Spaulding.

I bought a stuffed Dakin bunny from around 1980 about a month ago at Goodwill for $.99.

Apparently, that’s a steal and this company is actually historically important in the toy industry.

Dani for the win.

Buggles.

Best video I’ve seen in a long ass time.

Minnesota.

I went with my dad today to pick up some chicken wings for dinner. While we were sitting in a booth waiting on our order to be made and packed up, a TV was playing The Wheel of Fortune across the room, and a family was munching and trying to solve the puzzle.

One of the answers involved the word “Minnesota.”

I honestly can’t remember how Minnesota was involved in the puzzle, but bear with me here and follow along.

The family all exclaimed their surprise when the final word turned out to be the name of a state, and not what they had believed it to be initially.

Following the solving of the puzzle, I heard a conversation that made my blood curdle.

One of the girls at the table asked her father where Minnesota was.

Her sister replied it was a country.

Her other sister said it was a state.

When their father replied, I almost launched myself out of my chair and across the restaurant at them.

“I actually don’t know. It might be a country.”

WHAT THE FUCK?!

This man was balding, and his daughters were all around the age of 12. So, in my mind, he had to be around the age of 40, or at least nearing it. Why, then, is it that he has no idea where MINNESOTA is?

It’s a STATE!

Not a country.

STATE.

It’s up north.

People talk strangely there, saying “oh” like “ooh.”

And he had no idea what it was.

If this is what the world is coming to, I’d like to buy a one-way ticket to the moon, please. No luggage.

She Says

I have a big mouth.

Oddly enough, I haven’t realized it until now.

Every time someone tells me something, I have this tendency to tell everyone else I know all about it, but I really don’t think about the consequences.

And, now that I’ve taken notice, I’ve discovered I need to take charge of it before it gets me into some huge shit.

I don’t know how to stop, though.

I mean, I’ve actually already started working on making a change, and I’ve messed it up once while doing so, and despite the fact I don’t know if what I said will actually make anything happen, the fact I’m not sure about whether or not I’m in the clear is driving me crazy.

[To make it worse, I lost my pills, and am now in day two of withdrawl stage. Which is brilliant.]

How to prevent anything in the future is something I don’t know exactly how to do.

I mean, I can’t just fix something automatically … I’ve tried that already, and like I said, my mouth has taken it upon itself to open up again despite my attempts.

Do I just write “shut up” on my wrists, or is there another way to make myself aware that I’m a blabbermouth and need to be stopped?

Ack.

I guess I just need to go buy a Sharpie.

xXEMOXx

I don’t fucking get it. Why am I always wrong?

Every day it seems like there’s something else I’ve either said or done that doesn’t sit well with him. Every day I get scolded like a puppy that shits on the rug repeatedly because of something I don’t even realize happened.

I don’t answer a text message?

I’m in trouble.

I make a sexual joke by mistake to a customer at work?

I’m in trouble again.

I get upset and start crying?

I’m a fuck up.

I can’t fucking take this shit.

I can’t always be doing something wrong.

And half the time it doesn’t make sense.

Why would my boyfriend, or well, FIANCE, get mad at me over something as stupid as a conversation, a missed text message, or a wrong signal when I haven’t even realized what damage it could do, and when usually, I’m completely unaware?

Oddly enough, he does shit that I never get mad at him about, and when he cries to me, I try to calm him down.

That time at a gig when two girls gave him a lap dance and he could have told them, “NO, I have a GIRLFRIEND, and I don’t think she’d appreciate this?” I just sat back, forgave him, and let him take me to a movie.

The times when he doesn’t call me back, forgets to say I love you when he’s hanging up, or doesn’t respond to MY texts? I just wait patiently and deal with it until he finally gets back to me.

I don’t get why in every relationship [yeah, this has happened MANY times before] I’m always fucking up, I’m always the cause of distress, and no matter what I do, I can’t seem to make anyone happy.

It’s like I’m a burden or something.

Danielle is a piece of shit.

That has to be written down in a book somewhere depicting my entire life.

Nothing but a bothersome piece of shit stuck to the bottom of every boyfriend’s hypothetical shoe.

I’m just a problem, a mistake, they could probably find something better, and I’m just a damn burden until the time comes when they realize that I’m not worth it.

Because, apparently, I’m not.

I’ve had a million boyfriends. Three of those wanted to marry me.

And then one day, it becomes too much, and it’s all over.

All the promises, the plans, the dreams and so on … they just fade off into black, or whatever cliche you want to buy into, and I’m left in the dust, AGAIN, because of something I didn’t even mean to do, or I was too emotional, or too negative, or just not fucking GOOD ENOUGH.

Fuck.

I warned him the day we started dating again that I have a lot of problems. I was in therapy for half the time we’ve been dating, and I’m on pills to help me function. I can’t even SLEEP without a pill, let alone walk out the door and act normal.

I’ve had a lot of shit happen this year, too, and that’s effected me in terrible ways.

But somehow, that doesn’t matter.

The loss of my grandmother isn’t something that should get in my way of anything.

The things my ex did behind my back while he was away shouldn’t make me a little paranoid that my boyfriend lives in another state and might go on tour soon?

I don’t have room to be a little afraid when he doesn’t answer his phone because my other ex was fucking another girl while he hit the bitch button?

GOD DAMMIT.

We’ve TALKED about these things.

He knows how I feel about everything, and yet I’m still always the one who is at fault.

It’s all still just me.

I ruin everything.

World hunger is my fault, too, because I eat one meal a day.

I probably caused AIDS.

And cancer.

Whatever.

I’m going to go cut myself.

/emo whining.

Shake It

… I still don’t get why my boyfriend calls me a giraffe.

I mean, I’m tall, but my neck will certainly never bend that way.

Miaow.

This just serously upset my cat, Mitten. He’s actually still searching for the invisible cat making all the noise.

Wax Pineapple

Maybe I’m just ill-informed, but I have always been under the impression that WebMD is supposed to offer you little tips somewhere on the website to help with headaches, stomach pain, heartburn, etc., while giving you helpful advice on other issues and facts on medical advances.

If this is so, then why is it so fucking hard for me to find a damn cure for this headache I’ve got that’s driving me insane and is apparently not going away with Tylenol or any other pain medication in my house?

God. The site freaked out when I typed in the word “headache” and proceeded to tell me about tons of articles in Women’s Magazine, and other things like that when all I want is the site itself to tell me to, say … pinch the webbing on my hand between my thumb and pointer finger, like my friend did Freshman year of high school. Or, maybe, if it’s at all possible, tell me that I can arrange to have someone come over and kick me in my shin, so I’ll focus on something else, and forget about my throbbing head.

Anything would have been better than alarminst articles about headaches being related to diabetes.

[I'm 19. Diabetes isn't something I'm concerned with right now!]

But, I suppose I ask too much. That, perhaps, a quick-fix is something that is completely unobtainable, and I should just go hire someone to shoot me so that this migrane will finally end.

[And no, I'm not stupid enough to do such a thing.]

On the bright side, though, I’ve fallen in love with a LiveJournal community called ThriftHorror that posts pictures of horrible things on sale at the members’ local thrift and antique stores.

Some of the finds really aren’t that bad, but actually pretty entertaining. And, on occasion, something is posted that is actually really freaking awesome.

The only bad thing about the site, is it makes me want to go and hunt down my own awesome finds at my local shops, but I’m seriously lacking in money right now, and I’m pretty sure that my boyfriend won’t be too happy with me if when we finally get enough money to merge our bank accounts and get that apartment together, that I carry in a giant bag full of small figurines, and seven boxes of books that were on sale at Serendipity just off Bartlett Boulevard.

So, despite my incessant need to follow in the steps of the other member of this community, I must fight the urge and stay behind my computer screen, in hopes of keeping myself from doing something stupid and coming home with a giant stuffed bear that was only $20 because I thought it was a steal.

It’s all good, though, because I bought Pretty Little Mistakes the other day used at Hastings, and a good book always makes me smile.

… Hey. My headache’s gone.

Human Behavior

God … if I was a lesbian, I’d be all over her, just because of her voice.

As strange as that sounds.

Vampires in Love

Why isn’t this Twilight thing dying off yet?

I never could have imagined that the book I read when it first came out, and then discarded due to my disgust with Bella’s stupidity, would become a cult-phenomenon that’s staggeringly closing in on the obsession most of us had with N*SYNC or The Backstreet Boys.

At least then, the guy every teenaged girl was fantasizing over was REAL.

Now the boy of choice is a sparkling, perhaps even “limp-wristed,” if you will, vampire guy who can run incredibly fast and is too cold to cuddle with.

Oh yeah, let me tell you how erotic I think it’d be to be held by someone who feels like a fucking ice-cube while cozying up for bed at night.

There’s nothing better, I’ll tell ya whut.

Geez.

The only reason I’m bringing this up is that I just stumbled across something I found to be a little … disturbing.

[Well, maybe not disturbing ... but it is pretty awful to think people are branching out to this.]

On some website that I can’t recall at the moment, some girl with a DIY lipgloss kit has given birth to the newest tragedy brought on by Twilight Symdrome:

EDWARD LIPGLOSS!~~~~

“A lip balm flavored to remind you of Edward’s taste.
Edward’s “honey~ice” lip balm is a must on your lips.
Peppermint for a cooling sensation, sweetened with honey and vanilla, add a dash of sparkle. Perfection.

Look for the matching Edward body lotion and spray.”

Oh, kill me.

How would this possibly-12-year-old entrepreneur even know what a “vampire” tasted like?

Do vampires even have a taste?

I’m sure if they did, it’d be kind of iron-ish like BLOOD and not pleasant like honey and peppermint.

I mean, seriously.

I hadn’t even kissed a boy at twelve, let alone put thought into the taste of a pretty much dead guy’s mouth.

I just don’t get it, and maybe that’s why I’m so sour towards all of this, but I’m really getting tired of perusing magazine racks to find something to help reduce the onslaught of pimples my monthly gift greets me with at every visit, and being stared-down by that Patterson kid and that dog-ish looking girl who he is apparently now dating.

[The fact I know they're a couple now makes me sick to my stomach.]

I just want it all to die out, and SOON.

I can’t take any more vampire-associated books being shoved in my face, or stupid columns and TV programs professing their love for the dark and “tortured” boys that remind the writers of their beloved Edward who is just a stupid fictional character in a BOOK.

If it doesn’t die out before Halloween, I’m dousing myself in glitter and going as the gay-fairy-Edward to every party I get invited to, just to bring this thing to an end in some small way.

And that’s a promise.