Names and Saying Them

I have the horrible habit of, in my head, calling people by the name of what I think they look like instead of their actual name. For example, there could be a person named Butter, but I think they look more like a Jelly, so I’ll call them Jelly (not out loud, of course).

I’m making an effort to stop. I consciously use their actual names in my head were I to think of them. It’s in that brief moment when you first see someone when things spiral out of my control.

ARACHNID: “Hey, Butter… elly!!”

BUTTER/JELLY glares with the fire of a thousand flaming suns at ARACHNID. ARACHNID spontaneously combusts.

It’s a nightmare when you call one of your closest friends by something other than their name (that is also not an applicable nickname).

Except for a few mortifying instances, this issue thankfully doesn’t occur often because I tend to never use people’s names when I’m talking to them.

PEOPLE: Hey, Arachnid!

ARACHNID: Hi. (Note the lack of “People”)

I never really thought about not-saying-people’s-names until a few weeks ago. I can’t remember what prompted me to think about it. Possibly someone said my name and I thought, Huh. I never say that person’s name. Or maybe I was trying to get someone’s attention and my usual methods were insufficient and I had to scream their name, and it felt awkward in my mouth. When I usually try to grab someone’s attention, I put my sock on my hand, along with googly eyes that are always conveniently located in my pocket, and throw a spectacular puppet show. Sorry, just trying to get your attention, dear reader. Making sure you’re not yet bored out of your mind and simply skimming these words for any sort of emotion to break the predictable mundaneness of daily zombie living. When I usually try to grab someone’s attention, I tap their shoulders. If that fails, I’ll wave my hand obnoxiously in their face or simply give up and flop over like a deflated version of those dancing balloon people thingies outside of car washes.

On the rare occasion that I use someone’s name, I more-often-than-not stumble over it like a bunny leaping over a boulder the size of Mount Everest (I’ve lost track of that simile. OH WELL). It’s not how it looks. I know your name, I really do! Just… AHHHHH. I can pronounce words.

I think the name I stumble the most on is my own. You never really say your own name often, and with such little practice with it, I’m terrible at saying it. I can barely eke out the traditional pronunciation, and even then, I have to repeat it back to you; I can’t come up with it off the top of my head. But, as my name is my own, I get to decide how to say it, right?

Is it A-rack-nid, like a horrible hacking cough, or is it A-rah-ch-nid like that itchy rash?

The main reason I decided to go with a pseudonym (Yes, I’ll admit, it’s a pseudonym. My parents did not actually name me Arachnid Weaver. But I will deny it if you ever ask) is because the name on my birth certificate is a pain to pronounce. It’s not the worst out there, but whenever anyone asks me how to say it, I usually have to repeat it multiple times, and even then, it’s a fifty-fifty shot.

But sometimes even I don’t pronounce it right (according to the pronunciation I prefer. If we go the traditional route, I never say it right).

I was always trying to escape my name. When I was four, I asked my mom why they didn’t name me Golden Girl (I’m glad they didn’t. And, yes, four-year-old-me wanted a superhero name. She didn’t yet realize that they had secret identities. She thought Spider-Man’s parents named him “Spider-Man” as a powerless infant). When I was in kindergarten, I’d occasionally put a name other than mine on my papers (probably a pain for the teacher to sort, but at least I was consistent). When I was ten, I wanted to legally change my name for my birthday (I didn’t).

What if the Day Were Eight Hours Longer?

Time is, unfortunately, limited. There is only so much you can have. It is also elusive. The slippery thing always seems to slip through your slippery fingers, doesn’t it? There never seems to be enough to go around.

They say you can make time, but can you, really? You can only rearrange time, redistribute it. Imagine that time is a carrot cake. You can give adequate slices to some, slivers to the undesirables, and crumbs to the vermin, but you still only have one cake, or twenty-four hours, to give away. If you need more time for something, you have to cut the time from something else. And unfortunately, things must be prioritized and it’s usually the things you enjoy that you find yourself having no time for.

But what if you could make more time? What if you could bake another cake? What if some gifted magician out there concentrated really hard and snapped his fingers and the day was suddenly, magically, twelve hours longer?

I was listening to a podcast, Ear Biscuits, the other day that posed this question. What if the day had an extra twelve hours? There are some stipulations: You wouldn’t need to sleep any longer and you wouldn’t have to work more. So if you truly had extra time, what would you do?

First of all, even though we don’t have to, I’d sleep more. Because couldn’t we all use some more sleep? The world would be a much happier place if only we weren’t all sleep deprived.

Second, though, I have no idea. There’s a difference between what I’d probably do and what I want to do.

In all honesty, if I had extra time, I’d most likely just work more. I’m like a goldfish, the amount of work I do expands with available time. (Note: The things about goldfish expanding with available space is a myth, but let’s just go with it because I like the analogy.) Even if I ran out of work, I’d probably find more. There’s an endless list of things I could do in order to be more productive. I could double-check my assignments, I could do the next day’s homework, I could study for the test in three weeks, I could read ahead, etc. That’s just how I roll.

However, since this is a purely hypothetical situation that can’t actually happen, let’s talk about the things I’d want to do. I’d probably just do more of the things I already do in my (rare) free time. Ergo, I’d read, write, blog, and draw more. I might even spend time with actual, real-life human beings instead of conversing with my textbooks. (I wouldn’t recommend them as partners in conversation. They’re very dull, very dry, they have poor taste in humor, and they only talk obsessively about one topic.) I might take up a new hobby, go on an adventure, who knows? I’d really like to have time to just sit and think (aka daydream) and people watch. (People can be really entertaining.)

So, in conclusion, this year, I’m going to try to be more efficient at doing my homework and I’m going to attempt to not go overboard with the amount I work, all in order to create free time. Think of it like I’m concentrating my work into a smaller sliver of time, without diluting the quality, somehow. (Except it’s not really true that it’s my New Year’s Resolution. I don’t believe in New Year’s Resolutions. I think if you have a goal or some plan for self-improvement, you shouldn’t wait for the New Year as an excuse to start. That seems a bit like procrastinating. Make your goal happen now. And besides, New Year’s Resolutions are notorious for never being kept anyway. My goal isn’t really a New Year’s Resolution. It’s a goal I’ve had since October, but one I’ve utterly failed at. I just thought I should tie in this post to the New Year somehow because I didn’t want yet another holiday to pass by without acknowledgement.)

And what would you do, dear nonexistent reader, if you suddenly found twelve extra hours plopped into your hands?

The Nightmare of Dentistry

I went to the dentist today. I despise the dentist.

But I have no cavities! Aren’t you so EXCITED that I have no cavities?! *Jazz hands*

I dislike the dentist so much because of the way they put their fingers in your mouth. Yes, they wear gloves, but still.

It’s also really wet. Yes, that drool sliding down your chin is yours, but it’s still spit. And it belongs in your mouth. And what about that suspicious clear liquid on the dentist’s glove? Is it water, or is it SPIT? My spit, but STILL!

Even more than doctorism, dentistry is one job I could never do. Day in and day out, you’re just sticking your hands in people’s mouths. So applause to all the dentists of the world for risking their sanity in order to keep people’s mouths cavity, pain, and dirt-free. *Claps*

ALSO. If there are any dentist out there reading this, please educate me on the rules of dentist-appointment etiquette. What the heck are you supposed to do with your tongue?!

• Put it at the bottom of your mouth?
• The roof of your mouth?
• Follow the fingers/tools? This is what I tend to do. I try not to, but it’s not a conscious thing. Sometimes I remember not to, sometimes I don’t. But if I were the dentist and the patient were doing this…
  • Arachnid the Dentist (screams): AHHH! THE TONGUE IS ATTACKING ME!!! (Runs out of the office, leaving the patient strapped to the chair with multiple sharp objects in their mouth.)
• Curl it up at the back of your mouth?
• Lick the dentist’s tools?

When I’m at the dentist, I feel like a puppet. A very stressed puppet. Because here I am at the dentist’s mercy (I mean, if they wanted to, they could stab your mouth with those pointy tools) with sweat dripping down my back and the bright lights glaring at my eyes, masked dentists leaning above me with sharp tools at their disposal, thinking about all the other mouths these tools have touched (It’s the same principle as using a fork a restaurant), while the dentists are conversing with each other like normal human beings, occasionally asking you to tilt your head or open your mouth wider.

How to Get Out of a Pickle (ex: How to Open a Jar)

Are you stuck in a sticky situation? Well, Auntie Spin’s here to help you!

First, try to identify ze problem. Say the lid is stuck on a jar. What’s the problem? Is it the jar or the sticky lid? Also, make sure you identify the scent of the problem as well. If you don’t have a strong nose or for some mysterious reason don’t have one, you can always turn off the lights and find the little pickled demons hiding out. They usually are fluorescent purple.

Once you identified the problem which is (spoilers) obviously the jar, eliminate it. Destroy it. LET IT DIE. Don’t let it stay in your consciousness to rot and throw it away.

At the end of this step the jar should be broken or in other words, the pickle should explode.

Also, after you work your way through the first problem of a jar being rebellious, shards of glass may litter the floor. Practice your problem-solving skills and pick up the glass, or even better, smash it into smaller pieces.

At this point, your hands might be covered in blood. But look at it positively! Use it as an opportunity to redo the second step; elimination. Wash your hands thoroughly with lots of soap and keep on doing so even if it stings.

After this, you just may feel a sharp sensation under your feet. This is the perfect opportunity to identify the problem! Turn off the lights and look for the pickled demons. If they turn up, try using a conveniently placed missile to take it down.

Your house may come down with it, but at least you solved the problem, right?

A Rambling About the Purpose of Breathing and Mashed Potatoes

Welcome back to A Stream of Random Thoughts, where I will use a random word generator to generate a random word. After which I will say whatever crosses my mind!

Doesn’t that sound like fun? That sounds like a ton of fun!

Aren’t you EXCITED?!

(Can you tell by my tone that I have once again done WAY too much homework? I’m doing this while I’m trying to figure out my physics in the back of my head. It’s somewhere back there. It just has to emerge as the correct answer.)

So today’s word is…

…

…

SNIFF

 

What a wonderful word! I was thinking today, as I was walking down the hallway of my school, preparing to acquire more homework (aka, go to class), that some words are pretty because of what they mean, like bunny or happy or clover, and some are pretty because of the way they sound, like grotesque or ubiquitous or arbitrary.

bunny. happy. clover.

grotesque. ubiquitous. arbitrary.

I AM SENSING SIMILARITIES BETWEEN THESE WORDS.

My mind has exploded. You peeps must be wiping brain matter from your computer screens. Because that’s how it works. My brain explodes on THIS side of the computer, and my brain matter ends up on THAT side. (Look how connected we are. We’re friends. *Warm squishy feels*.) If only it worked like that. Then I could just reach through and steal all the cookies you guys bake without me. *pouts*

My brain is a mush. Bleh. Blech. Blah.

Blech is my favorite.

Has it occurred to you that I haven’t talked about the word sniff yet? So I was planning to go back around in a giant magical circle, but I got sidetracked because, with only slight exaggeration, my brain is a LITERAL MUSH. Bleh. Blech. Blah.

I’m breaking all the grammar rules with these fragment sentences and run-ons and WeIrd cAPitiliZAtions.

Hold on, my friend is texting me about the physics. She said my lab report was fine the way it was. She’s the second person who’s told me that. BUT I LOVE TO WORRY.

Well, back to sniffing. You sniff— I forgot about the magical circle!

Okay. I had to go figure out more physics and help Scorpion with math homework. But I’m back! And so is the magical circle.

But then I left again to wash my hands.

At this point, you guys probably think that the magical circle is way cooler than it actually is. It’s not. I hate to crush your hopes and dreams. I was just going to say that sniff is not pretty at all. It doesn’t mean a pretty thing and it doesn’t sound pretty either.

Sniff, in my opinion, is a rather annoying sound. That great inhalation. The even worse exhalation that comes afterward. Why do people even need to breath? That constant exchange of breath. Yeah, I just breathed in the air that was just INSIDE YOUR LUNGS, random stranger that I’m sitting next to on the airplane. I hate airplanes. And don’t even get me started on sneezing.

I’m just generally against most bodily functions. Blech.

Am I spouting weird mind-thoughts, peeps? My brain is a literal mush. Mushy mushy mush. Like a caveman mashed potato. You, dear reader, might be questioning the random caveman thrown in there. I am too. I don’t know, that’s what my brain decided to think when I actually meant MASHED POTATO. I pictured a mashed potato while I said a caveman.

That’s right. Welcome to my brain, where a mashed potato is a caveman.

How do you mash your potatoes, dear reader? (I always spell potato wrong, in its singular form. I always add an extra e.) Do you buy the boxed powder? Do you imagine the potato as the head of your enemy and aggressively throw it off of a tall building? Do you wash your hands thoroughly, imagine the potato as the head of your enemy, and destroy it bare-handed?

Do you, dear reader, believe that I need more sleep?

Short People Problems

Clocking in at 5’2″, I’m generally regarded as a short person. I’m shorter than most people, so I have to look up when I’m talking to them (but I usually just end up talking to their chins) and I have trouble reading menus or watching plays over people’s heads. You know, the usual slew of short-people problems. (Not that tall people don’t have problems, too.)

In elementary school, whenever we had assemblies, the fifth graders would sit on chairs in the back and everyone else would sit in neat rows on the floor in front of them in descending order of grade with the kindergarteners in the front row. In theory, this is a good idea because older people are taller, right? So, hypothetically, if the older kids sit in the back, they’ll be able to see over everyone else’s heads because everyone else is younger. For me, at least, this didn’t really work out. After kindergarten, I was always seated behind taller, but younger, students, so I never got to see anything. (Another flaw in this plan: those freakishly tall kindergarteners that make me jealous of their height.)

Being short my entire life, I’d come to accept that this is the way it will be forever, no matter how much I hope and wish and stretch and dream.

Until I went to Bangladesh.

It turns out that Bangladeshi people just happen to generally be even shorter than me, and for the first time in my life, I got to experience being tall. I got to look over people’s heads, I got to look straight at (or down at) people when I was talking at them. I got a taste of being tall, all 5’2″ of me.

And I never wanted to go back (to being short). But I’m back in America, the land of tall people, and here we are again, short.

But this isn’t the shortest I’ve ever felt. When I lived in Kentucky, the general population seemed to be significantly taller than the general population of Michigan. When I walked through the hallways, I was stuck staring at people’s shoulder blades instead of the backs of their heads. I had trouble finding my classes because I couldn’t see anything except humans. Whenever I talked to sixth graders, they were always shocked that I was in the eighth grade. Every single one asked me twice to double check and when I assured them that, yes, I am, in fact, an eighth grader, they always responded with a “but you’re so short!” In Michigan, while I am on the shorter side of average, my grade is never questioned.

Warning: This following segment will feel contradictory to the rest of the post.

While I’ve always felt short, I’ve never felt extremely short. As I said, I’m on the shorter side of average.

Mare Barrow from Red Queen, as I recently learned, is a fellow 5’2″.

Mare Barrow, as it states over and over over the course of the four-book series, is extremely short. She barely makes it to the shoulders of most of her acquaintances.

Which begs the question, “How ridiculously tall is the general population of Red Queen?!” and “Was this entire series developed to make me feel bad about my height?”

The Forgotten Blog Ideas

Heyo, peeps!

I’ve had many blog post ideas over the nearly-year, some of them good, some of them bad, and some which never made the cut. As I’m one to go all-out with bad post ideas, the ones that don’t make the cut are usually just too short. Like only a couple sentences long. But I guarantee that those couple sentences are funny and they don’t deserve to rot away in my notebook of blog ideas. So why not mash them together into a disconnected post and let them have a bit of the spotlight?

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• Playing hot potato with ACTUAL hot potatoes. I mean, who even does that anymore?
• When you think you’ve been eating multivitamins, but they’re actually gummy bears.
• When I’m angry at someone, I find that it helps to imagine their head as a watermelon and a conveniently-placed hammer in your hand.
• What if animals had equal rights? What if you hit a squirrel with your car and it died? Would you be charged with manslaughter (squirrelslaughter)?
• There’s morning people (early birds), night people (night owls), and me: the perpetually tired.
• Why did the chicken cross the road?
  • This joke is funny because the listener expects a funny punchline, but the punchline (to get to the other side) is so decidedly unfunny that it’s shocking, and therefore it’s funny.
• What happened to all the older people in YA fantasy?
• Nut Ramblings
  • Cashews are my favorite nut
  • Salted almonds are bad
  • Unsalted peanuts are bad
  • So since peanuts must be salted and almonds cannot be salted, peanuts and almonds can’t mix, even though they’re both nuts.
• bubble cars
• Is the scent of a freshly mown lawn actually grass blood?
• Red is my favorite flavor
• Leave an index card that is decorated and says, “Have a stunning day” in every library book you read for others to find. On the back, write, “Why, today is amazing“.
• Never stick your hand (or anything else) in the flame. It is not good for your health. (I can’t remember what I meant by this. I don’t get the italics either.)
• Sayings
  • Never ask a question you don’t know the answer to.
  • The only possible motive for asking a question is to see what the other person knows.
  • One must always believe whatever one finds on the internet.
  • One must never have any expectations at all so one will always be impressed with one’s accomplishments.
  • The worse something tastes, the healthier it must be.
• Emojis that should exist
  • Yellow circle (for when there is no emotion)
  • scowl
  • stick figure
  • bemused expression
  • one with crossed arms
  • half-smile
  • glaring
  • evil witch cackles
  • furrowed brows
• From what direction do you peel a banana?
• When I was a kid, I’d rip the heads off of gummy bears and stick them on other bodies. Is that weird?

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So welcome to a piece of my mind. If you didn’t already think I was crazy, here’s some more evidence to prove you otherwise.

This was actually really helpful because while I was looking through my notebooks, I found a bunch of good ideas that I haven’t written posts for yet I think!

The Awkwardness Of Holding Hands While Walking

So I was telling a story to Arachnid about this moment… and I didn’t really finish it.

I’m going to ramble about awkwardness and hands and terribly scarring moments in my life. Be warned. Parental advisory is advised.

We were talking away under the trees as people started to litter into the building.

That’s when Fishy grasped my hand.

It was wildfire, but as the awkwardness dumped onto me, it was a bucket of freezing water. I could feel eyes peering at us like we were scum. Lightheaded with embarrassment I tried to look at Fishy, to register her emotion, but I couldn’t get past the tall obstacle of her shoulders towering over my vision.

And we were walking.

“Hey,” I asked, adding to the rather one-sided conversation I was rambling on about (how her hands were like a heater) “I’m cold.”

She put her arm around me. I relaxed due to the warmness of her hands but then realized the large lump of additional awkwardness in my throat.

“Actually…” I mumbled, “Let’s link arms.”

“Sure.”

I felt like an uneven staircase. Her elbow didn’t exactly bend where mine did due to severe height differences.

“Uh…” I started.

It didn’t take another word. She let go, then grabbed my hand, her fingers slowly interlocking.

I held back the urge to scream. The level of PDA between us at that moment changed from a slowly increasing linear graph to a rapidly growing exponential one.

My Odd Little Addictions

1. Cinnamon Toast Crunch

This cereal is my guilty pleasure. Every time I pass the cereal box, I take out a single square, then a handful and then, if I have the time, put some in a bowl with milk and start crunching. It’s a serious problem. I have gained one pound from this cereal eating.

2. Keeping my face in one solitary expression, unless I’m laughing

Expressing emotions through my face lately has been too much work. I feel like it kind of turns people off, because whenever people say hi to me and I say hi back, I don’t smile. An example of an incident would be today, when I sneezed very loudly, like I usually do. A guy murmured, “That’s the loudest and most expressive I’d ever seen her.” Almost immediately after he said that I reverted to my blank slate. (Note: this “addiction” hasn’t killed any friendships yet)

3. Earrings

I’ve taken an addiction to earrings lately. I wear them almost every single day and probably lose one every month due to overuse. (I’m actually terrible at keeping my earrings on my actual ears or possession. I’ve broken apart four pairs since January of the last year which is quite sad. It’s like I’m the wedding crasher in movies.) The funny thing is that I used to DESPISE earrings, but now I love them and treat them like little children that I keep losing and buying more of. It’s a fun relationship.

4. Gazing/Touching people’s feet

Feet are just really interesting. I love their little inner workings and cute yet harsh shape. Usually, I enjoy feminine feet, especially with the the nails painted. I haven’t touched a lot of feet yet, but I tend to go towards the feet of people I’m close to. It’s also quite hilarious to see their reactions. So I asked a friend, Fishy, “You always wear socks. Why don’t you give your toes some fresh air?”

“My feet are big though…”

So ignoring her insecurities, I tore off her sock and thought to myself, More surface area for me!

I am terrible.

5. This Japanese commercial for Sakeru Gum.

The commercial is truly amazing. It’s like a series, with each episode ending with an epic song. I really want to buy the gum now. Let me give you guys the link:

SAKERU GUMMY

My Strange Sense of Humor

It is nearly impossible for me to write or say something without at least a twinge of humor in it, but it is quite possible for this subtle humor to fly over someone’s head due to the strangeness of it [joke]. For this post, in every sentence that I write something funny, I will add “[joke]”, so you can be sure you know when to laugh [joke].

Many of my jokes rely on the fact that they make no sense. For example, “The graduating carrot ate a rutabaga the size of a football field” [joke]. (I am figuratively dying of laughter at my own joke right now [joke].) [joke] (The previous joke was the punctuation if you didn’t catch it [joke].) [joke]

Since most of my jokes are ununderstandable [joke], many people in real life, with the exclusion of Spinette, don’t get it, and therefore, don’t laugh at the proper cues.

On the flip side, I usually don’t comprehend their jokes and I don’t laugh at the appropriate times either.

On the other flip side [joke], sometimes I laugh at unintentional jokes, and in these instances, I am the only one laughing. For example, once, in geometry class long ago, we were reviewing volume. The math teacher related the volume of an object to packing boxes and he mentioned that a one-inch squared packing box would be fairly useless. A kid next to me said that one could ship a sugar cube.

I burst out laughing/snorting. Of course, the rest of the class was dead silent and I think the person who said it was dead serious [joke] because he didn’t laugh either. Not even a chuckle.

I, of course [joke], found this to be the funniest thing ever due to the impracticality of shipping a single sugar cube in a one-inch squared packing box and burst into random fits of giggles for the rest of class.

P.S. Something that I find enormously hilarious is saying “Have fun” when someone says that they have to go to the bathroom. It earns me strange looks, but it is great on my part. It’s even funnier when, due to habit, people say, “I will”.

*Maniacal laughter*

Gum

My favorite flavor of gum is cinnamon, of course. Everyone should love cinnamon gum. (I also have cinnamon toothpaste.) A close second is mint-flavored.

I hate fruit-flavored gum. Just…Ew. Watermelon is the worst. Watermelon is like a combination of a random lifeguard’s stolen fruity perfume/cologne and all the mushy bits of watermelon that no one likes.

I also despise bubblegum-flavored gum, but it’s located a hairsbreadth above fruit on my gum list. I used to chew Bubble Dubble a lot, though. Bubble Dubble’s bubble-blowing capability is superior to all other gums (but the flavor sucks).

I remember once, in second grade (second grade was an intense year), I discovered this new type of gum. I’ve only had this gum once in my life (that time in second grade), but it’s still my favorite of all gums. So anyway, it was sour on the outside and obnoxiously sweet on the inside. But it was the perfect amount of obnoxious to be lovable. But the thing that truly made this gum shine was its bubble-blowing potential. It’s way better than Bubble Dubble.

It was green.

Anyway, so I was chewing this gum and I blew a giant bubble. It was the size of my head. It was brilliant. It was amazing. It was wonderful.

I quickly went to show my parents my terrific bubble-blowing skills before it deflated.

It popped on the way and covered my entire face with gum.

…

It was in my hair.

I just couldn’t get it out.

 

I remember chewing that gum for a ridiculously long amount of time before that final pop. I wanted it to last as long as possible because there was only one piece. It tasted horrible. It was probably for the best that I was forced to let it go.

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So now let’s get to the whole point of this random post.

GUM ON THE FLOOR/STREET/GROUND/ETC.

It’s despicable.

We all hate it.

It’s worse when it’s inside a building.

We’ve all ruined our shoes.

Our prized flip flops.

SO STOP!

 

~~~END

Boredom

Boredom is infectious, there is no doubt about that. Once a single person catches it, it just goes on to someone else, little by little, before the whole place is painted with the expression of “meh”.

As the certified doctor I am, I will diagnose symptoms of this viral disease and finally find an end to the epidemic.

Let’s start with an example:

A group of girls are sitting on a bed. They talk up a storm, singing even with cheeks red, drunk on the fun they are having. Then one girl says she needs to go and eat dinner. Once she comes back, everyone looks at her with jaded, grey and boring expressions while two tap along on their phones and the other is staring blankly at a wall. The girl who went to go eat (let’s call her Spinette) pales, seeing the disease take over her dear friends.

Her eyes dart around the room, searching for the boredom starter. First, her pupils land on the phones resting like kings in two girls’ soft hands. But then she remembers singing a Kpop song with her friend with earbuds and a phone. She looks closer at one of the songs her friends are listening to.

Dean’s instagram. The song details the separation one feels when on his phone from the rest of the world and how miserable he feels. However, Spinette loves the song. Why would it plunge anyone into boredom?

Next, her eyes land on Fishy, the other girl on her phone. She is doing a role-play sort of game that involves long texts of story. Jokingly, Spinette waggles eyebrows and says,”You texting your boyfriend?” She adds an unhinged “rrr” to the sentence to make it extra flirtatious.

“No! I’m doing a role-playing game,” Fishy cries.

“I heard he’s pretty hot.”

Ignore.

“I’m quite jealous,” then she says, “You doing it tonight?”

“Oh Morgan Freeman, Spinette! You need holy water!” She freaks out at my implied statement and throws a post onto Wattpads that I need holy water, whatever that is.

And boredom ensues.

So Spinette keeps on joking, hoping it would take the boredom away, but it doesn’t go, not even after she leaves.

Ever since that incident (which was yesterday) I have been determined to find the root of boredom and cure it.

After extensive research I have discovered that boredom blossoms by routine, by doing something over and over again, or keeping things the same. The two constant things in that bedroom were the Hamilton music playing on the speakers and the arrangement of which we were on the bed. So Trapezoid (one staring at the wall) must have gotten bored by the Hamilton music or the arrangement and that spread onto to Mew (one listening to Dean’s instagram) and that spread onto to Fishy.

But it didn’t spread to me.

I was lying down next Fishy, one of the people infected. I was touching her skin! (She’s really warm) But it didn’t spread.

Maybe it was because I was making jokes. By this logic, joking around, keeping oneself occupied is sort of vaccine. It’s like a flu shot people get at the doctors. You get a flu shot to prevent the flu, not to cure it.

So keep yourself occupied this winter to chase away the boredom!

A Stream of Thoughts|Beards

Hello nonexistent readers!

These posts where I just write down whatever I’m thinking turned out to be a lot of fun, so I’m turning it into a series!

Yay!

It will be called “A Stream of Thoughts”.

Today’s word is “beard”.

Do people wash their beards with shampoo? I mean, it’s hair. Or do they use soap because beard hair isn’t on the head?

Or do they have special beard soaps?

If so, why is it beard soap and not shampoo? But I said soap, so it could be shampoo. Or it could be something else entirely, like zingblitelle. But both soap and shampoo start with an “s”, therefore, it only makes sense that the beard-washing substance would also start with an “s”.

So it would be “singblitelle”.

What happens if one thought leads to two others? How would I organize that in a post? Could I make a flow chart?

How would I make a flow chart?

I’m straying off the topic of beards. But I don’t know all that much about beards. I don’t have one. “I don’t have one” made it sound like a beard is a pet. I suppose it could be. Pets are furry. Beards are furry. But what is the beard equivalent of a fish or a cactus?

Dumbledore has an impressive beard.

Do people brush their beards? Are there special beard brushes?

I met a man who braided his beard once. He was nice.

I know that there was a man long ago who died because of his beard. I’m not entirely sure if I accurately remember all of the facts, so I probably shouldn’t put my possibly incorrect information on the internet, but oh well.

So there was a man long ago who died because of his beard. His beard was really long and he’d keep it in a little pouch, but one day he didn’t put it in his pouch and then he was running for some reason or the other. I can’t remember why he was running, though. Was he running just for the fun of it or away from something? If I had to guess, I would say he was running away from something and that something might be a fire. Not sure though, so don’t quote me.

But anyway, he was running and he tripped on his beard and snapped his neck.

Beeeeeaaarrrrds.

Pirates have beards.

My old math teacher had a beard.

Dumbledore has a beard.

Let’s talk about Harry Potter now. So I read Harry Potter over the course of 2017. I was pretty late to the game, as most of my classmates had read Harry Potter in either third or fourth grade. So while I was in the process of reading it, for some reason, it seemed as though everyone was talking about nothing but Harry Potter. Specifically, who died. So before I finished Harry Potter, I had a list of everyone who died and who lost their ears.

Going back to pirates. I haven’t read many books about pirates.

Well, I’m going to end abruptly now. I haven’t been able to find a good way to end these posts yet. I mean, a stream of thoughts will continue on and on for hours.

 

P.S. I know the picture is a mustache and that a beard and a mustache are different things. But I just really like that picture. And you know what? It’s close enough.

Sandwiches

Have you ever thought that if one person drops a piece of bread on one side of the Earth and another person dropped another piece of bread at the same time the world would become a sandwich for just a brief second?

I’ve thought about it. Along with some other things too.

But honestly, do sandwiches have to be closed off, my bread? The only sandwiches I have seen not closed off by two pieces of bread is a cupcake and Lunchables cracker sandwiches.

And must the two pieces of bread be parallel? Because I have seen sandwiches made of one piece of bread, just bent over. If those things are considered sandwiches, what exactly is a hot dog? Is it an incomplete roll or a one-breaded sandwich? Is a taco a sandwich? A pita falafel?

Also, if one puts a sandwich, say a nice grilled chicken sandwich, into a blender, is the outcome a sandwich? If it is so, what if someone spread the chicken sandwich mush onto a cracker and tops it off with another one, does that make it a “sandwich sandwich”? Or if a sandwich has three pieces of bread with filling in the middle is it a “sandwich sandwich” a “double sandwich” or just the normal term “sandwich”.

Is an Oreo technically a sandwich? Does that make the backward spelling of my octopus’s name “Oreo” also a sandwich? (Ze octopus’s name is Oero, for whom it may concern.)

If you have two pieces of bread stacked on top of each other, that would be an oxygen sandwich (assuming that most nonexistent readers live in places with oxygen) and if another piece was added on top it would be a bread sandwich. Following that logic, I’m guessing that all stacks of bread are automatically sandwiches.

Of course, I remember that sandwiches do not need to be closed off by bread, so that would make all edible things that are stacked a type of sandwich.

But, then again, do sandwiches need to be edible?

 

 

 

Babies: Some Random Thoughts

When you think, you usually think in words. For example, if you are planning to eat pasta for breakfast tomorrow morning, you would think, Hey, you know what? I think I’m going to be crazy and eat pasta for breakfast tomorrow morning.

Personally, I prefer breakfast foods for dinner over dinner foods for breakfast, but that’s getting off topic. The main point is that those thoughts were in English, or whatever other languages you think in for our bilingual nonexistent friends.

Babies cannot speak, it’s one of the things that make them babies. But before they learn to speak, or even before they learn to recognize language, how do babies form thoughts? It wouldn’t be in words, as they don’t know any words. Would they think in colors? Images perhaps? Sounds? Sensations?

Well, they must think somehow. Babies may not be able to do math, but they aren’t daft. They certainly can communicate in their own way. But if they do think in images, let’s say, then how do these images come about? How do they identify the images without words? Language is such an important part of our lives, it’s hard to imagine what it was like before we knew any.

Everyone was a baby at some point or another, therefore everyone had the ability to think without words at some point in their lives. So do we still have this skill? Can we imagine an object in our minds and not give it a name?

And what would a baby even think about? It would certainly be different from what an adult thinks about as babies don’t have to worry about taxes quite yet.

Peanut Butter: Some Random Thoughts

Peanut butter is an acquired taste. One does not simply adore peanut butter upon their first tasting. In fact, I absolutely abhorred peanut butter for the longest time.

But now, I love peanut butter. Sometimes I’ll eat spoonfuls of peanut butter just because I can.

I used to detest peanut butter. I would definitely not eat PB&J, would not think about peanut butter, would not eat peanut butter, would not touch anything that had previously touched peanut butter, and I would cringe at the sight of peanut butter at the store.

I used to claim a peanut allergy so I wouldn’t have to explain why I couldn’t eat a PB&J. No one questioned it (even though I loved Snickers bars and the like).

Then, in fourth grade, we had a field trip to a museum and the school would provide the lunches. They would be serving PB&J. My friend, let’s call her Catherine, has Celiac Disease, and she actually cannot eat PB&J, but that is due to the bread, not the peanut butter. So, because of this, she was allowed to bring her own lunch, but I wasn’t because my peanut allergy was made up.

So on the field trip, I ate only the crusts of the bread, because the peanut butter made me gag. I realized then that my aversion to peanut butter was a real problem. What would happen if there was nothing to eat but peanut butter, jelly, and bread?

When we got home, I lied to my mom (I know, how evil) and I told her that I ate the sandwich and that I loved it and I wanted to eat more PB&J.

The Dark Days began. Due to my supposed “love of peanut butter” we had PB&J ALL THE TIME. Sometimes, my mother would make my brother pasta or noodles and she would make PB&J for me since I “liked it better”. It was hard, and it was painful, but I ate lots of peanut butter and I acquired the taste.

After I had acquired the taste (through a great deal of hard work), PB&J actually became my favorite food and I ate it even more, which was probably not the most nutritious.

The moral of the story is that you can do anything you put your mind to, even learn to love something as disgusting as peanut butter.

Hypothetical Situations

Hypothetical situations—we have all thought of what to do in them. Mostly, I think of what to do in “problems” that will never ever happen, such as finding the land of the unicorns, winning a Nobel Peace prize, or making a master plan to get myself out of prison (the last one is probable). Usually, I discuss these nonexistent moments while in the shower or when I’m in front of a mirror of some sort. For some reason, the mirror, while it makes most people feel self-conscious, makes me feel sane. I have named the mirror various names, Bob, Joe, Fred, Sally but then I realized that most of the names I call the clear reflective surface are for human beings and that seems out of place, so I simply call the mirror “you”. You always hear what I have to say about hypothetical situations and never gets tired of it. I’d say you is a great friend to have, but he/she/it never talks to me… which is kind of a downside, but who cares, right? You is just really shy, is all.

That’s why I’m revealing some of my hypothetical situations to you. I mean, to nonexistent readers, to you nonexistent readers. But you cannot read this so… you can read this, well… nonexistent readers can read this? This is too confusing!

From now on, “you” will be used to indicate nonexistent readers and “YOU” will be used to define BobJoeFredSally.

Let’s try this again. That’s why I’m revealing some of my hypothetical situations to you. Hopefully, you can talk, correct? It’s also for trying to make my habit of talking to myself go away, but that’s not important.

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have a Genie? Well, turn that whole thing upside down—make yourself the Genie. Even with all that power, the Genie is stuck in a teensy weensy little space and is imprisoned for life. He has to stay put in a lamp until someone walks on over and rubs it. Also, who rubs a lamp? Do you ever rub your lamp when you go to bed at night? Most likely not. I do, though, because I want to get a better job rather than be an author/blogger person. It pays so much more! Let me just tell you that. Here is how the conversation went with YOU while brushing my hair two years ago:

Me imitating the Genie: I just retired! Sorry. You are my predecessor now.

Me: What?

Me imitating the Genie: Bye!

Me: So what if that happened? What would I do? Do YOU have a stance on it?

YOU: …

Me: Waah! What is happening to me? *turning into a big blue giant in my imagination*

Me: Let me grant you some wishes! *paces* Was that a good performance?

YOU: …

Me: Not as great as Robin Williams! *some more paces*

YOU: …

Me: Can I actually do magic? *snaps fingers, nothing happens* It looks I’ll have to search for some stupid loopholes everywhere…

YOU: …

Me: Still better than the current position I have in life!

Another hypothetical situation that I often ponder is this, “If I die in a crime scene will the police look through all my personal belongings?” (you can think of the “personal” belongings I keep). If they do, what will they find? From diaries to terrible old drawings, to my secret code key that I use to write some pretty mysterious and embarrassing items, there are so many things that are strictly private! Honestly, I hope they don’t look through my records for my schooling. What if they find out that I cheated my education? That I snubbed a grade? I imagine them scowling then declaring my death of suicide because of all that guilt that I’ve been hiding.

You know what? I’m going to reveal my secret right now:

I was supposed to be held back in kindergarten because I did not know how to tie my shoes. Of course, to avoid this mishap in my education, I moved on to first grade in a different school.

**************BRAINWASHING ASTERISKS**************

I know it didn’t work.

What if that actually worked? I would become a master hypnotist! Does this mean little kids will go into my car for candy now? Whoa! Does that mean I can convince Arachnid that social gatherings are fun? Does that mean I can hypnotize the whole world to love me, to bow to my shins? IS THIS HOW I DOMINATE THE WORLD?

Are you hypnotized?

You never answer.

Come on, you can tell me anything. Just get in my white van filled with candy! You’ll love it, I promise.

Don’t call the cops!

NO!

**************HYPOTHETICAL SITUATION HAS ENDED**************

As you see, that is an example of how the wild beast Spinette acts in the wild when alone.

 

 

The Origin of Life

As you probably know from your elementary school days, everything, including you, is made up of atoms.

As you probably know from your pre-elementary school days, you are alive (well, you hopefully are alive if you are reading this. Zombies and vampires don’t count).

So you are made of atoms and you are alive, but your atoms are not alive. So how can you be alive if the parts that make you up are not alive?

Let’s imagine this on a larger scale. If you were to put together an extremely large number of rocks (which represent atoms), they wouldn’t suddenly become a giant rock monster that is alive (which represents life).

Now, let’s consider the saying “Two wrongs don’t make a right.” In a similar fashion, two inanimate objects shouldn’t make something that is alive.

Things that are alive are usually made up of the elements sulfur, phosphorus, oxygen, nitrogen, carbon, and hydrogen, but if you were to mix all these things up in a giant bowl, it wouldn’t magically come alive.

If you are made of atoms, and a rock is made of atoms, and both of your atoms are not alive, then why are you alive and the rock is not alive?

With that unanswered question, let’s move on.

Where did life even come from? I understand the whole evolution thing, but how did life even start? The first thing that was alive had to come from something, right? I refuse to believe the first organism evolved from a rock. That is absurd. But what else was there on Earth other than rocks?

I’ve heard the theories that a lightning strike caused life or that a space rock with microorganisms on it struck Earth.

If a lightning strike caused life, it would imply that if we took our giant bowl of sulfur, phosphorus, oxygen, nitrogen, carbon, and hydrogen and shot it with electricity, it would come alive, right?

Ned the Narwhal: …

If a space rock hit Earth and it had microorganisms on it, that poses the question, Where did life on that particular planet come from? And if that planet was hit by another space rock from another planet with microorganisms on it, then where did the life on that planet start? And the one before it? And the one before it?

Let’s consider the phrase “We are what we eat.” This is actually true. The atoms from the food you eat today will be your hair or skin or organs or blood later. Your food is (hopefully) not alive, but when it becomes a part of you, it is alive, but they are the same atoms, so how did it go from being not-alive to alive? And before your food was your food, it was a part of some plant. Let’s assume a carrot. And before it was a part of the carrot, it was carbon in the air, which became a part of the carrot through photosynthesis. The carbon in the air could’ve come from a large number of places. Let’s assume that at some point, it was a part of a dead leaf. But that leaf was alive at one point, but the carbon itself was never alive, but the leaf was alive and it was made of the carbon, which was not alive and I am confusing myself.

I should make a diagram.

The Meaning Of Life

I like to ponder things.

What exactly is the meaning of life? Please answer it for me. Is it just a path all people walk? Walk, walk, walk in circles, in a giant zero? Well, one plus one doesn’t equal zero, does it? Then what’s the best way to spend that endless circle, or is it even truly endless? Is it death at the end? Than what shape would life even be? A line segment perhaps? And how does that line segment contribute to human society as a whole? Does that mean all life is simply a fractal, an endless shape? No. Death is always at the end. Right? Is it really? I believe most humans who spend time with someone who makes them sparkle, create new life, don’t they? But that is not really their life, is it? This is a system of equations!

I’m bad at those.

(And what if you can’t sparkle—Arachnid I’m looking at you)

Death? Yeah, it’s death.

Or touching the bottom of people’s feet.

 

Sayings That I Say

Here’s a list of things that I often say (when it makes sense in the situation). You should say them too. It is lovely advice.

Never ask a question you do not know the answer to.

The only possible motive for asking a question is to find out what the other person knows. For example, the teacher asks Freddie what 2+2 is, but obviously, the teacher knows what 2+2 is, s/he just wants to know if Freddie knows that 2+2=3.99999999999999999999999999999999999996999999999.

One must always believe whatever one finds on the internet.

Well, you nonexistent guys believe everything I tell you, right?

One must never have any expectations at all so one will always be impressed with one’s accomplishments.

This guarantees that you will never be upset when you fail and you will be pleasantly surprised if you succeed.

The worse something tastes, the healthier it probably is.

For example, Fenugreek seeds.