Life Lessons

So.  Lesson Learned:  Mountain Dew can + lighter fluid + fire = GEYSER OF FLAME!

Once I email the video to myself, I'm posting it up here.

Shorthand

I like shorthand.  Nobody knows what it is and I like it.  Perhaps there is one teacher in this entire school who can read it, and even then she wouldn't try as she has better things to do.  I can write it fast, not ridiculously fast like I should be able to, but passably fast as to astound those less-enlightened individuals around me.


Shorthand is a system of speedwriting that used to be used by stenographers as well as for dictation.  Because of that, it is really quite good for taking notes, assuming you're good enough to read back the scribbles that you just stabbed down.  I started learning it because I was annoyed in class; now when people ask to borrow my notes so that their lazy ass can copy them, I just hand them the sheet of shorthand.  The expression on their faces is to die for.  This is something that everyone has to try at least once before they die.

When I'm not slogging through some menial busywork or waiting for my brain to die, I write these endless diatribes in shorthand in my notebook.  There are pages and pages of tiny scribbles that hide horrible secrets the likes of which I will not repeat here.  I would say everyone should learn shorthand, but then it wouldn't be special anymore, and once more, you could read what I write in class (which I am fairly sure would bring about the end of the world.)

Fatigue

Why am I always so tired?  Is the stress of being at school this year finally getting to me?  Because there honestly isn't all that much.  Sometimes I can feel my brain leaking out my ears.  So why am I always so tired? 

Right now, nothing sounds better than curling up somewhere dark and sleeping until it's the weekend.  Perhaps that's what I'll do at lunch in 30 minutes, but I'll still get dragged back here afterwards.  Stupid school. 

My Zombie Apocalypse

John and Kitten and ZOMBIES by ~KittyDarklore on deviantART

Extensive planning has been done.  Packing and unlacking, repacking, depacking, setting-on-fire-and-cackl-ing.  I am ready for the zombie apocalyplse.  This is the moment I've been waiting for.  I shoulder my pack bodily across my back and tighten the straps so that they fit just right over my thick jacket and various weapons.  On my hip, my favorite knife- the USMC Ka-bar's black blade safely hidden behind the tough leather sheath.  Perhaps my left hand reflexively checks to make sure it is still there.  It's blade is long enough that it gives me a comfortable amount of space between my scrawny arm and an undead maw should I need to use it.  My hair is tied up and tucked away behind a bandana- I know I should have lopped it off, should it become a convinient handle for one of the walking dead to drag me screaming to my doom, but I haven't yet.  My secret vanity will be the death of me.  My steps feel different because of the weight of the great combat boots I've got pulling them down, something that I'm sure I'll be getting used to, like it or not. 

I don't know where I am.  The background of this scene shifts amorphously from one thing to the next:  a ruined building, a boarded up house, a road in the desert, a snowed in cabin in the middle of nowhere, outside an abandoned police station, on a hill while the city behind me smolders in ruins. 

Then, from out of the maisma of changing settings, the one constant emerges; the undead, the zed, dead-heads, the natives.  Welcome to the end of the world. 
--
Just kidding.  It's just another normal day like everything else and I'm sitting here, doing non-badass things like staring emptily at the computer and finishing 'typing drills.'  But like it says at the top of this damn blog thing, this is about anything that's on my mind, which does include zombies at least once a day.  The frequency of these zombie daydreams increases exponentially with how bored I am, and right now I am very, very bored.

I did the picture you see above probably about a year ago.  Obviously I am Kitty, because I was too lazy to even bother changing the name much, and the man, John, is the thin cardboard cutout of a token companion that often appears in my zombie apocalypse, because when you're driving like hell down a deserted highway , someone else has to fire the guns. 
What we see up there in that little tableau is the easier of all the elaborate fantasies I construct to keep my brain from atrophying and leaking out my ears.  It's the simplest one; no mention of survivors, either Dying to Live style friendlies, or whatever those cannibal people were in The Road (Not quite a zombie book, but it more than makes up for the that in soul-crushing depression.  What I'm saying is, the book should come with it's own set of razor blades in the back, because that's how sad it is.)   There's not even fast zombies, nuclear fallout, or vengeful demons from hell.  It is the basis for all of the other things that I could have possibly wanted to add in.  And it's managed to kill about 20 minutes of Word Processing, so that's wonderful.

The Greatest Band in the World

I have too much free time; this is evidenced by the fact that I'm spending the better half of both English as well as Word Processing doing something that is not an all-too-unfrequent occurrence:  constructing the Greatest Band Ever in the History of the Universe.  This is how it usually goes: you pick people who are good at what they do , pretend they aren't dead or in jail or rehab or complete assholes, and put them together in a band.  It's as easy as that. 

And here's this week's compilation, the product of nearly three hours of mind-numbing boredom.

Guitarist-


  Randy Rhoads.  Randy fucking-jesus-amazing-neoclassical-metal-god-i-love-you Rhoads.  Self Explanitory.

Vocals-

This one's easy. For vocals in the Best Band Ever in the History of the Universe, we absolutely must have Dio. Ronnie James Dio. Yes. Amazing. And he's just died, too, so I'm still mourning (my process of mourning is something I'm sure you'll all get to know as soon as another treasure of metal leaves us. It's quite... intense.)


Bassist- There's always this ridiculous toss-up I have between bassists when I do this. Geddy Lee, of Rush, is amazing in every way and should be forever immortalized in his splendor in the form of a statue or something. BUT. Nikki Sixx, of our dear Motley Crue, is ten different kinds of awesome.
This time, I have decided to go with Nikki, because I found these adorable pictures of him with children and I absolutely cannot NOT include them.


How is it possible for these to not be awesome.  It's not, that's how. 

Drums-

Neil Peart.

If I don't include at least one member of Rush on this list, my dad will break my legs and sell me to buy a better daughter. It's happened twice before.

More Senior Pictures

So I was looking at my senior pictures and there was something missing.  So I fixed it.

SUBMIT!

Perfect.

Senior Pictures

So soon we have to turn in our senior pictures, so that future generations can mock us for how lame we are as is the custom. Unless you're me and you go through your dads 1984 high school yearbook for hair and makeup ideas, but you're not me, are you? No. You are not. Anyway I've narrowed ours down to the one that I'm turning in, but everyone wants a tiny picture of me to carry around in their wallet or do voodoo with or something, or to add to their secret shrine in the back of their closet (I don't know what you people would want with my picture. JESUS.) So anyway, here's the few that I'm thinking of giving out. THey're in black and white mostly, because why shouldn't they be, black and white pictures are the best.
This is the one I'm turning in, probably.

This one, my second choice:


And in this one, I look stately:


So, uh, yeah.