing I would put on my resume to get hired to an awesome job.

These are my past jobs:

• Avid abstract finger painter
• Nature smeller enthusiast
  
• Interpreter for the slurry in speech
• Washing machine spelunker
• Executioner for dead flowers
• Sound FX Crew Member for funerals/standardized testing sessions/ silent prayer time

And that all boils down to: I like to finger paint but I'm bad at it. I like to smell trees, smoke, and grass...not like I'm smoking grass, but like I like the grass in the ground and I like smoke from a bonfire.... I can understand people who mumble too much. I climb in washing machines when I'm sad or rebellious. I pop the heads off of marigold plants. And I laugh or snort during times of great seriousness.

Scraps and Tailbones and All That Jazz in Between Your Bellybutton

That title scared you, didn't it? That's okay. Don't worry about it. It only means that your universe as you know it is about to be so funkified that your poodles will be tye-dyed.

You know how females and even some males have songs with their names in it? You have to have a poetic sounding name for those sorta songs. I mean, you cannot have a love song written about you if your name is:

1. Hortensia
2. Gertrude
3. Vladimir
   
4. Adolf
5. Sigmund
6. Reginald
7. Bertha
8. Edna
9. Gladys
10. Elmer.

When someone says "props" as in "thanks", I always want to throw random hats/ foam noodles at them and scream back "TAKE THE PROPS!"


If you pronounce the initials of My Mother Was a Rose it sounds like a kissy noise mixed with a growl. That depicts my blog pretty well.

John Mayer is coming to town tomorrow night. Beautiful, attractive, talented John Mayer. And everyone won't stop talking about it. Which is why I am printing 32 pictures of him, taping them to my wall and blasting my live album of his. TAKE THAT YOU RICH KIDS WHO CAN AFFORD CONCERTS!!!

When boys become obsessed with anime, they put that in the place of ever getting a dignified girlfriend. And when you do that, well...I do not want to talk about your imaginary manga girlfriend. Ever. Those luscious brown locks? Yeah, they're not real.

Unusual Sympathy for Pregnant Teens and the Aftermath

Life is hard when you're a teen mom. You have diapers, judgmental people, and crying surround your everyday life. But strangely, this isn't the main reason why I sympathize for them the most. Sure, all of those are MAJOR bad, and yes, they made the bad decision first (unless aliens impregnated them...that sorta thing you can't prevent), but there's an issue about them that we as Americans need to help them with.
Teen girls who had babies cannot form a legitimate conversation.

I have this old friend on Facebook, right? That one friend that you knew from elementary school and considered to be alright enough to be Facebook-friend-official. Well, I had heard she had had a youngin, which is heartbreaking because, well, she was a sweet girl, and she's about a year and a half younger than me. Very sad. Even more strange though, was that she popped up on my IM and decided to say hello. Now, that's not too weird, except it got weird when the conversation went a little like this:
TeenMommy: Hey! I think I saw you at Wal-Mart yesterday!
PinkHairedGirl: Yeah, I think I saw you too! You looked good! :D (in my head: especially after giving birth...)
TeenMommy: Thanks! So what's up?
PinkHairedGirl: Not much, just bummin' on Facebook. You??
Teen Mommy: ....FEEDING MY CHILD!!!!.....
PinkHairedGirl: ....That's cool....wish I had...a....baby?

YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY TO THAT! It's like, I'm here, trying to catch up with you, and BAM you have to one-up me with childbirth. Thanks a lot. Now telling you I dyed my hair with Sharpies is gonna sound totally not weird. You teen moms, you get it all. The reality shows? Check. The cute baby? Check. The poopsies? Oh wait a minute, I gues I'M getting the one up there, aren't I? Heck yes.

In all seriousness, though, I really feel bad for this girl. I also feel bad about her lack of conversational skill.