Probably the worst blogger ever? Yeah.

It's been weird being home again. And it's been really normal, which is also weird. It's like Ireland never happened, except it completely did, and it's wicked strange.

It's been nice being back, though. It's been awesome seeing everyone (well, everyone on Cape.. it's been half a year since I've seen anyone from Burlington, besides the kids in Dublin. Oh, the sadness!) again, and I've been having lots of fun going out to Providence and just chilling.

I have my job back, which is less than fun, but I need the money wicked badly. I graduate next year (damn, I'm old!) so I really really have to start saving, especially since I want to go to Ireland again when I graduate. Oh, and another good thing about working? It gave me this quote: "He was never the same after he tried to throw Wayne in the meat grinder." No, I have no more information than that. It was just a mother talking to her teenage son, but I was too busy with another customer so catch anything else from their conversation. It made my life, though, pretty much, and as soon as I could I scribbled it down on a bit of leftover receipt so I wouldn't forget. I pretty much spent the rest of my shift imagining different scenarios.

Also, how perfect is the fact that his name's Wayne?

Anyway, I blame the fact that this post is just a mini recap of my life on Teen Mom. I've kind of been watching it today. And Ghost Adventures. I'm classy. So is Wayne, I imagine.

(I don't usually watch this much TV, I promise.. But when I do, it's pretty much that level of classy.)

Dear person who found my blog by searching for, "stds from hookers in dublin,"

Thank you!

I have been waiting for someone to find me with some creepy sexual google search since, well, the day I started this blog! So, I've been waiting for more than a year. That's a long time.

This feeling is so fun. You know, everyone should have the chance to have a dream or two of theirs realized. The world would just be so much happier.

Love, Me.

PS. Since you seemed to be wondering, you're probably better off not seeking prostitutes at all, from anywhere. Maybe get a girlfriend, yeah? Oh, and you're welcome. Have the best day ever.

So Close So Close So Close So

A few days ago, my dad promised me a kitten if I don't come home from Ireland pregnant. Well, actually, he said, "if I don't come home with a baby," which, since I'm only going to be there for four months, would really be impossible unless I smuggled some random person's infant under my coat, and even then I don't think that would work. I'm pretty sure I would get stopped at security or something. So, I could technically come back from Ireland slightly pregnant and still be owed a kitten. Guess he didn't think that one through.

It's really funny, though. My parents honestly almost seem worried that I'll get pregnant. I'm not sure what it says about them (or me, though I'm pretty sure it has more to do with them) that they're so concerned, but I just find it ridiculously entertaining. And I can't complain about getting a kitten out of it. It'll be one thing to look forward to when I have to leave in May.

One time in high school, my dad asked me if I was pregnant. Really. I can't remember why-- I think I was being moody or something, so he looked me in the eyes and asked me if I was pregnant. I giggled. There was no other way to respond to that question.

I think if he ever asks me again whether or not I'm pregnant, I'll tell him that I am, just to see whether he believes me. Except not, because I'm the worst liar in the world when it comes to things like that. I'd just ruin it by laughing. But I might try, anyway. Liven things up a bit.

(PS.. only four and a half days to go. Yes, I still freak out about the plane ride when I think of it. Watching LOST last year was a very bad idea. And, I still need to pack. Even though I'm not bringing much, it's pretty daunting. I'm usually pretty good about remembering most everything, but I can just see myself forgetting something totally vital. I have my fingers crossed. Hopefully, that'll be enough, but just in case, I've also knocked on wood.)

The Human Centipede. Or, my eyes are never gonna be the same.

I'm not really sure why The Human Centipede is called The Human Centipede. If I had made it, which I wouldn't evereverever anyway, I would have called it, "OH MY GOD HOLY CHRIST WHAT THE FUCK OH SHIT MY EYES." Or something like that. I mean, I think it has a pretty nice ring.

True story, don't watch this movie.

There are no words to describe its horrors. But, know that even a compostable bag of sun chips crackling over and over again in your ears wouldn't be enough to silence what takes place in it. Which means that nothing is. Nothing. Don't watch it.

Watching this movie is being like being some sort of Alaskan fish, slammed out of life by Sarah Palin just as you're about to make it to the safe shores of Russia. It's like never finding Nemo. Like being one of Sid's toys in Toy Story. Like living in a world where everyone is Nigel Thornberry, and Nigel Thornberry is a cannibal. Like dying a hundred million trillion and five times in the worst way possible times a gazillion.

It's like being tortured and having your knee caps and teeth removed, your mouth sewn to some dude's ass, and-- OH WAIT.

Yeah.

The Warlock

So, there’s this movie that you guys all need to see. It’s called, “Warlock,” made in 1989, and it’s even more amazing and terrible than its name suggests.

It deals with three characters: Kassandra-with-a-K, Giles Redferne, and a warlock.

According to IMDB, the warlock doesn’t have a name. He isn’t special enough. You see, Kassandra-with-a-K is wicked special. You can tell because of her name. The writers used the same technique when they named her that Stephenie Meyers used with Bella Swan. You know how Bella’s always like, “Oh my gosh, you guys! Everyone here calls me Isabella! ANGST!” and then when Edward calls her Bella for the first time, she’s all, “Oh my gosh, you guys! HOW DID HE KNOW MY TRUE IDENTITY?” Well, it’s the same deal here, except even more so. Kassandra-with-a-K derives all meaning in life from the fact that her name starts with a K. At least Bella has a couple other aspects to her personality. Like the fact that she’s so super mature that she likes Jane Austen, because obviously no other teenage girl ever likes her. And the fact that she doesn't like rain, and she really really doesn't like snow. Well, with Kassandra-with-a-K, though, the K is all she's got. She is that K-- lives, breathes that K. Someone could walk up to her and be all, like, “HA! I’m gonna call you Cassandra! WITH A C!” And she’d be all, “Noooooooooo.” She'd be devastated. She'd be nothing. It'd be legit.

Except no one in the movie would say legit, because "Warlock" takes place in the 1980s. I don't know what the '80s equivalent would be, but it'd probably be pretty lame.

Anyhoo, here's a synopsis of the first thirty minutes, give or take. You'll probably have to actually watch the movie to find out the rest. My words can't give it adequate justice, anyway.

***

The movie starts out in 17th century Plymouth Plantation. It's supposed to be Boston, but it's totes not. The warlock is locked away in a tower, shackled by his toes. Seriously. My guess is that he has really oddly shaped toes, where the tips are giant and the beginning bits are teeny. Which leads me to wonder why he didn't just use his magic to make his toes normal. Probably, that's just part of the movie's mystery.

Anyway, the warlock's just chillin' in his toe shackles when a bunch of these pilgrim dudes climb up and are all like,"You trafficked with the Divvil! Also, we have, like, scottish-ish accents. Yeah, we don't know why, either."

Then, this dude, Redferne, comes up, and he's wearing a shit ton of furs for some reason, and has this long mullet that probably hadn't been washed in a couple years.

He's totally Scottish and stuff. And he hates the warlock. They're totally enemies. Not even frenemy enemies. Legit enemies. So, they yell at each other for a while, and Redferne tells the pilgrim dudes to keep the toe shackles on the warlock for, like, infinity. But as he says this, the warlock does his magic and in a flurry of graphics probably done on Microsoft Paint, the warlock escapes and it's suddenly 1989 California. Which brings us to Kassandra-with-a-K. Hells yes.

Kassandra-with-a-K has really bad fashion taste and lives with her gay roommate, Chas, who also has a really bad sense in fashion. Kassandra-with-a-K has diabeetus, too. And she doesn't like old people because they walk too slowly and totally take away from the gravitas of her pleather windbreaker, giant globe earrings, and awful driving.

Anyway, Kassandra-with-a-K and Chas are sleeping when, what do you know, the warlock crashes through the window into their house. Even though the warlock's wicked creepy and cult-y looking and, I don't know, just flew through their window, they don't seem to find terribly much odd about this. They even let him sleep in Kassandra-with-a-K's bed. How sweet.

The warlock's awake by next morning, and the roomies are all, "OMG! He's British! That automatically makes him safe and totes awesome! Here, have some tea and crumpets!" But he's really not safe because when he wants Chas' heirloom ring, he totally cuts his finger off to get it. Then, he uses his magic to totally kill Chas. It's gross.

The police come to tell Kassandra-with-a-K all about her poor roomies' death while she's at work, about a half hour later. I'm not really sure how they found out, since Chas and the warlock were the only ones home, and the doors were locked, but I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation. Maybe the warlock was so wracked with guilt that he had to call them. For his conscience. I mean, it's not possible for a British person, witch or not, to be completely evil, right?

Anyway, the po-po start talking to Kassandra-with-a-K, and there is this little gem of a conversation:

Coppehs: Did [Chas] frequent public parks?

K-with-a-K: He didn't dick little boys from bathroom walls, ok?

Coppehs: You said your roommate was gay.

K-with-a-K: Not queer! Big difference!

There's really not much you can say about that (other than, maybe, holy shit! Homophobia, much????) so I'm just gonna leave that blank.

The next scene takes place in this hippie psychic store, run by this hippie psychic with a man-face and feathered hair. The warlock's there because he wants her to, "channel me a spirit!" And she wants to say no, because it's after hours, but she totally has the hots for this pony-tailed creeper, and agrees. So he tricks her into channeling the Divvil, saying that the Divvil's his daddy.

When the Divvil talks through her, he's all like, "YOU DON'T HAVE WHAT IT TAKES, JACK! YOU HAVE TO GO BACK TO THE ISLAND!" and the warlock starts crying and saying, "HOW MUCH DID YOU DRINK, DAD?" but then he remembers that his name isn't Jack! It's The Warlock! So, he tells the Divvil that, and the Divvil's all, "My bad, son," and tells him to, "bring together my Bible." Apparently the Bible in question, the Grand Grimoire, is separated into a bunch of pieces, and once they're all brought together it will, "thwart creation itself." Which would really suck, apparently.

Oh, and then the hippie psychic with a man-face and feathered hair dies. It's not particularly sad, really.

Anyway, meanwhile Kassandra-with-a-K is understandably pretty freaked out by everything, so she goes home to pack. And while she's stuffing ugly '80s clothes into her ugly '80s suitcase, she hears glass breaking. (I'm pretty sure that all of the windows in the house are broken by now). This time, at least, though, it is not the warlock. It is Redferne!

Redferne totally thinks that Kassandra-with-a-K is a whore, but that's okay because I think everyone does, what with her silver pleather ensemble and everything. But then he hits her and gets her in a chokehold, which is really just douchey. As he has her in the stranglehold, he's all, "WHERE IS THE WARLOCK, HARLOT!" and she's totally freaking out. But then Redferne explains that the warlock's a warlock, and she's pretty much totally cool with it. Until the warlock comes over to her and utters what is pretty much the worst spell ever written: "Tout, tout. Through and about. Your callow life in dismay. [plus a bunch of latin]"which makes it so that she gets 20 years older each day.

Oh, and Redferne totally gets tazed, bro, by the police and realizes that it's the 1980's.

And the warlock finds a bit of the Grand Grimoire inside the dining room table.

Once Kassandra-with-a-K wakes up at forty-- and she did not age well, believe me-- she busts Redferne out of jail. The two then decide to team together and become a merry duo and stop the evil warlock.

Oh, Twilight

Me, freshman year of college. I don't remember why I took that picture. I think I was just really bored. Really, ridiculously, exceptionally bored.

Pretty much everything about Twilight amuses me. The fangirls (and, oh my God, Twilight Moms) can be hysterical. And then the people who absolutely despise Twilight and everything it stands for. You know, they're almost as bad.

Back in high school, I adored Twilight. Really. I might have read the series (remember, this was back when there were only three books) twice in one week, I loved it so much. I would read them during school, when I knew I wouldn't get caught. I mostly did that in Latin, because compared to the other kids in that class (oh, we really had some good times), I was totally an angel and I could get away with anything. I mean, there was a reason I got the Latin award twice in a row, and seeing as my translation technique was, "look up the word in the latin dictionary and guess where it might possibly fit into the sentence," that reason had nothing to do with either talent or any particular effort.

But, yeah, I really really really really really liked Twilight. And I liked Edward even more.

Honestly, I think it must be wired in teenage girls' brains to totally obsess over things. Because there were a lot of us who wanted Edward Cullen.

Around the time that the fourth book came out, I started treating Twilight more like a ridiculous joke. I mean, if any of you have read Breaking Dawn, you'll know how beautifully terrible it is. And sketchy. And pedophile-y. And skeevy. But, you know, you can't stop reading it, because you just have to know what completely insane thing will happen next. Like that, it's perfect in its awfulness. But, really, Breaking Dawn is the only book out the four that I would definitely (unconditionally and irrevocably) call bad literature. Not that I actually see anything wrong with reading bad literature. Bad writing can be incredibly fun, and I think that's what people forget. Reading is supposed to be enjoyable, and if anyone finds Twilight enjoyable for any reason in the world, then there is nothing wrong with that.

However:

Middle aged moms crushing on Taylor Lautner and Robert Pattinson? That's really almost unforgivably sketchy. (I'm thinking that maybe they're thinking that if it's okay for a seventeen year old werewolf to fall in love with a rapidly aging creepy demon baby thing, it's okay for them to fall in love with the actor playing said werewolf. It's the only explanation, and even it only works if the moms in question have absolutely no grip on anything nearing reality. Or if they're Stephenie Meyer.)

And I don't know how many of you have heard about "Cullenism," the religion of Twilight, but it's wicked weird. And cult-like. I mean, "Cullenites," don't live in a commune or anything, but I'm pretty sure that's mostly because eleven year olds are the only ones who literally worship Twilight, and they still have to live with their parents. I hope they're the only ones who do, at least. If you want to read more about it, its website is: www.twifans.com. And it's fantastic.

It's my last day of being a teenager and I get to clean toilets. Fun.

At my work, a different employee everyday gets the amazingly amazing task of cleaning the bathrooms. So, naturally, I get to do it today, the day before I turn old. I'm totally stoked, in case you couldn't tell.

I mean, cleaning everything sucks on any day. It's awful, disgusting, and just torture, really. But the day before your 20th birthday is just mean. You're supposed to get to have fun, because it's pretty much your last day of being young.

My only hope is that Crazy Lady* will remember my birthday, but also realize that I'm (at least) not working on my birthday and bring me an awesome present. That would make today a little better, yeah?

*See that linky thing I just did? I figured it out in, like, a second. Maybe even less. Yeah, I can do technology. Once in a while. (Just 'once' would work, too, probably.)

People Are Strange

So, I'm at my register at work during a lull, waiting for someone to decide to buy something, when this woman comes up to me. She doesn't have a carriage or basket on her, so it isn't like she's about to buy anything. No, she wants to know how old I am.

Me: 19, but I'm almost 20

Her: When?

Me: In July

Her: When in July?

Me: The 26th

Her: Ok

Then she leaves. That's it. She wanted to know my birthday. I still have no idea why. I'm secretly hoping she'll get me a present.