Contradictory

I'm in high school at the moment, which means I'm on Facebook.  And it's winter time, which means the Winter Formal is coming up.  How do these relate?  Many girls I'm 'friends' with are advertising themselves for Formal.

Same thing, right?

I have never seen this desperation before.  On Facebook, at least; because let's face it, no creature is more needy or desperate than a high school girl.  Maybe a baby sea turtle.

Anyway, these are the same girls who are all "No, you make me a sammich," and "I'm independent and happy to be single."  What happens between late November and early January that drives these wannabe suffrage movement young women to stereotypes in those Valentine's Day movies?

How I hate this movie...

I'm legitimately confused.  Yes, girls can be particularly fickle at times, but to pull a 180 like that?  And only for a few months?  It's like they never even...

Cue the hipster light bulb.

Such masks they wear, that they can hide so cleverly!  How did I not see it before?  Of course they care, of course they want to be asked out to Formal so badly that they'll advertise themselves on Facebook.  Here I was, pitying them for their seemingly contradictory state and believing they couldn't choose a frame of mind.  You win this round, high school girls.  You win this round...


Stay colorful,
                     Meimei

Cracked

If you've followed any of the links that I've posted before, you may have noticed that I read articles on Cracked an awful lot.  It's because the stuff they write about is true, applicable to my life, and therefore I find it hilarious.  The language can become vulgar at times, but that's basically the only issue.  As I said, it's freakin' hilarious.

If you've read my other posts and read articles on Cracked, you'll see that I follow the 'paragraph-submit picture with caption-paragraph' format.  I do this because a) it's a funny way to get a point across and b) that style of writing isn't just theirs and isn't copyrighted, so I don't feel bad about it.

I have a case of writer's block (which, for a non-writer, is like leprosy), so I'm going to post some of my favorite articles on here for your enjoyment.  Maybe you'll find out a little more about me based on what I find humorous...maybe you don't care...

M. Night Shyamalan--The Last Airbender
Bioware
Traumatizing Baby Products
A Gamer's Manifesto
Badass Presidents
Stupid LOTR Characters
Offenses Punishable by Death
Stupid SW Characters
Video Game Plot Devices
Public Restrooms

These are the articles that lasted with me, but those that are uploaded every day make me laugh as well.  Just to make this clear, I do not own any of this and did not write these articles.  Happy, lawyers?

Look at those cold, inhuman stares.

 

Stay colorful,
                     Meimei

Busy

Lo siento, mis compadres.  I've been slaving away in the non-Internet world of school and Battlefield 3 (first world problems are the worst), and therefore haven't had the time or the inclination to sit down and blog.  Also, I've been adding a lot to my book and I wanted to focus all my writing energies on it, so blogging sort of took a backseat this month.

Ironic reference, or racist?

However, the stupid part of me that wants to be responsible pulled a Rosa Parks and brought the issue to the front of my mind.  So I'm back, and I'll try not to be away so long again.  Okay?  Okay.  So, is there a topic I need to write about or...wait, I got it!

Cue the hipster light bulb.

Let's take the opportunity to keep on the title topic (I hate the word titular) (you know why) and talk about what happens when we perceive ourselves as 'busy'.  When I procrastinate and wait until 10:30 to start a mountain of homework, I'll tell people I was 'busy' the entire afternoon and had to stay up until 3 AM.  I could very well have done my school crap earlier and had time to write a clever little post on this deserted blog, but I'm lazy and self-entitled and I don't want to believe that I sit around doing nothing most of the time.  And yes, I basically just admitted that I could've blogged a lot more.

What else do we send to the back of the proverbial bus that is our attention span?  Work?  Family?  I understand this is more serious than my other posts; however, life gets serious, and I thought I'd kick your guilty conscience in the groin before someone you care about does.  You're welcome.

I got real with y'all, now it's time to examine your own priorities.  If you're too afraid to own up to yourself, get on your knees and tell your Father the issues you have.  He won't judge, and it can only help.  I'll leave you at that, my broskis.

Stay colorful,
                     Meimei

Burn Victim

It's November, and it's cold outside.  And because there's only tile in this house, it's also cold inside.  I would get a blanket, but I've succeeded in wrapping my legs up in a way that (a) allows me to keep my feet somewhat warm and (b) makes them fall asleep to where if I tried to walk I would stumble around like Bambi.

What a retard.

This winter chill did not come about overnight--it came overnight several days ago (if you thought women were bipolar you should see our weather patterns).  Yesterday I went to Starbucks and ordered a peppermint hot chocolate, hoping the cocoa would warm my tummy and hold the cold air at bay.  It turned out it was the barista's favorite hot drink too, and she put on the perfect amount of whipped cream for any hot chocolate lover (the ratio of cream to drink should be in the neighborhood of 2:8).  This was turning out to be the best trip to Starbucks ever. 

She finished making my cocoa and asked me how it was.  Normally, I'd wait a bit and try to let my drink cool off, but she was excited--and I was kind of cold--so I went ahead and tasted.  And the very fires of Hell burned the tip of my tongue, with scorching flames roasting their way down my throat.

He was there.

It only took around two seconds to drink and swallow the fiery liquid, yet my tongue felt as though it had been bathed in refining fire for an eon.  My barista smiled expectantly at me, and I returned the favor; what I could taste of the peppermint-chocolate was fantastic, and it wasn't her fault that hot cocoa was hot.  I then walked out to my car, got in and sat crying in pain.  Not really, but you get the idea.

Welcome to Hell.

Also, in case you were wondering, I have lost the ability to taste with my front taste buds.  Sorry, words on the tip of my tongue.


Stay colorful,
                     Meimei

Livin' the Dream

Opulence:  I has it.  Not in the form of grand wealth or a multitude of earthly possessions, but in much simpler things.  I won't go so far as to say less is more or anything so stereotypical and boring, but I, sitting here on the computer with my Ben and Jerry's on Friday night, have come to see this sentiment to hold true.

Honestly, these moments that some--including myself--might call 'pathetic' or 'that of a loner' make me happier than a Brit with tea and crumpets.  I love the time I have to myself, where I can just write out what I'm thinking to an apathetic audience and thank God that I live a life where such moments of peace are possible.

I don't care for the several parties going on right now, because the highlight of my week isn't getting high with a bunch of dumbasses who would sooner drink themselves blind than ponder their futures (hint:  they rhyme with shworking at shMcDonalds).  And no, this isn't 'bitter me' speaking; I hate going to sober gatherings--socially awkward, you know.

So here's to the small things like ice cream, blogs, and time to contemplate the things in our lives.  To writing crap poetry because you feel like it, watching a simultaneously boring and fascinating documentary on Netflix, and reading comedic articles about life online.  Let's toast to living the dream of simple pleasures and small blessings.  Raise your glass of whatever and drink up--because, hey, you're not driving.


Stay colorful,
                     Meimei

Rage Comics

In Kindergarten, brightly colored educational posters lined our walls.  I remember one of them had rows of heads, each with an exaggerated expression on its face.

It looked like this.

There were the happy faces with the big smiles, the surprised faces with implied 'gasps', and so on.  I always thought these were stupid, probably because my emotions hardly deviate from neutral or angry.  I suppose God ordained this so that one day I would find a new set of faces to fit my personality.  This group of consternated expressions, known as Rage Comics, has occupied my free time (and the time I should be working) for five months now, and I think I'm in love.

Don't worry Jimmy.  You're still my number one.

What I really like about these comics is that they're a visual FML, but not as unrealistic.  Even if some are made up--and I don't doubt that truth--they're still relatable and, in my opinion, very funny.
You can find these suckers on Memebase, reddit, tumblr, and a bunch of other places.  Me?  I read them on my phone.  Because there's also a bunch of applications geared towards the viewing and even creating of Rage Comics.

If you've never seen one of these comics before, you're probably sitting there, thinking to yourself Why should I take your word on what's funny and what isn't?  Now you're probably wondering how I'm able to read your mind.  To answer your original question:  you shouldn't just take my comments alone.  Which is why I supplied the links above and the pictures below.

 Now each face expresses a different emotion, but some have specific meanings and names.  For example, the man with the pipe?  Troll Dad.  The gasping individual in the first comic is Raisins.  And one of my favorites, Forever Alone...

I don't know why that one appeals to me so much...

Stay colorful,

                     Meimei

Awkard: Affectionate Animations

We've all experienced awkward moments.  Everyone falls silent and the carpet design is suddenly incredibly interesting.  Cue the faint cough.

Today, the culprit of vexatious situations is something that, for some reason, really bothers me to no end.  It is:  animations kissing.

Oh God, why?

 

Maybe it's the unnatural image of, well, images showing affection.  Perhaps it's that a kiss is such a uniquely human thing that it cannot be recreated by any illustrator.  And yet, they keep on trying and trying...

Make it stop.

 

Look at the above picture again.  First, I'm sorry.  Second, what's up with his arm?  Is it dislocated? because it looks stuck like the shoulder is twisted in an odd fashion, and the elbow is almost bending backwards.  Third, she looks like she's twisting his neck, not cupping his jaw (or whatever's supposed to be happening, I can't tell).  Keep in mind, I'm not being blindly critical here--this still is from one of my all-time favorite games:  Mass Effect.  I love the characters and their relationships, romantic and otherwise, but this moment just doesn't look natural.

I know, I know, I shouldn't expect them to be perfect, but as I said, a kiss is a very human thing; if it doesn't look like what people do, it's going to be off.  This is why, as you may notice, most animators don't draw the faces in clear view--it's fairly difficult to convey emotion on something lifeless.

Now, why do they do it?  My assumption is that they feel that a kiss acts as a catalyst for progression of a relationship or even a whole story.  And I suppose just saying two people kissed would come across as odd, but why must it look so cringe-worthy and repulsive?

"Pa, why you eatin' Momma's eye?"

Stay colorful,

                     Meimei

Tattoos

There are a good deal of things I would love to do, but only because I haven't thought them through at all.  The Running of the Bulls, cliff diving, telling my neighbors to shut the hell up, the whole neighborhood doesn't want to listen to the issues you have with your mother.  The topic for today:  getting a wicked tattoo.

Not what I meant.

I understand that getting a tattoo isn't as dangerous as getting impaled by a bull, but it is a decision that will stick to--or rather, on--you.  When it comes to long-lasting ink, I am a firm believer that the choice to wear it should be thought out.  So, hey, why don't we plan this together?  This is, after all, hypothetical, which means no holding back.  Who's ready to look like a human coloring book?

He always gets made fun of for being bald.

What does one tattoo onto their body?  A name?  Too dangerous.  Barbed wire?  Too douchey.  Maori?  Wait a minute, what is that?

Oh.

The Maori are a tribe from New Zealand, and they're actually pretty cool looking.  Though I'd make some modifications.  For example, the face would be mostly blank, and the patterns on my limbs would ideally have thicker lines.  We don't want to be too weird looking, now.

Even her background is tattooed.

What about something not so crazy.  You may know that I'm a nerd (I've only ever mentioned it seventy-three times), so what can we do with that?  I know, I've asked many rhetorical questions, but just one more:  Who is the one character that completely and perfectly describes, embodies, and summarizes all of what Star Wars is?

 

Perfect.

As tempting as these options are, I'm going to have to go with the all-time best ever tattoo.  I think you know what it is, but for the heck of it, I'll give you some hints:  daring, hilarious, ironically hipster.

 

You're jealous.

On second thought, I'll go yell at my neighbors.

Stay colorful,

                     Meimei

Fanfiction

Fanfiction, fan fiction, fanfic, FF, whatever.  I didn't know what it was up until a few months ago when I was reading an article somewhere (probably on Cracked).  If you don't know what it is, here's a quick summary:  fanfic is the unauthorized--but not technically illegal because most authors/creators don't care--creation of a story based on characters from anything with a wide fan base (Star Wars and the Mario&Luigi universes are favorites, as well as anime stuff I'm not going to bother to type out); this includes real-life celebreties, which is extra creepy.  Why do I say extra? Because some fanfic can be of a sexual nature, gay and straight; however, some stories are just an innocent expansion on a story (ie how was Luke's life growing up in between the SW trilogies?).  Unfortunately, the first kind is very popular.  And most all fanfic is written by women, so it's pretty angsty. 

When I found out, I thought What the hell is wrong with people?  Why do they ruin my favorite nerdy obsessions?  Honestly, people need to leave Kirk and Spock alone.

The obvious sexual tension is in the pink lighting.

But I've decided to not judge all of it based on second-hand info.  Therefore, I'm actually going to read fanfic (not the inappropriate kind, guys, I don't roll like that) and see for myself if it's as angsty and emotional and sappy as it's made out to be.  As a side note, you should know that I am the most stoic girl you will probably never meet, so this should be fun? Yeah, fun!

 

Like going to the dentist...

Alrighty, time to pick...hmm...I love Star Wars, and therefore I've played Knights of the Old Republic (I know, neeeerrd). There was a little 'romance' thing that happened with the main character and another character, and it wasn't really developed well.  *Note, if, for some reason you haven't played this game since it was released in 2003, there are spoilers.  Also, stop procrastinating, because eight years? Seriously.*  Let's see if some middle-aged housewife did better than the game writers at creating fake love!

 

She looks like a gamer.

A google search for 'good female revan/carth fanfic" (Revan is the female, Carth the male) leads me to fanfiction.net, to somebody who calls themselves Lady Revan (dear Lord, help me now) and has a few stories dedicated to these two characters.  Mkay, at least she seems to care about the characters.  In the interest of time, I will read one of the shorter stories.  Here we go. (If you want a link to the fanfic, here you go)

"You okay?" he asked.

I didn't say anything. I looked at his face, then down at his hand holding my arm, then back up at him. Carth apologized, releasing his grip. We stood there looking at each other, only the sound of the burning fire and snapping twigs and branches breaking the uncomfortable silence.

-Okay, trying not to be judgemental, trying not to be cynical, but this is getting too emotional.

Carth sighed. "I tried to follow after you… lost you when you ran off…" He shook his head. "Look, I just—"

"You just what?" I snapped.

"I wanted to come with you when we landed, but you ran off before I could say anything." His face fell. "I… I've walked a dead planet before. It's not something you should do alone. I wanted to make sure you'd be all right."

-Alright.  Bringing in character history and personality; I appreciate that.  At least it makes the fanfic more...realistic?  If that word can be applied to a fictional story about a fictional story.

I heard Carth call to me a second time, his voice louder. He wasn't yelling, he was walking after me. I wanted to scream for him to leave me alone, to go back to the ship and take his pet droid with him. I didn't need him hovering over me, lecturing me again how I was the one who killed his wife, possibly adding that I killed everyone on this planet, too. I didn't need to hear the truth again.

-This doesn't read as desperate as I thought it would, and the author now expands on the main character.  I'm actually interested in what happens next.  Sort of.  Maybe.

I wanted to feel loved by someone.

I wanted that person to be Carth.

His arms loosened their hold around me. He asked me if I was okay, and I nodded. "You sure?" he asked.

Our eyes met. "No," I whispered.

-No, sorry, can't do it.  The author officially lost me at "our eyes met."  The writing was good for an amateur, and certainly better than others that I perused in the search for a fanfic to blog about, but it's just too damn sappy.  If you like it, I am very happy for you, because again I'm not saying it was bad.  The tenderness *gag* of the story just made me nauseous--as indicated by the gag--and that's because I'm a cynical old codger.

This is me reading fanfic.

If you're feeling especially angsty one day, I recommend this as way to relieve that mindset.  Have you ever been afraid while watching a horror movie, but the person next to you is just losing it so you have to be brave for them?  Think of fanfic as that screaming, terrified person and you as the one who's thinking I have to tough it out, if only so that I don't act like that. 

I closed my eyes and let him guide me back to the ship, hoping that things would get better, both with our Star Map journey, and between us.

-Yeah, I just threw up.

Stay colorful,

                     Meimei

Zombie Apocalypse

Who doesn't want to be a badass?  Even the most hardcore, shredded marine fantasizes about ways he could save America in a more awesome bullet-fueled way. 

Look out, Al Qaeda.

Being the nerd that I am, I can only dream about earning such a status.  So I do just that:  dream.  I have been mentally preparing for the infamous Zombie Apocalypse ever since The Walking Dead premiered on AMC (great show, by the way).  This might seem weird and unusually morbid, but there are a good deal of books written on the subject of the undead, so I do feel a little better knowing I'm not the only one.  Keep in mind that I don't want zombies eating everyone, I just stick with the wisdom of Mark Twain:  "Zombies be comin', so you best look out."

I think he said that.

The key to winning any war is all about knowing your enemy (that may or may not be true, I just made that up).  Unfortunately, because we don't know what kind of zombie we're going to be dealing with, that leaves a bit of a pickle; I'm talking about 28 Days Later super fast variety or the standard moaning and limping type.  Either way, there are some standard do's and don't's when it comes to battling the undead.

DON'T

• ...lock yourself away somewhere, ie a bank vault.  Somebody had the bright idea that the Apocalypse could be waited out, but guess what?  THEY'RE THE FREAKING UNDEAD.  They wait you out.

• ...bring or wear anything noisy unless you will die without it.  In the Apocalypse, the world is dead quiet (I know you liked that pun), and your rolling backpack flipping over on the unkempt streets every three seconds will alert everything within a five mile radius.

I'm looking at you, Pippin.

• ...forget what makes you different from the enemy.  We are called to love one another, and we cannot, will not, must not abandon out brothers and sisters to the hoards of flesh eating monsters.  If we do, we are just zombies with an appetite for normal food.

DO

• ...know what to bring.  For example, you just saw on the news that Patient X has escaped and bitten two people, causing a pyramid scheme more deadly than any entrepreneur could ever hope for.  So what do you grab on your way out the door?  Don't worry if you can't think of anything--here's a list you can use.  Just make sure you don't forget a weapon that isn't too heavy and doesn't require reloading, because if you were thinking you could buy supplies...

• ...avoid populated areas (that ranges from cities to supermarkets) because, well, a couple reasons. a) There will be masses of folks trying to stock up on supplies in Costco as well as the local gun store.  In either one of these places, you'll encounter people violently trying to stay alive (the latter area will have violent and armed individuals), and death by normal people is just insulting. b)  Where do you think the Apocalypse will spread to first? Same place where bird flu and swine flu and pop culture spread.  You got it--major cities.  Just stay off the main roads, and you'll be alright.

I like to think I've watched enough Zombieland and played enough of the Black Ops zombie level to fare well, but in reality I'd probably only last a full twenty-four hours.  Oh well, at least I'm a badass in my own mind.



Stay colorful,
                      Meimei

Jello Pool: My Attempt at Writing

I have a confession to make.  Ready?

I have absolutely no writing talent.  Shocking, I know.  But, yeah, I can't hold a candle to Hemmingway, Orwell, and especially not William "this sh*t writes itself" Shakespeare.

A true genius

So when I took English my high school sophomore year, I expected the same routine I'd encountered beforehand:  a few essays each semester, some lazy reading out of the textbook, and an easy A (no, a snarky Emma Stone was not involved).  Yeah, I was never more wrong.

My teacher had the crazy idea that students should write in an English class.  Every week.  As in an essay every single week, after I had been used to doing an average of four per year.  Naturally, this seems like nothing to me now, but I digress.

You, my dear friend, might be thinking Ain't nothin but a thang, an essay here and there.  And normally you'd be right; however, our essays weren't your run of the mill analysis-of-the-text essays.  No sir, we often wrote on philosophical matters.  Like "what is love" and "is thought or action more important."  I had never, nor had anyone else in my class, been confronted with such deep questions--still haven't.  I've also never had another teacher who rapped as often as he did.

Anyhow, I kept trying to answer some of the questions in my essays.  I was always lacking an argument, but at the time all I thought was I am such a DUMBASS.  At this point you may have asked yourself What does any of this pointless crap have to do with Jello?  I'll tell you.
Jello Pool is where all of the creative thoughts and ideas gathered and became art:  poetry, songs, what have you.  The idea is that all these colorful tidbits of the mind gathered into a rainbow pool of jello, and you either swam in the pool or watched.  Meaning you could either write poetry and share it on Fridays, or you sat there wishing you had the ability to write something other than a blog.

All the world's a...library?  Dammit!

If you haven't guessed it by now, I didn't participate.  More like couldn't, because I physically, emotionally, spiritually, physiologically, astrophysically cannot write poetry no matter how much effort I put into it.  But I only ever tried after I took his class, and it feels a little easier.  I've even begun writing a little something of a book--and it's fiction!  You thought I was gonna say non-fiction or biography or something boring like that.

The point of this is, I want to thank that insane teacher who very often made me felt like a complete fool and an inept writer.  That class really humbled me and made me realize that I had no idea what the hell I was talking about, and I needed to shut up and listen so I could learn something.  This theory has yet to fail me.  So here's to the man who taught me how to write.  Keep speaking Yiddish (even though you're Italian), keep challenging students' perceptions of reality, keep speaking the Truth without fear of smartass comments from ignorant children, because they're idiots anyway.  But I don't need to tell you this--you'd be skeptical to change if God Himself told you to.

Stay colorful,
                     Meimei

Pilot

I know what you're thinking. What's up with the stupid title?

I'll explain it.  I like to think I'm creative, or something close to it.  Or I'm at least random enough to pass for creative.  Anyhow, the weird, crazy, random thoughts and ideas that come from my mind don't quite meet the requirements for 'jello' (more on that later), but I do believe crayons do fit the bill.

Think about it.  Crayons are colorful, bright utensils that, while their colors are taken from real-life sources, can be used to make some pretty cool stuff.  And that's me:  just a wandering individual who isn't creative enough on her own to make something spectacular, but often surprises herself with what can be mustered up from the waxy rainbow within.

Now onto the pencils.  I'm not saying I am the shining star in the dismal night or anything so melodramatic and hipster.  I'm not that guy (hopefully).  However, we live in a world where imagination is slowly being transformed into ideal imagination, where the wrong or unpopular kind of creative is ostracized.  That leaves boring, dull grey (gray?) graphite pencils to surface repeatedly.

That leaves you and me, my probably nonexistent reader, to decide which we want to be.  I understand I haven't elaborated on my obviously genious analogy, but I hope it makes some sense. I still have math homework to do, but this blog had to be created immediately and I'm pressed for time.  (so many 'to be' verbs...again, more on that later).  As for me, I choose the childlike, rainbow of light.  If you're the type that thinks that sounds gay--which it sort of did, honestly--then choose your own wording, by all means.

Now go forth, and draw beautiful, wondrous things with the gifts Crayola gave you (metaphor, anyone?).  Live in this pencil box and inspire the poor, graphite souls; perhaps we can make room for more than sixty-four crayons?  Or whatever the number is nowadays, they keep making these castles of crayons.  It's insane.

Stay colorful,
                      Meimei