Much About Nothing

So it's been awhile since I last wrote. Turns out keeping up with a blog is harder than I thought.

But that is besides the point. I am here now, and that is what counts. Did you miss me? Probably not. I am back at school now, and my wall is very bare. It appears that I forgot to bring any type of wall decoration. However, I did buy a small poster of the Beatles today. My boyfriend does not like the Beatles.  This I cannot fathom.

I can't seem to think of anything to write at the moment. It probably would be better to put this aside for awhile, and post it when it says something of (semi)value, but since I haven't posted in so long, I kind of feel like I need to post SOMETHING. After all, I think I really started this blog in an endeavor to write on a more regular basis. Writers write, after all. Or so I'm told.

I did just make a pretty nifty bowl though. I’ve decided I like it. This is it.

I Just Thought This Was Way Too Adorable...

Ride 'Em, Cowboy! Yeehaw!

Ok, so I probably should be cleaning my room like I’ve been saying I would do all summer, but…it’s not all that appealing, to be honest. So here I am.


I’d like to talk about my boyfriend in this post, but I promise I’ll try and skip the gooey stuff. I’m going to call him A, just because it makes it feel more like a spy movie. Anyway, A rides horses, and he’s pretty good from what I’ve seen. He plays polo, and you have to have a great deal of control over a horse to be able to play a sport like that, right? Right.

But he also recently started riding the broncos at the rodeo where he lives. Which is pretty awesome, I think. I mean—what girl hasn’t fantasized about riding dating a cowboy? They’re sexy to the nth degree. Sexy with multiple x’s. With a capital s. They’re SexXxy.

But anyway...basically what happens is every Friday he gets decked out in his plaid shirt, cowboy hat, boots and chaps and then rides a bucking bronco. He has to stay on said bucking bronco for eight seconds to qualify for placement. Then he and the horse are scored—him for overall technique, and the horse for strength and agility.

Like I said, I find this to be pretty cool, and I was really excited when he first told me he had signed up. But now I’m not so sure. Maybe I should explain.

Yesterday, he called me after he competed and he more or less said he ate it. He only stayed on for four seconds, and he came down on his head. Um, ouch? And he complained that he did something to his shoulder, and his ribs…So I started having an internal panic attack, since it apparently had not occurred to me until that moment how dangerous bronco riding could be. So I really wanted to launch into a diatribe about how I didn’t realize how dangerous this was, and please be careful, use protection, blah blah blah…but he just seemed so output that I couldn’t.

A: Well, I only got about three hours of sleep last night, I was half-falling asleep on the drive up…

Me: !!

A: So I stopped and got some of those five hour energy shots and downed them, so I felt sort of sick. And I lost my fucking hat while I was riding, so I didn’t even have any protection when I fell.

Me: Well, would a cowboy hat really have offered that much protection, anyway?

A: A little, it has a harder top. But I talked to the guy there, and he said that if I gave him my number he would let me practice before the next time.

Me: Well that’s good.

A: Yeah… *sigh* I don’t know, tonight just hasn’t been a good night for me.

Me: *laughs* Well, you’ll practice and then you’ll get it next time.

A: Yeah, I guess.

Me: I know you will! You know why?

A: *silence*

Me: I will tell you why. Because you’re a great horseback rider, and a great boyfriend, and you have a really cute butt, and people with cute butts always get what they want.

A: Well, you have a pretty cute butt too.

Me: *laughs again* Yeah?

A: Yeah.

Me: Well, regardess of our butts, you’re going to do it next time, I know it, and then I can tell all my friends about it.

A: *chuckles* You tell them all about your cowboy boyfriend?

Me: Oh yeah, I totally brag about you all the time.

A: Yeah? I bet all your friends are jealous.

Me: Oh, definitely. Even the boys are like, ‘damn, I wish I had a sexy boyfriend like that.”



He laughed at that, and said it was funny, so maybe I made him feel a little better. I just think that I’m really bad at know the right things to say.  But I should stop bitching and moaning, as my dad would say. And I have to admit, I'm really proud of him, although I don't think I'll tell him that, just because that sounds a little too chick flicky for my tastes.

Random Fact: I have an obsession with all things sequin, glittery, and sparkly.

It Has to Be Asexual

Today, I've been trying to gather up all of the various personal items I will need for college, since I go back at the end of August, and it was while doing this that I made a shocking discovery...I have entirely too much stuff. Especially clothes. God, where on earth did all these clothes from? Skirts, pants, dresses, underwear, bras, scarves, stockings, socks, belts, hats, gloves, sweaters, jackets...gah! Are they breeding? They must be, because that is the only explanation I can come up with for why I have piles and piles of laundry mounting in the basement.

I'm so ready to go back to school though; I'm going bonkers in this house. My parents are driving me insane. I know it's not really anything they're doing, specifically...they're just being normal parents. It's just that it's gotten to the point where even their well-meant gestures annoy me. Maybe I'm just tired of that feeling of uselessness that comes with unemployment. Yes, I have been that kid this summer--the one that doesn't have a job and spends her time plunked on the couch watching television and slowly munching her way through bags of cheese puffs and TV dinners. But in my defense, I have been trying to do stuff around the house, cleaning mostly, but...have I mentioned that cleaning's not my forte? Well, cleaning is not my forte.

So today, hoping to feel a that being-productive ego surge, I decided to tackle the college packing list. However, I ran into a couple snags...

a.) I lost the packing list.
b.) I am too lazy to write another packing list.

Oh, cruel world. How you torment me! *shakes fist at the sky*

Anyway, I figured I would need clothes at college, since I hear public nudity is frowned upon, so I gathered up all the clothes that I thought I would want to wear and then realized that I have enough clothes to dress a small nation. How did I manage to pack all these things up before? Let alone fit them in a dorm room. I'm telling you, they've bred, that is the only explanation for why there are so many.

Another reason I want to go back to school is that I'm very excited to see my boyfriend. What, you didn't think I could get a boyfriend? Yes, sometimes the fact shocks even me. He lives over six hours away when we're not at school, so we haven't been able to see each other all that much. Long distance is hard, let me tell you, harder than I thought it would be. It's just that so much can get misinterpreted when you're not with each other--especially over text. Ugh, text. Oftentimes, I think it was one of the worst things ever invented. Ok, I guess maybe not as bad as say the machine gun of nuclear weapons, but still. Have you ever had the experience of telling someone a story and suddenly you find them not listening? It's seems to go something like this:

Me: So, there I was walking down the street, when out of NOWHERE there came this giant purple garbage bin--
Faceless Person: Uh huh.
Me: --and it hit me SQUARE BETWEEN THE EYES, and apparantly there was some orange goop on it--
Faceless Person: Haha yeah.
Me: --so now that's why I have orange hair...*notices Faceless Person is texting and falls silent*
Faceless Person: *continues to text, not noticing their former conversational partner has ceased speaking. After a while....* Oh, keep going, I'm listening.
Me: *refuses to speak until the Faceless Person will give Me their full attention. A long silence ensues.*

I mean, come on, how rude can you be? If you're having a conversation with someone and you get a text, look at it later for god's sake. I'm sure that whatever it is they are texting you is not important enough that it can't wait five minutes. You wouldn't suddenly start talking to someone else in the middle of a conversation, would you? If you would do that, I hope someday you get bitch slapped.

Anyways, I think I've rambled enough for one day. Here's another Random Fact: I really like Blue Sky natural cola--it's made with real sugar!

A Post

Hello. I'm writing this while sitting on the mattress of my bed. Just the mattress, since both the pad and my sheets have gone MIA. I've noticed that there appear to be several stains on the mattress itself, which my mother tells me is not good. They are yellowish brown in color, and I have no idea how they got there. Perhaps I am a closet bed-wetter? Hm. Perhaps. However, I suspect if that was the case, I would have found out about it by now. I mean, there would be the smell, for one. Have you ever smelled stale urine? Quite distinct. And then there would probably also be a strange damp feeling in my pants every morning. I feel like it would be somewhat hard to miss that, but maybe I underestimate my own observational abilities.

To be honest, I don't really know what I hope to accomplish by starting this blog. I have far more useful things I could be doing. Enhancing my education. Working on a career. Washing my clothes. Painting my toenails. Yet, here I am, starting a blog that no one will probably ever read. And why should they, really? My life is pretty hum drum, for the most part.

But I suspect every blogger starts out with those sentiments. So I guess I'll cut them short.

Before I truly begin with my ramblings though, I feel as if I should explain the title of this blog to all my imaginary readers,  lest they get the idea that I will be filling this space with morose poetry, skeletal imagery, and Lovecraft quotes. (Ok, there may actually be some Lovecraft quotes at some point. I am rather a large fan of horror-esque things. But not the point.) Summoned to Darkness is a book, by Anne-Marie Sheridan.  It centers around the girl Meg Gaunt, and...well, I have to admit I really don't have the patience to give a detailed summary of the story. Suffice it to say, it involves Italy, love, murder, and an inheritance. It has been a favorite of mine for some time.

So, yes. That is why this blog is called what it is. Or maybe it was the fact that the book happened to be laying next to me and I didn't feel like spending hours coming up with a title. That could be it too.

I sort of feel like launching into this thing right now and talking all about my day and what (un)eventful things have been going on in my life, but then I think it might be a little bit of overkill for a first posting. Plus, I need to keep some things to myself to maintain my aura of mysterious allure. I will be like Dracula, only instead of drawing you in with hypnotism and promises of immortality I will use my girlish charm and feminine wiles.

Or perhaps I should leave you with a random tidbit of information about myself? That seems to be a good alternative, since, to be honest, I don't really have any femenine whiles. I love mismatched socks. That is my random tidbit. They're twice the fun!