[Celebrity Quote] Whispered Demands

"I think every woman does want to be objectified. There's a little part of you at all times that hopes to be somewhat objectified, and I think it's healthy." - Cameron Diaz 

Pay attention to me. Worship me. Love me. 

These are the whispered demands of an insecure woman. A woman who doesn't know her worth. A woman who believes the only way to obtain her worth is to take it. 

Sexualize me. 

This is the demand of a healthy woman. A woman who knows she has sex appeal and isn't afraid to invite others to the party. At least, that's what we're led to believe--led like a blind, domesticated animal to the altar. But wait. Do we allow ourselves to be tamed, caged by bars of insecurity? Do we readily offer up a sacrifice that will leave us with nothing? Because if we're so sure about who we are, why do we need someone to confirm what we already know? There must be some inkling of black doubt clouding our minds. Maybe we don't burn as hot as we think we do. Maybe no one else sees what we see. 

Maybe we see what we want to see. 

See me.

Alive. I'd rather be alive than inanimate. Maintaining my freedom eclipses hot sex and a cold heart. I long for more. I don't want to be sexualized. I don't want to be some menu item at the drive through of conquest. The thrill may be intoxicating. The power that comes with breaking someone’s will to resist temptation may overwhelm. And maybe it’s fun for a little while. Maybe it provides that much needed boost to the self-esteem, but to have a man drool over me like a full course meal is nothing special. I want to be loved.

Romeo objectified Juliet. Their “love” story was a really a story of epic lust and Scarlet O’Hara loved no one but herself. People are confused about love. They have been since the beginning of time. Magic, sorcery, voodoo, lust. Love is none of these. And every woman wants to be loved, but somewhere along the way they were tricked. Tricked into believing that the best they can do is objectification. Tricked into believing they’ll only amount to a good time in the bedroom Still, the whispered demands grow louder.

Adore me.

But I won’t join the desperate murmurings. Remember, I’m an individualist. If every woman wants to be objectified, then I am not every woman. This is not a hostage situation and I won’t demand my worth. I’ll own it. It’s already mine. 

Hi, I'm lost

Hi. I'm Nicole. I'm alive. I'm mostly human. I'm seventeen and my current residence is the Twilight Zone.  I've lived here for quite some time now. I'm not really sure how I came to reside here in this world that makes no sense, but I'm here. I've accepted the fact that I'm not normal. It's cool. I'm used to the weird stares, the words of judgement and the whispers behind closed doors.

What I'm not used to is being happy with who I am. Truly happy. It's not normal for a teenager to be sure of who they are and what they want, but I know.

What I want might change and who I am might waver-- it wouldn't be first time. I look in the mirror and I look the same, but sometimes I don't recognize the look in my eyes. It's a good feeling though--realizing that I've changed from the awkward fourteen year old with super short and fluffy hair to the awkward seventeen year old with the slightly longer, slightly less fluffy hair. Slightly. It's a great feeling to realize the way I am now is not the way I'll be forever. I'm excited about who I'm becoming. When I finally emerge from my cocoon I'll be just as surprised as you are.

There are people here who live with me in the Twilight Zone. Some of those people tell me how I should think or what I should do. They tell me I should consider applying to state schools because the "educational value is the same as the ivy leagues." They tell me what's acceptable for a good Christian girl and what isn't. Who I am...who I'm not. What I'm capable of. But I hate boxes and squares and I hate cubes too. Geometry and I have never gotten along.

Don't misunderstand; I may be scandalous, but I don't hate rules. There's a place for uniformity in the Twilight Zone, but there's no place for uniformity in art. Order? Okay, sure. After all, chaos can't be balanced with more chaos, but uniformity in my art? You won't find any.

I'm an individualist, but I believe unity is the only way to change the world. I'm a bit of paradox, but artists always are.

The people who live with me in the Twilight are diverse. For every person who tries to box me in, who tries to rein me in and wash me out, there is someone who tells me I am more.  There is someone who pushes me, challenges me, sharpens me. I'm not limitless, but my limits have not been reached. So I stretch my arms wide, searching for what I can't yet see. Laughing, crying, running, hoping, and never stopping.

I'm Nicole. I'm a teenager, but I'm not a young adult. I'm lost and this lostness is the best feeling I've experienced in all my seventeen years. It's nice to meet you too.



 *****New name, new format. I'm trying something new. It's a whole new direction for this blog and I'm excited to see where it goes. I hope you'll stick with me. 

-N

Fuzzball

Dear readers of this blog,
I apologize for the mush fest you are about to witness. You have come to expect me to make you laugh and I'm about to fail you. Also I think it's been four centuries since I wrote anything for this blog. Feel free to pelt me with your dirty socks. And by "feel free," I mean don't feel free at all. 

-Snark

P.S. I changed the name to "Fuzzball" because...well, it's funny. 

Sometimes I think she was the only person who really understood me. I liked the person I was with her: crazy, confident, witty. What can I say? She rubbed off on me. We called each other the first thing that popped into our heads: fuzzball, platypus toe, radical eyeball. It was weird, but it was great. And the amount of inside jokes? They were astounding for two people who had only known each other two years. We were kindred spirits. We are kindred spirits. It kills me that we’re estranged. And it kills me that it’s my fault. It’s my fault my best friend and I are not on the best terms. 

We’re not speaking at all. It sucks. Because I miss her so much and I really have to stop reading our old text messages, but I know I won’t. There are so many things I wish I could tell her, show her. I wish I could send her this horrible poem I wrote back in September. She’s the only one who would think it was funny. 

I’ve never met anyone quite like the girl with dreams stained with ink. I think it’s fairly safe to say she changed my life. It’s like when lighting strikes and everything is aflame. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s unforgettable and you know that when it’s all over the fire that’s sweeping the barren field is going to ultimately bring growth and healing. Fuzzball is the kind of girl who is too confident. When you don’t have enough confidence in yourself, don’t worry, she has enough confidence for the both of you and them some. And she’s brazen and bold and she doesn’t care. She likes who she is. 

I’ve never characterized myself as someone who had self-esteem issues. I’ve always been insecure about certain parts of myself: my hair, my lips, the color of my skin, my rough hands, and the small scar that runs across my collarbone, dipping into the hollow of my throat. It’s a short list. I had learned to make peace with the rest of me, but I’ve never considered myself pretty. I never thought of myself as ugly either, just average. Nothing special. Boys don’t really crush on me and I always thought that meant I wasn’t that attractive. I went through my phases, finding myself I guess. 

I tried to be bubbly and giggly and sweet like the other girls. I talked like them and dressed like them. I followed the fads and I straightened my hair.  When I got sick of that, I tried to be one of the guys, sporting basketball shorts and a t-shirt. At some point, I settled for tough as nails and biting sarcasm. I was weird. I liked Anime and writing novels, but I was fine with who I was. I was fine with my Hollister t-shirts and skinny jeans. I savored the days when I really really liked who I saw in the mirror. Those days were rare. Rarely, did I hate what I saw. That was only on special occasions after colossal mistakes. At least they seemed colossal at the time. I was always making mistakes. Always messing up.

I hated it. I was a perfectionist trapped in a human body. Some days were miserable. Eventually I started to get over myself. Just slightly and then I met her. Well, I use the word “met” loosely. It was after the worst summer of my life or maybe it was the second worst summer of my life. I was fourteen, for one. On top of that my father had picked up this terrible habit—a habit I’ll leave unnamed. It was only three years ago, but my memories of that summer and the summer before are foggy—like a hallucination. 

My freshman year, I was accepted to Stanford University’s Online high school. I was excited in a muted sort of way. The first day I was determined to friend all of my classmates on Facebook. There was one girl in particular I was anxious to befriend. Her technical difficulties were tragic. Her webcam didn’t work and her mic made a horrific screeching sound any time she attempted to contribute to our English discussion. Eventually, it became the source of many jokes. She accepted my friend request almost immediately. I scanned her page. The first picture that caught my eye was of her adorable puppy, Paddington. He reminded me of my own dog, Ollie. We started talking and I discovered we shared something in common more significant than a love for cute dogs: faith. 

Our entire relationship thrived on the Timothy 4:12, one of my favorite Bible verses. Our Facebook chat soon turned into a phone conversation that lasted for six hours straight and then resumed for another two hours after a quick break. 

We were friends immediately. I venture to say we were best friends immediately. We Skyped constantly and talked on the phone and occasionally texted. We lived eight hours away from each other, and we felt the distance, but it did nothing to dampen the strength of our relationship. Together, we embarked on a journey. Our destination was revolution. We had high hopes and higher aspirations. We were going to change the world. It was crazy, but we didn’t care. 

She had this wild passion for everything she held dear. She was a free spirit and I always kept one toe on the ground. I envied her conviction. I wanted it for myself. I wanted that fire, that passion and I didn’t care if it burned me. I wanted to feel everything, deeply, strongly, clearly. But that’s not the way I’m wired, I guess. My emotions don’t explode. They simmer and sometimes if you really rattle me, they boil. The last time I erupted, I broke a vase and bruised my own hand. That was eleven years ago.

She told me I was like…I wish I could remember her exact words…something comical. A tabby cat perhaps? Or maybe it was an oak tree. I can’t quite remember, but she told me I was strong like a general of an army.

“You fight for people,” she said. “And I’m the nurse. I patch up the wounded.”

 It was a prophecy. It shaped me and marked me. And that’s my super power. I’m strong. I don’t budge. And it made up for the fact that I wasn’t pretty. I clung to it as I fought my demons at home. I played the words over in my head.

But the longer I hung out with Fuzzball, the more the way I saw myself changed. Suddenly, I saw something other than an average face in the mirror. No, I didn’t see beauty not yet. That didn’t come until later, but I stopped counting the flaws on my face so often.

I doubt anyone would guess that I feel insecure sometimes. I think people kind of assume I’m a rock and nothing gets to me just because I don’t cry when my feelings get hurt. I’ve never been one for crying. When I would get in trouble as a little girl, I would look my dad straight in the eye as he scolded me. I’d hold back my tears and nod my head resolutely. I was always determined to take my punishments with dignity. There was no point in crying. I knew my actions had consequences. I wasn’t trying to manipulate my parents into letting me off the hook, so I took my punishments bravely and sometimes I punished myself before my parents even got around to it. 

I’m pretty sure there’s a warrior in me, but there’s a warrior in her too. It’s a different kind of fight, a different kind of war. She’s impulsive. She blurts out what she thinks, what she feels. I calculate and imagine the possible effect of my words…sometimes. Sometimes I’m just as bad as she is.

As I tried to help a friend today with a problem she’s dealing with I wished for her charisma. Her way of saying just right thing in the strangest way. I wished for her ability to heal with her words. I’m not Fuzzball. But I miss her. 

And it hit me like a pound of flesh to my chest today of all days. It hit me because I looked in the mirror and I thought I was a little bit beautiful. 

I'm [relatively] mentally stable

Public high school affords a lot of opportunities for human interaction.

Yeah, I know. No freaking duh. The above sentence is pretty obvious. I mean, you spend 8 hours surrounded by 1000 people you barely know. There must be some interaction. Well, you'd be surprised how easy it is to speak exactly 10 words all day; most of them being some shortened variation of "the hallway is not a parking lot" and "stop stepping on my face, moron." When you're in high school, you get pretty good at the whole abbreviating thing. And being vague. Being vague is essential to the high school existence...and stuff.

Through all of this...quality interaction, I've noticed something about myself. I have just about 15 different sides. Which one is seen is dependent on who I'm with. It's not exactly a new observation. I've always known this about myself, but I've never seen it manifest itself so clearly until this week. I went from sarcastic hippy to valley girl, loudly chewing her gum to know-it-all Granger and everything in between within the span of 8 hours.

Everyone experiences this, I'm sure, but it doesn't make it any less interesting. I've found that once I've established that a certain "side" goes with a certain person. It's nearly impossible to change. Yesterday, I tried and...it didn't work. In fact, I only became more sarcastic and insulted the intelligence of four people. Fail.

I've been thinking about this quite a bit. After a lot of soul searching,  I came to the conclusion that penguins are reptiles. Everything else is just a lie.

Behold the mighty penguin. It has no soul.

Public High School: The Recluse discovers a Mystical Planet

(No, I'm not apologizing for my lack of posts AGAIN. Nope. Not gonna. You can't make me.)

Ah, the cliched "horrors" of public high school. Horrible cafeteria food, brainless jocks, evil teachers, vapid cheerleaders who rule the school, nerds stuck in lockers for the duration of the school year. It's all a lie. Public school isn't like that at all. It's much, much more complex and--to be frank--strange.  If you've ever attended public high school or even just set foot in one, you know what I mean.

I, however, don't know what I mean. The above paragraph was just an assumption because I've never been to public high school.  That's all about to change tomorrow morning at precisely 8:00 AM. "BUT NICOLE," you may exclaim in complete indignation. "You were living a self-proclaimed recluse's dream! How could you give it all up for structure and...public restrooms?"

Dare I say it? I do dare. I want a social life. GASP. Yep, I said it. I want people and extracurriculars and a locker. I like lockers. Sometimes, they're shiny.  Sometimes, they make cool noises when you open them. Heck, I even want the anxiety of trying to figure out what to pack for lunch. And let me tell you, veganism and public school do NOT mix. It doesn't help that I've sworn off sugar and yeast indefinitely.

The school is amazing and I'm happy with my decision. Although I'm going to miss all my friends from online school, instructors with PhDs and all the crazy study sessions that last until 2 am in the morning, I know that I can't be a recluse forever. I'm not exactly long-term recluse material.

So in that vein, I'm changing the name of this blog. The content will pretty much remain the same. You can expect crazy stories about rabid cell phones, rules for leprechaun hunting, and of course, hobos. This blog is nothing without hobos. Say goodbye to the reclusive butterfly because she's leaving her shell behind forever.

Your Characters Should be Weak

It's been nearly two months since my last post and for that I am sorry. If you'd like to know what happened to me, ask my captors: homework and life. Also, I was attacked by giant flaming hail stones. I don't want to talk about it.

Anywho, I realized something ridiculously important yesterday as I lamented over the blandness of the main character of my novel.

Have you ever read a book about two orphan sisters? The older one sacrifices everything to make sure the younger one is provided for and lives as normal of a life as possible. As a result, the younger one has a semi-decent life with friends that love her and she doesn't realize how lucky she is to have a sister like this bla, bla, bla. Meanwhile the older sister has absolutely no life, no friends, no personality because she really never got a chance to develop as a person. Eventually, the older sister begins to resent her younger sister so much, she loses her mind and takes to dressing up in a platypus costume and murdering people with sporks.



My book is nothing like that.




However, that is a perfect metaphor for what's happening. You see, the little sister is the surrounding elements of my novel. The plot, the supporting characters, the setting etc. The older sister is my main character. My main character is the life line for the rest of the book. She pushes the plot forward and creates the situations. That's not the way to go about a novel if you want fully developed characters. My character has become a shell, bending to my will. All my other characters argue with me when I try to make them do something they wouldn't normally do, but not my main character. She does whatever I say.

 Here lies the issue. All this time I've been breaking my own rule: Authors create, not control. So, I started over with my main character. I let her react and do whatever she wanted to do without trying to keep her moving toward some goal. I put her in this really odd situation and just wrote her reactions. I found something that a million character sketches couldn't ever help me find. I found her voice.

I once said to put yourself in your character's shoes, but I retract that statement. Maybe, we should just be our character's scribes and let them do all the work.

Bloggers With Strong Pinkie Fingers: Paul Vermeesch

 It's a day late. I know, I'm horribly pathetic. You may throw things...just don't throw peanut butter. I hate peanut butter. Also, due to extreme technical difficulties the picture for this article refuses to get it's medium resolution hide into this post. I apologize for this large wall of text with no pretty pictures. Nonetheless, you will enjoy this because I barely talk at all in this post!  Instead, the quirky and completely awesome Paul Vermeesch will be doing the bulk of the talking. Paul builds Lego creations. It's rad.

Paul has been building Lego creations for a little over two years and finds his sanity depends on this fascinating hobby. He's a workaholic and has an especial knack for dissecting pre and post Colonial texts. He's an on-fire-for-God Christian (my favorite kind of Christian) and prides himself in ridiculously long words like pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis (a type of lung disease).You can check out some of his amazingsauce creations by clicking here!

Take a look at our interview:

Nicole: So, this is quite a hobby you have. How long have you been doing it?

Paul: Lego has this restriction that they plaster on their boxes "NOT FOR CHILDREN UNDER 3" So, had it been an option, I'm afraid I would have been at this hobby for maybe thirteen of my fourteen years, but alas... I was restrained from "the brick" until the age of three, when I was given my set of Duplo. Lego now runs through my veins, and I've picked it back up after a few years of dullness, as a way to stay sane... amidst homework... and school... and life.

Nicole: I've seen some of your creations and a lot of them are pretty complex. With school and life, how do you find the time and how long does it normally take you to complete a Lego creation?

Paul: Generally, I'll finish some homework, slap myself for not working harder, build for a few precious minutes, slap myself again for not working, and get back to work. Eventually, these five minute build times generate masterpieces. It depends on the complexity of the build I have in mind, but their effort is usually measured in hours. At one point in a singularly challenging build, I made the genius decision to set the work-in-progress by my alarm clock. I wake up the next morning to the sound of my alarm, and make the classic smash to the snooze button. The result was another few hours of RE-building time.


Nicole: That is incredibly frustrating. What's one of the worst building mishaps you can recall?


Paul: One word: Disorganization. It plagues me around every turn. Bricks have the tendency to look like a nuclear bomb has struck when you've been in a building groove.


Nicole: (laughter) Have you ever considered architecture as a potential career path?

Paul: With the way I like to destroy things once they are built, no. I don't think that would be a good idea. 

Nicole: (At this point, Nicole laughs like Ed the hyena from the Lion King. Nicole has issues. Do not judge her.) I could see where that could be an issue. You told me earlier that you know the molecular make up of Lego plastic. Care to share? 

Paul: Of course! Acrylonitrile butadiene styrene is a straight chain of hydrocarbons with four gas constants linked to it, and to a smaller hexagon of carbon atoms bonded and double-bonded together. The result is the familiar little piece of plastic with eight little bumps on top that has become a universal symbol of awesomeness. 

Nicole: That's great! Surprisingly, I actually understood most of that. Besides designing  (and destroying) Lego creations, what are your other hobbies? 

Paul: One of the great joys in my life is dueling, and slicing invisible opponents with anything resembling a sword. My parents eventually got worried, and signed me up for fencing, a sport which I now thoroughly enjoy. I also horseback ride and play chess against myself. Other times, I often find myself running blindly through the woods, at which point, I usually revert to Cheerio eating contests... against myself. I have no siblings, and I love it that way. 

Nicole: If you were running through the woods and found yourself face to face with a angry, yelling anteater, what would you say to it? 

Paul: Hi! You look mad.


Nicole: Oh! Before I forget, explain SNOT.

Paul: So this guy comments on one of my creations, and he's like "great SNOT work!" I reply back something like, "yeah, thanks jerk."(That did not happen by the way.) Anyhow, I did a bit of sleuthing, and eventually found this great post by some genius who figured out that a lot of the Lego terminology was too confusing and too... offensive if taken the wrong way. SNOT stands for "Studs Not On Top." If you were given a few Lego bricks to put together, you would usually just stack them. More complex building requires more complex techniques like sideways or upside-down building. (SNOT) Basically, whenever you have Legos that face sideways or down instead of up, you have used the SNOT technique. 

Nicole: What is your proudest moment as a 'legoer'? 

Paul: Photographing and perfecting models and then sharing them with the world gives me much joy. It makes me feel happy inside. Like a little cheesy smiley face giggling in my soul... I digress. It makes me happy when I get nice little comments like "awsum MOCs u rock!!!1!!1" on my creations. I don't know. The whole hobby is so fun and rewarding, each little Legoing moment is just a great part of a proud history of an art form that reaches all the way back to 1916. (MOC, by the way, stands for "My Original (or own) Creation") 

__________

So, instead of saying "there you have it, folks" after each interview, I'm just going to yell random colors. 

Razzmatazz!

The Proper Way to Talk to Yourself

 Some writers outline.  Some writers brain storm. Some writers shove earth worms up their nose. And then there is me.  Sunday evening I finished the first draft of my novel. Finishing that horrid thing has made me happy enough to don my toga and throw pies at walls to the tune of "Mahna Mahna" by the Muppets. This is the first novel I've ever finished. I have a morbid obsession with rewrites, so finishing actually finishing this without stopping to rewrite is almost equivalent to a miracle.  Looking over my novel, I realize that the plot is...nonexistent. Sad, but true.  Of course, that only means one thing: it's time for me to neglect my school work and hash out that plot! But I'm coming to realize that my favorite ways to hash out plots are just a bit odd.

Usually, I climb onto my bathroom counter and have a face to face chat with myself. It's not that I enjoy looking at my face, it's simply the fact I have to make eye contact with myself or I lose focus. You think I'm joking. I'm not.  It's never really occurred to me how odd this must seem until my mom happened to walk past the bathroom yesterday and backed up. She stared at me before asking, "Nicole... what are you doing?"

I shrugged and replied, "Thinking." She gave me another odd look, before asking me why I had to think on the bathroom counter.  I had to look deep into my soul for the answer to this question. After much searching, I have found no answer, but I have found the secret chocolate frosting! No, I'm not sharing. I would tell you the story of how the frosting came to reside in my soul, but I save that story for cocktail parties and intimate minion gatherings.

Although, I didn't find the answer to why I feel need to climb onto the counter to talk to myself, I did realize that I have a bucket-load of strange writing habits. Below are three that would be most helpful to you, my readers (the rest are just weird and help no one, not even me):


Novel Correspondence

It's a novel idea! Okay, that was bad. I'm sorry.
Sometimes, I find myself at the point where I can't even look at my novel, let alone progress the plot. So instead, I write letters to my novel. It's a total waste of time, but relieves much frustration. This is the last note I sent my novel:

Dear Novel,
Plot...jkdfjkdsfhjkdshkjdfhkdsldfljkdfsjkdsfalk
Shanks,
Nicole

They say the best way to move forward in a relationship is to lay it all out in the open. Novels are no different. (Okay, maybe a smidge.) What better way to get all that resentment off your chest, than an angry letter typed with your muscular pinkies...or your forehead.


Empty the Contents of Your Head

That was an intentional spill. That's how I like my milk...yo.

Take your head, cut it open, and scoop your brain right out. Not literally, silly. Get your characters out of your head and into the real world! As you're pouring your milk, think about how your characters would do this simple task. What kind of glass would they get? Would they get a glass at all? Would they pour it in their mouth straight from the carton or pour it on a lizard's head? Would they miss their mouth? Would milk end up in someone's left nostril? These are questions you must answer.  You might even have to impersonate your characters to answer these very important questions. Don't worry, your characters aren't real, so you won't go to jail. Probably. White cells aren't jail...they have padding. Jail doesn't have padding, okay?

On a similar note, talk to your characters if you have to. How do they feel about you? Do they resent you for making them dress up as a Teletubbies in chapter 3? Make sure your characters know you care about them because if you don't care about your characters, no one else will. However, don't coddle your characters. Don't be afraid to torture them. They'll thank you later...or try to maim you with your own foot. Potato, potato.  You know, when you spell that it doesn't make as much sense...Or maybe...it makes MORE sense! Now, I'm confused.

Stand in a Corner

Nothing like rocking to and fro to stimulate those brain cells. You can even whip your hair in the corner. Everything makes sense in corners. What? It's true.

Do you have any weird/useless writing habits like me? Leave a comment! I like comments. Or if you're "normal," feel free to make wisecracks about my increasing lack of sanity.  

Bloggers With Strong Pinkie Fingers: Dan Bergstien

In late 2007, the inner depths of my mind were violated by a series entitled,  Romantic Fantasies of a Certain Lady that Make Certain People Want to Cut out Their Eyes with a Plastic Spoon, commonly referred to as the Twilight Saga. In a retaliation of some sort, I became obsessed with most things that criticized or mocked the series. In fact, my first ever post on this blog was about Twilight. Approximately two years later, the book still haunted me, but I'd moved on...sorta. I was on SparkNotes, one fateful evening and a particular article caught my attention. A little something called Blogging Twilight.  It's now my favorite part of Thursday.

Meet Dan Bergstein, the mastermind behind Blogging Twilight on Sparknotes and the winner of the first ever "Bloggers with Strong Pinkie Fingers" award here on this blog. Congrats, Dan. As amazing as Blogging Twilight is, Mr. Bergstein is winning this award for his very own piece of the web: Laser Farm. Laser Farm is about...something. There is creative writing and disturbing Lego Advent Calenders. I'm not completely sure, but there are amazing pictures and it never fails to make me snortle (snort and chortle). If I were to sum up Laser Farm, I would say it's the makings of an epic blog beyond words or genres.

Dan was so kind to spare a little time for an interview. It was a little bit strange and a whole lot of awesome, but don't take my word for it (I'm not very trustworthy), see for yourself:

Q: I know I'm not supposed to ask, but my curiosity is killing me. Where did the name "laser farm" originate?
A: It was the only name left in the entire world. All other names have been taken. Well, I could have used Duck Rocket, but that sounds like something lewd.

Q: Quick! In one word, describe Twilight.
A: You didn't say please. Stop being so bossy!

Q: What was the first blog post you ever blogged? What was it about?
A: For SparkNotes? Hmmm…I think it was about the show LOST. It got 5 comments and I felt like a king.

Q: What's your favorite organ?
A: The heart…of a pterodactyl.

Q: Your novella was pretty amazing. Are there any plans for an epic novel in the works?
A: I have a few things kicking around...[Evil Grin]

Q: Wombats or Capybaras? Why?
A: Wombats, because they taste less spicy.

Q: What's your writing process? Do you do anything special before you write your blog posts?
A: I don't have any sort of process, though I never wear shoes when I write. Never. That's a bit strange, I suppose. Oh, and I also shove earthworms up my nose to retrieve good ideas from my brain. But everyone does that. Right?

Q: This is a little bit unrelated, but when you finally get your jet-pack, can I borrow it?
A: Yes. But don't get any chocolate on it.

Q: You blog on SparkNotes.com and on BN.com, what inspired you to start Laser Farm? Do you have any exciting segments planned?
A: I love working for SparkNotes and BN.com, but I was the only professional writer without his own Website. I needed a place where people can find and contact me. Plus, I like having the ability to write up whatever I want and post it whenever I want. In the coming weeks, I hope to get a pod cast up and running with a writer friend of mine. And there are some other fun things planned. 

Q: When you're not blogging, at your thinking lake, throwing Twilight books at walls or pretending to be at the airport, how do you spend your free time?
A: I'm an Olympic pole vault judge and part-time liar.

Q: What would be your advice to a new blogger who is just getting started?
A: Real Answer: You have to write every day. You can't expect to reach an audience if you just post once a month. Joke Answer: Shove worms up your nose to retrieve good ideas from your brain.

Q: Tell me about your set of "emotion pants." When do you wear them?
A: The jealousy pants are green. The angry pants are dark purple. The cranky pants are too tight. The happy slacks are denim. The sexy pants are really just a pair of shorts. And the drama pants smell like popcorn butter. I wear them at night.

Q: What would you do if you were confronted by an evil clown at Costco and it wanted to make platonic spaghetti with you?
A: That's a stupid question. My aunt doesn't even go to Costco and she's not evil, just misunderstood.
 ___
There you have it, folks. If that wasn't awesome, I honestly don't know what is.  I would like to thank Dan Bergstien once again for agreeing to answer my eccentric questions. I would also like to thank the voices for providing me with the aforementioned questions.

Want to see your name in the "spotlight"? Send me your blog, you could be next! Click here for more information.

Feminine Lamps Must Die

This is, without any doubt, the nerdiest thing (that's saying something) I have ever done in my life and I'm rather proud of the endeavor. Once a week, (hopefully...) I will transcribe my adventures in creating an entirely new language. From the grammar, all the way to the alphabet. I'll try not to get too technical, but be sure to comment to tell me if you want more details!  Also, tell me if I'm boring you and now, you hate me.

Ah, stage one. Grammar. It's my least favorite part of this whole process and to be honest, I've been tempted to procrastinate more than once; to start with the lexicon or the general sounds of the language, but I'm forcing myself to start with this because if I don't, it won't get done.

First things first, I've decided my language is going to be isolating. Meaning, like Chinese there are no tenses, but instead added words to indicate when an action was completed or perhaps not at all. The reason? Because I'm learning Chinese, so it's only logical to put my limited knowledge of the language to good use. Also, I'm lazy and I shudder at the thought of an inflecting language that uses verb tenses like...Latin. Let's just say Latin and I have never been the best of friends. Feminine lamps? No thanks.
I'm very tempted to do something awesome and weird to add my own personal touch to the grammar, but I've decided the more simple the grammar is, the better. I barely have patience for English grammar.

Do not look directly at the evil. Your eyes will fall out. 4real.

Second things fourth, or wait...how does it go? Nevermind. Secondly, I'm getting rid of adjectives because adjectives scare me, along with cows. Cows are scary.

Cases, cases, oh cases how I despise you. For you seem simple, until it is time to create a language. For this, I had to look up what Ergative means....twice. I still don't get it.  There's a whole bunch of big grammar words involved and I'm not sure I have the patience to look all of them up because by the time I've looked them all up, I will have forgotten what they all mean. So, I'm just sticking to good 'ole English here and using a genitive case form. ("yours" etc.) I know this will cause me problems later because, like cows, English is evil.

Do my nouns have genders? Take a look at the title of this post, bucko. Heck no. I'll probably rethink this later, but at this moment, I'm still rather scarred by the female lamps. Of course, genders don't have to indicate feminine, masculine, and neutral, but we'll see...

 I'm a bit apprehensive about verb inflections, but if I'm not using genders for my nouns it might be helpful. I'm leaning toward a clitic (like in French: Je l'aime.) verb inflection because it's romantic! However, whenever I'm romantic things turn...strange. There are situations with grapes...and pancakes...syrup in people's hair, but that's for a different blog post on a different blog.

Personal pronouns require just a little bit of information about who the language is for. To put it simply, it's for elves! Because of the nature of the world of these elves, the personal pronouns are going to be based on formality and "she/he vs. it." They will be directly related. Calling someone an "it"= highly impolite.

As for numbers, I'm no good at math, and neither are my elves. The number system will be fairly simple, based on the classic "10, 10 and 1, 10 and 2" system.

Slang? Definitely. I'm working on developing some super cool slang. It's not exactly going to be scientific though.  It should be scientific, but I don't know how committed I am to the slang. Especially, if it means I have to spend more time on grammar. Also note: I am awesome, but I'm not cool at all. English slang is a challenge for me, so I tend to make up my own slang and force people to subject themselves to my will...I mean...and hope that they catch on?

That's about it, for now. I hope I didn't bore you to death. Next week, if it interests anyone perhaps I will have an elf highlight the most common grammar mistakes of...the language that I have yet to name officially. For now, we shall call it, "Hisito."

Also, a book was recommended to me...I haven't read it yet, but I hope to...soonish. It's called "Historical Linguistics" by Theodora Bynon. Link: Historical Linguistics.

I Write Stories About Spilled Milk

 I found the winner for this week, but the contest is far from over! There's about seven months left, so  keep those blog submissions coming! I've gotten some amazing links.The interview will be up this Friday. Who won? That is for my minions to know and for me to find out. Don't know what I'm talking about? Click here.

Yesterday, I realized that I have serious issues. This may not be news to you, but I discovered yet another thing about myself as a person and a writer that scares me...

To me, everything is a potential short story or novel. Not joking. Sunday at church, someone sat on my purse. Normal people would think, "Hey, get off my purse." or "Don't crush my granola bar, you fool." Not me. My first thought was about writing a short story about a slightly overweight older man, with bad arthritis in his knees who happens to sit on a woman's (who is also old) purse... The story follows their epic journey of freeing the old woman's purse from...his backside's...oppression and then they fall in love.


A couple of weeks ago I was at Costco and a woman was arrested for stealing...something. I don't know what it was, but I really, really, hope it was a giant package of rubber chickens. I don't really want to go into the storyline that came to mind with that particular experience...I don't want to corrupt your innocent and relatively sane minds. It involved robotic aliens and the bending of wills...I'll leave it at that.

I worry about what this means for my already-unraveling sanity. Even when something bad happens, that thought is not too far from the front of my mind. Is life just a gigantic novel waiting to be written? YES...I mean...no...um...

Does this mean I have no real perception of reality?

Possibly, but enough self-psychoanalysis. Here are 7 things about me, as promised:

1.  I am a Christian who is crazy in love with her Savior. 
2.  I LOVE SOCKS. SO MUCH. Knee highs, fuzzy socks, Santa socks etc. It's not so much that I like to the wear them. I've never really liked wearing  socks or shoes, but I like the idea of wearing them. Because I like the idea so much, I end up wearing them all the time...Wait. I don't think that made any sense. 
3. I am the ruler of all cheese. I rule it, but I don't eat it. 
4.  I rewrote my first novel approximately six times. I am in the process of finishing my current novel (which I hate), so I can start my new, COOL novel. Which is about...something.
5.  I'm going to change the world. Not joking. 
6. I am in the process of creating my own language. Not just gibberish. It's going to have grammar and modifiers and so on. I will blog about this soon! 
7.  I will now use this 7th item to explain the name of my blog. Yay! When I was little, my dad used to call me a "social butterfly." I was friends with everyone and I loved to talk and to meet new people. As I got older though, this kind of started to change. Instead of breaking out of my shell, I turned into a self-proclaimed hermit; a recluse, by choice, if you will. It's not that I don't like people. I love people as much as I did when I was a (smaller) kid. I'm just not as social as I used to. Also, something deep and profound about not wanting to grow up.

I pretty much win at life, and now you can too!

I WON MY FIRST EVER AWARD FOR THIS BLOG!!

Maybe it's not that big of a deal, but I get excited over the small things in life, like mail...and grapes, but that's a whole different blog post; for a different era. My views on grapes are rather controversial.

I received this award from my fantastical friend, GryphonFledgling(click the link, click it!) and it totally made my day. It also gave me an idea, but I'll get to that later.

The rules of the Versatile Blogger award are:

1. Share 7 things about yourself.
2. Pass the award to 15 bloggers recently discovered.
3. Notify the blogger recipients.
4. Link to the blogger who gave the award.

Here's the deal: I will share 7 things about myself (in a different post).  I will be giving an award to 15 bloggers, but when I give awards I like to go all out. Therefore, I'm changing the rules up. I confess, I don't have 15 newly discovered bloggers to pass an award to. So, I'm starting a segment that will be called..."Blogger of the Week!"

My pinkies are fiercely strong. Fear them.

I'm just kidding. I'm probably going to name it, "Bloggers with Strong Pinkie Fingers."



I will be determining who wins. If you do win, you will receive a pretty badge that I will make myself and an interview here at Reclusive Butterfly. I might even throw in some cheese. Just kidding! You have to earn the cheese.  Be warned, when I give interviews, things tend to get a bit odd.

If you have a blog, post a link in the comments or send me an email (reclusivebutterfly@gmail.com). This is the only time I'm allowing shameless self-advertising, so you better capitalize on it before I change my mind.

The rules are simple:

1. You must update your blog. I'm not asking for consistency. That would be hypocritical, but if you haven't updated your blog relatively recently, you probably won't win.
2. Keep it clean. No R-rated blogs, please and thank you.
3. You're allowed one submission every two weeks.

What I'm looking for:

1. I don't care what you write about. Cheese, motorcycles, and horticulture are a few of limitless possibilities.
2. Intelligent writing is required. You're not perfect and I'm certainly not perfect. I don't expect perfection, but if your blog is splattered with chat-speak, I promise you all my cookies that I will lose my mind.
3. Funny helps. Just a note.
4. Boring doesn't help. You want to know what gets old really quickly? Blogs that are about your boring day. I'm as boring as the next person. My days consist of homework with the occasional jog around the kitchen sink. The most interesting part of my days is when I climb into my sink and yell, "CHEESE IS GOOD" in Danish. So, if nothing happens to you that's worth blogging about, I get it. Really. Please just...don't blog about how when you got out of the car, there was gum on the street and how you...looked at it and then...walked away. You will make me sad.
5. Effort!
6. I love pictures.

I will choose someone to win the award every two to three weeks until I've bestowed 15 bloggers with an award. This segment will replace "Fusion Fridays" because--don't tell anyone, but--Fusion Fridays were my way of being...lazy.  Gasp.

Well, it's time for me to climb into the sink and yell, "OST ER GODT."  While I'm doing that, send me a link to your blog.

Relax, screaming isn't going to make the boat sink any slower.

I don't really know what this picture has to do with anything, but it looks cool

Ah, school starts tomorrow. Back to the grind. The overtime. The hours of toil over Boo Radley's  glowing screen. The stress of deadlines I can barely make. Compulsively checking my grades every chance I get. A sudden rise in my blood pressure and the possibility of gray hair. Joy! No, that wasn't sarcasm. I'm excited. Hence, the exclamation point.

I love school. I do. It's amazing. I love it. Have I mentioned that I love it? Sometimes, it just leaves me a tad frazzled. Like now, for example, I should be getting a jumpstart on my school work by doing my reading for my literature course, but I'd rather finish Mockingjay. Of course, with all the work that must be done I find my self walking in circles and checking Facebook every five minutes instead of even reading for pleasure. I can't relax and I can't work. I'm in limbo. Like when a movie isn't in theaters anymore, but it isn't on DVD either. Or like puberty. -shudder-

Because I can't relax myself, I'm going to help you relax.

*cue Hawaiian hula dancing music*

Below are the cures to some of the most common habits induced by stress.

FUZZY SLIPPERS O.O 

PACING

If you find yourself pacing, sit down.

BITING NAILS

Chop off your fingers. Sounds gruesome, I know, but you can always grow new ones.

What?

You can't? Only lizards and robots can do that?

Well...you can always get cyborg fingers. Who doesn't want some of those?

BITING LIP

Tear out your teeth. Avoid solid food after. This will also solve the nail-biting problem.

BANGING HEAD AGAINST WALL

Distance yourself from walls.

NERVOUS EATING

Lock yourself in a closet. I'm not sure how this helps...it just does.

PULLING HAIR OUT

Shave head.

SETTING FIRE TO RANDOM OBJECTS

STOP.

Not all-inclusive, but certainly helpful, if  I do say so myself. Just remember, relax. Hyperventilating won't make the bullet wound hurt any less.

Have any other stress-induced habits you need help with? Tell me and I'll address it in a blog post.

New Year, New Ponderings

Hello my dear little readers. It's been far too long. I would say that I've missed you, but I don't know half of you so I would be lying and I'm nothing if not brutally honest.

...

You're right. I lie all the time. It's New Year's Eve so what the platypus, I'VE MISSED ALL OF YOU.
Hope that lie made you feel warm and sticky inside.

So, tonight, I'm ending the year with a fizzle not a bang. I'm even going to bed early. Oh yeah, I'm a trend setter. Instead of some celebratory blog post or fond memories of the year, I am going to ponder random things that may or may not make any sense to the average human being. Of course, I'm not human at all, so my understanding of human logic is limited.

For example, this evening I was looking over my eBay record. It's spotless. Everyone says I'm an excellent buyer and that I make lightning fast payments. It's the most ridiculous thing ever, but I feel like showcasing this on my Facebook profile. I feel like printing it out and framing it. Here I have to wonder if this is my inner nerd shining through or if I have some other deep-seated issue. Of course, I have a lot of issues, so it makes it confusing to ever isolate just one of them. For now, we will assume that I'm just the supreme empress of the nerds and that it is my duty to be proud of such things.

I think too much and this made me wonder what it would be like to be a successful, big-shot eBay seller. I've never sold anything on eBay before, (although I've considered it) so this is all just speculation, but this is how I think a day in the life would go:

2 pm: Wake up.

2:01 pm: Stretch; admire gold-plated ceiling with cheese engravings

2:07 pm: Go back to sleep.

4:05 pm: Wake back up. Check for sells.

4:09 pm: Dance in my money.

4:30 pm: Have old decrepit woman with a pet hippo from next door yell at me for counting my money too loudly.

Old Lady yelling at me with her Pet Hippo
 who is wearing makeup for some inexplicable reason

5:00 pm: Have someone bring me a sammich.

5:30 pm: Sell stuff.

6:00 pm: Smell my money.

6:00: 01 pm: Sneeze because I'm allergic to paper.

6:02 pm: Laugh hysterically for no apparent reason.

6:30 pm: Watch season finale of Oprah on DVD.

6:35 pm: Pause season finale of Oprah to laugh at a funny face someone is making.

7:00 pm: Work on my jet pack blueprints.

8:00 pm: Sing my capybara twins to sleep.

9:00 pm: Sing loudly to the "Double Rainbow Song." Over and over again.

10:00 pm: Wake up the twins with my obnoxious singing. Soothe them and put them back to sleep.

11:00 pm: Skip down the street in a toga and pirate boots.

11:15 pm: Have neighbors yelling at me again, threatening me with their flying hippos.

12:00 am: Devise world domination plans.

3:00 am: Train spandex-wearing cockroach minions.

4:00 am: Train pet platypus.

5:00 am: Eat cheese.

5:01 am: Attend Cheese consul meeting.

5:04 am: Attend Capybara Parents Association (CPA) meeting

5:06 am: Sleep through CPA meeting

7:00 am: Go to eBay headquarters where my powerseller office awaits.

7:01 am: Go back to sleep.

END OF DAY.

I've never sold anything on eBay, but I HAVE done some research. I think this step by step is the closest you'll get to a day in the life.

On a completely separate and random note, WHAT HAPPENS AT PARTIES? Really. I have no clue. It's not that I've never been to a party before, it's just that...I've never been all that attentive. Can someone fill me in? Do you sit and stare at people? And what's the point of mingling anyway? Why can't you just talk to the people you like and ignore all the other losers *cough* I mean people. What's the point of parties? Why are they fun? If you don't like to dance, talk to people, eat, or interact with humans on any level, can you even have fun at a party? Is there a hermit friendly alternative to parties?

Are they a conspiracy of the garden gnomes? If so, I have a message.
Squabs, if you're reading this, know that your plan will not succeed.

It's 10:15 and it's time to go to bed, people of the world.

Happy New Year.
G'night

I Has Hiccups

Stop judging me for my lack of updates. Don't think I don't know you guys sent me that basket full of melted cheese. What am I supposed to with melted cheese, huh? You didn't send me any CHIPS!

I have the hiccups...which reminds me... I saw "How to Train your Dragon" last night and have come to the conclusion that I want a pet Viking. Their hats are so pointy and sharp.  AND they come with dragons!

I think I'll name my Viking...Sauce. Yeah...Sauce the Viking.

Anyway, How to Train Your Dragon is without any doubt the best movie I've seen all year...and I've seen a LOT of movies this years. Far more than I care to admit.

It was everything I could ask for from an animated movie: visually stunning, cool characters, and a decent plot. And though I really like Hiccup, Toothless was the star of the show. I mean, honestly, his name is TOOTHLESS. How can you not love a creature with such a wonderful name?

I guess after such a long time since my last post you don't want my psychotic babble about how I'm in love with toothless dragons. Instead, I'll rant about midterms.

I've decided for this year's midterms I'm not going to study. In fact, I may not even show up. Despite my total lack of effort, I will still ace my midterms.

This is all because over the years, I have collected a large assortment of minions. I will soon post on how you, too, can command your very own army of personal minions.

But now, I must study for midterms...*cough* I mean...collect minions...

How to Cope With Facebook Stalking

Just. Say. No.

You know what I hate? Crumbly muffins.

You know what I hate more than crumbly muffins? Eating crumbly muffins in public. It's so embarrassing. If you don't eat the muffin you look stupid. Who buys muffins and doesn't eat them? Plus it's a good muffin...except it's crumbly. What's wrong with crumbly muffins? You look like an idiot while you eat them.

Crumbs are flying and...uh-oh...you just missed your mouth AGAIN. Now there's a nice puddle of crumbly muffin on your lap. You try to dust it off, but instead those rebellious little buggers stick to your pants. Crumbly muffins have no manners and that's why I hate them.

ACK. Now it's on Boo Radley's keyboard. UGH.

You know what I hate more than eating crumbly muffins in public? Not updating my blog in 2 weeks. Speaking of what I hate...

There are a lot of articles out there covering how to deal with Facebook stalkers, but no one ever tells you what to do when FACEBOOK is stalking you. Not someone on Facebook, the actual social networking site is stalking you. You may say this is outrageous, but happens far more often than you would think.

Here's how to cope:

1. Burn your laptop.

It won't keep Facebook away, but it sure is fun.











2. Eat Crumbly Muffins in Public

No one, not even Facebook, wants to be seen with an idiot whose food always seems to miss their mouth.

3. Stop Changing Your Relationship Status every Two Days

You're making Facebook jealous. Making it jealous only makes it want you more.

4. Flex your Calve Muscles (on Fridays)

Because that's how the celebrities solve their problems.

5. Adopt Twin Capybaras

I don't know why. You just should.

6. Stop telling Facebook all Your Deep, Dark SECRETS

If you lead Facebook on, it will think it's behavior is okay. Besides, the rest of the world sees those deep, dark secrets too and we don't want to know that you STILL wet the bed...at 22.

7. Have a Stern Talk

This is a last resort. Only when things become truly terrible, do you talk to Facebook. If Facebook won't listen, then you should try eating a crumbly muffin WHILE giving it a stern talk.

Ultimately, there is no way to escape Facebook's claws of destruction. Yes, you may despair.

5 Ways To Make Your Dentist Suffer

Tell me that's not evil.

We all hate dentists. If you say you don't, you would be lying. Whether you hate dentists because one of them "accidentally" drilled a hole through your tongue  or you hate how, despite being a dentist, your dentist has NO TEETH, we all want them to suffer.

(If you are a dentist and you're reading this. PLEASE DON'T HURT ME!)

Below are the most innovative ways to make your local dentist feel you wrath:

Method 1: Onion Rings

Onion rings is code for any rancid smelling food. This includes, but is not limited to:

Spoiled milk (the clumpy kind is the BEST)

Mildewed cheese (The best way to go green)

Garlic smoothie (also keeps 'dem vampires away)

Dog food

Garbage

Sewer water

Grass

If you want to be REALLY efficient, I suggest you put all of my suggestions (and anything else you can think of) into a pot and make Stinky Stuff Soup.

Method 2: Scream

Every time your dentist gets near you, looks at you, smiles, sniffs you, scream at the top of your lungs. If he asks why, say: "For a moment...heh....I thought you were going to smash me up and make me into your 'special toothpaste' ", then scream again.

Method 3: Forget the Brush

For the entire month before your appointment, don't brush your teeth, don't look at your tooth-brush, don't even think about your toothbrush.

This won't hurt one bit...NOT! *evil laughter*

Method 4: Curious

Before you sit down, ask your dentist what each tool does that he's going to use, then ask him what would happen if you threw a drill at him. He'll probably respond with something stupid that he thinks is cute like: "Then it will hit me. haha". Throw the drill at him.

Method 5:  Snakey

This method only works if your dentist is a semi aquatic, egg laying mammal


of...dentistry  AKA a platypus. Put a rubber snake in your pocket, right when your dentist AKA platypus picks up the drill throw the rubber snake at him! He'll be so scared he'll drop the drill on his feet...It will hurt.

Think: if we all banded together we could make dentists suffer EVERYWHERE! But it starts with you...

Presenting...Boo Radley!

Today, I would like to talk about the wonderful and beautiful Boo Radley. I think he's the coolest thing since minced pears....and edible fedoras (BUY ME ONE FOR MY BIRTHDAY!).

No I don't mean this Boo Radley:

Though, he's pretty amazingsauce, he can't quite compare to this:

Say Hello to Boo Radley. LOOK HOW SHINY!

That's right. Say hello to my little friend. I finally got a MacBook, baby. He shall be called Boo Radley. Below is the top three reasons why Boo Radley amazing, but can't quite compare to my brand new friend, Boo Radley (confused, yet?):

1. Sure, Boo Radley has mad ninja skills, not to mention he's a socially awkward recluse (sound familiar? *cough*likeme*cough*), but can he last TEN HOURS on a single charge? The answer is no. Boo Radley needs TWO charges to last 10 hours. Boo Radley is also a robot...
2. Yeah, Boo Radley is a Robot Ninja, but can he read aloud an ENTIRE webpage? Can he recognize faces just by looking at PICTURES? No. No, he can not.
3. I made this picture on my Mac:

Don't you dare ask me about Boo Radley's pants.

CAN BOO RADLEY MAKE PICTURES!?!?!

Actually, I'm not sure. Let me go ask him.

BOO RADLEEEEYYY!!!!

5 Ways to Stay Unfocused

There are plenty of guides out there with tips on how to stay focused, but because my brain is upside down (it's a rare condition. IT'S NOT FUNNY), I'm going to do things a bit differently. If you do the opposite of everything in this post, you'll be the most focused person on the planet.*

Your status does NOT need to be updated twice a minute.
WE DON'T CARE IF YOU WANT A TACO!

1. SOCIAL NETWORKING

It really shouldn't be called "social networking", it should be called "social webweaving" or "web of iniquity". Social networking sites are designed to suck you in and trap you in a continuous cycle from one network to the other. You're on Twitter and your best friend tweets about her amazing trip to Italy and links to the pictures on facebook. You HAVE to check these pictures, of course, so you can run zit patrol and laugh in her face one you find one. You're laughing because "HAHAHA you were in Italy with a PUS FILLED MONSTROSITY ON YOUR FACE. Italy wasn't so great after all!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? *sob*"

Oh? That's just me? Er... never mind.

2. RESTLESS EATING

Don't you DARE try to pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. When you roam from fridge to pantry to freezer and back again, nibbling on food but never actually decided on what you WANT. This is a wonderful way to procrastinate. If any one asks you what you're doing you can get all hysterical and scream "DO YOU WANT ME TO STARVE?!?! WHAT? DO YOU THINK I'M FAT?" Also, this is a great way to actually get fat. You never really know how much you've eaten, what you've eaten, or how TWO Oreos could be an entire serving. There has to be a misprint.

3. MULTITASK

Look, despite what your parents, teachers, or imaginary friends might have told you, you aren't SUPERAMAZINGPERSON/RADIOACTIVECYBORG. You can't multi-task.  But don't take my word for it, try it for yourself! Try writing that english paper AND doing your calculus simultaneously.No, seriously. Do it. See what happens.

4. DAYDREAM

Some of you have no clue how to daydream properly. You actually have to prepare for this if you want to do it correctly. You have to have a plot for you dream and main and supporting characters. There must be radioactive turkeys or you're NOT DOING IT RIGHT! ( Don't try to tell me this is optional. IT ISN'T!)

5. DOODLE

Don't take notes during class. Instead draw funny pictures!! Look at the squirrel I drew during my statistics lecture!

Ain't it PURDY?????????

*I lied. You won't be the most focused person on the planet because everyone knows Chuck Norris is the most focused person on the planet. He's so focused, he can be surrounded by the entire cast of The Jersey Shore and STILL get his homework done...in five minutes.