Me, My Temper, and I

Disclaimer: I get violent when I'm angry. If you're faint of heart or weak of stomach, stop here. If you're eating... you should still probably stop here.

If you've heard read my rants about Wal-Mart, stupid people, and other things that make me angry, you probably have a decent idea of what my temper is like. From what I understand, Irish girls usually have a quick temper that burns hot enough to strike fear into the heart of any man... and certain National Parks. That stereotype might have gotten started by one of my ancestors.

Tonight, for instance, I had to leave work fifteen minutes early to ensure that I did not eviscerate a customer. (Mind you, eviscerating her would have been one hell of a job. She was at least three times my girth.)

All the same, when a morbidly obese woman waddles up to the customer service desk and demands to know why we don't have more cashiers, then curses and informs me the best method of doing somebody else's job before stalking and jiggling off, it's really hard not to kill her. If I did kill her, here's how I would have done it...

I think my implement of choice would have been a very dull, very rusty spoon, but I didn't have many of those on hand. A pen or box-cutter would have sufficed. I would have slashed and stabbed my way through all of her kin until I reached my true victim. Binding her wrists and ankles, I would have flayed her blubbery ass alive and stretched her bloody skin across the entrance to the service desk. I would have ground her eyes, heart and teeth into a bloody paste, which I would then use to paint "FUCK OFF" across her hide. I would make sure that the remaining organs were full of holes, to ensure that nobody would salvage them and perpetuate such flawed DNA. Then I would have clocked out and flipped off every customer between my car and myself. Lastly, just to put the metaphorical cherry on top, I would go find somebody's chihuahua and run the little bastard over... Gawd, I hate those dogs.

~Le sigh.~ I feel better, now. It's just really, really crappy to be treated like dirt and yelled at for something that's not my fault! It's not even in my power to change! It's not in anyone's power to change! What are we supposed to do? Yank out cashiers' fingernails until they agree to work overnights? Jesus, people! If you want more cashiers at Wal-Mart at almost 10 at night, take the job yourself! Otherwise, keep your bloody mouth shut. Fifteen minutes in a line is not going to kill you...

I should find an anger management class, instead of taking my rage out on chairs that I find by a dumpster... Poor chair never hurt anybody before... Never will, now that I'm done with the damn thing...

Deep Thoughts, pt 1

Mmkay, anybody here ever heard of Fable? If you haven't, I pity you. It's some of the most fun you can have with your clothes on (unless you do a lot of gaming in the nude). Pretty good Action/Adventure game, set in a Fantasy world. The thing I love about it is the Personality/Alignment system. Every little choice you make affects whether you're evil or good, naughty or nice. Known for beating on civilians? People will run from you in terror. Defended a village under siege by bandits? Townsfolk will cheer and whistle as you pass. Wear dark and creepy clothes? Girls won't respond to your advances. Eat the wrong kinds of foods? You'll get fat.

It's only a game, but I can't help but think deep thoughts about how very similar that is to real life. We are shaped, affected, by every single little choice we make. Should you eat baked chicken or fried zucchini? Do you replace the toilet paper when you use it up? Do you go out of your way to be nice to somebody, or snicker and tell them how horrible they look in that color? When a baby starts crying on a plane, do you shrug it off or glare daggers at the parents?

Sure, villagers probably won't go running in terror from you, and children probably won't cheer and collect dolls in your image, but I can't deny that Fable is, in some respects, so very real. So much of us is made up of all our 'little' choices.

Rings n Things

SWEET AND MUSHY ALERT!!!

I've totally been putting this off...

So, anybody who reads Herr Doktor's blog will know that he wishes to marry me.

Nothing could make me happier.

Brian is, hands down, the best partner I've ever had. He takes care of me, supports me, and goes far out of his way to make sure that I have a good day. Every day. He gets along great with my family, and he's not bothered by the fact that one of my brothers is autistic. He's always sweet and understanding, and doesn't mind indulging my goofy and/or geeky tendencies. He's intelligent, and, even if I weren't in love with him, he'd be a blast to hang around. It feels like we match in every way. Oh. And he's really, really hawt. Like, sizzling-to-the-touch hawt. I am convinced that I am the luckiest girl in the world to have him.

Technically, we're not engaged yet. We must still decide upon a ring which is pleasing to both our tastes and our coffers, and Brian still has to get down on bended knee. All the same, the last couple weeks have felt... Different. The future is a little more certain, and I feel just a little happier.

For me, Brian is proof that prayers really are answered.

Digital Purgatory

For those of you who haven't noticed, I'm not Christian anymore. I was raised Catholic by a very strict mother, which is basically what killed it for me. All the same, lets assume that maybe, maybe, there is a Hell. I will be in the best of company when (if) I finally go there.

George Carlin was a fantastic comedian. He had a certain disregard for what was good and/or proper, which I admired greatly. He made jokes about disgusting, terrible things, which I admired even more. And he approached the subject of religion with a biting, vicious sarcasm that made it clear that this was a man after my own heart.

Perhaps it's silly of me to miss someone so much without ever having met them... Yeah, fuck that noise. I identified with George, I loved his sense of humor, I thought more people should listen to his points regarding religion, and I'm sorry that he's gone.

Perhaps that's why there's a brand spanking new folder on my desktop with the title "Dead People." It already plays host to four departed souls that I think the world is worse off without, one of them being the revered Mr. Carlin. He will always be towards the front of my Purgatory Parade. (Those not getting the joke should look up his "It's bad for ya!" HBO special.)

Farewell, George. We'll miss you.

George Carlin May 12, 1937 - June 22, 2008

~POOF~

You can learn a lot from trees. How to stand tall. When the seasons change. The importance of girth. But, sexual innuendo aside, trees really can be amazing. For instance-

About a week ago, nearly every tree in Laramie was bereft of leaves. Since it still snows this late in the year, it was still too risky for them to bloom. They knew this. And yet, in one week's time, every deciduous tree in this entire suck-hole has donned fresh, green raiment. Soft, shiny leaves have emerged so damn fast that I didn't even notice the transition. It was just BAM! Lookit me, I'mma leafy tree!

Don't you wish people could be like that? Ever wanted to always know what was too risky? Wanted to wait with infinite patience for the perfect opportunity? Wished you could get something done before anyone can blink? Those are skills I would kill to have. It doesn't seem fair that trees just start that way.

Lucky Rabbit Feet!

Sometimes I really have to be reminded how lucky I am. I command an excellent grasp of the English language, decent Spanish and Mandarin, and pygmy Japanese. I love to read and play video games, both of which are things I'm good at. I definitely play Go* pretty well, considering I've only been playing for a little over one year. I play flute and piano, not as beautifully as I once did, but probably better than most when I'm up to practice. I sing soprano well enough to score a 39 out of 40 points in judge competition. And, apparently, my hair is to die for.

So I'm really, really glad I'm not this chick.

http://www.fanfiction.net/u/999831/XXXbloodyrists666XXX

Living proof that idiots are living among us, Tara Gilesbie writes bad fanfiction in a desperate attempt to increase her self-esteem. Not only is the "story" bad, the spelling is atrocious! The grammar is a travesty! And Tara herself has major issues. Check these out-

http://www.fanfiction.net/u/1414686/TwilaBeautifulPsycoTopazCullen

http://www.fanfiction.net/u/1043410/xxxbloodykisses666xxx

Two additional profiles, but, if you'll notice, they all feature the same slang, same spelling and grammar errors, and same formatting. For instance, the

XXXXXX666XXXXXX

pops up repeatedly between sections. Also, all three authors claim to hate the same things (posers, preps, pink, Avril Lavigne) and listen to the same music (Good Charlotte, Evanesence, MCR, Avril Lavigne). There are shameless plugs for each author on each profile. Each author, at the beginning of each chapter, has an author's note denouncing all the "preps" who give her bad reviews.

Totally the same person.

I feel lucky, because I've come to terms with the fact that some people will hate me, the things I love, and my ideas. I don't have to create alternate selves in an attempt to escape that. I don't have to write a fantasy world to insert myself into to feel good about myself. I have pride in my abilities and believe it's justified.

Oh, and I know how to spell.

Redefine My World

Hoo, boy. So much has happened since I've last blogged. Let's go down the list-

I thought my nephew was dead. I got a call the Tuesday after Easter from my brother, who said that his ill-begotten son had died early in the morning. So, now, I find out that the mother LIED about miscarrying. My niece was born Wednesday, May 14th. Her name is Accadia Lynn. She weighs 7 pounds, some ounces, has a head full of darkish hair and very blue eyes. And I am going to beat her lying slut of a mother into a vegetable state.

My brother graduated. Despite how close he came to not making it, he has succeeded with flying colors. I was so very proud of him that I decorated his car to show my happiness. Then we threw water balloons at each other. It was kewl.

Tornadoes are NOT impossible at 7,000 feet above sea level. I know this, because we had two (count 'em!) on Herr Doktor's birthday. We spent our respective Thursdays huddled in basements and bathrooms, texting each other and thinking, "Now, how the HELL did this happen?"
That is, in fact, a fantastic question. A tornado requires both warm, moist air and cool, dry air. When an air stream hits a mountain range, it is forced upwards. This upward motion causes moisture to condense and fall to earth, in addition to a large loss of heat. Thus, the mountains basically prevent the formation of a tornado, because the necessary air currents almost never make it to the top.

So, ya. Between babies coming back to life, my youngest brother pwnzing high school, and tornadoes dropping on Laramie, I would say that several bits of impossible have dropped on my head.