How neurotic are YOU???

There’s this site I just found, called I Am Neurotic and it lets people submit their neuroses and then other people can say if they have them too.

Cuz we all have neuroses. Right?

So I was happy, I was excited, right? So I submitted lots of my own neuroses, and they don’t get published. I don’t understand this. Surely I am the epitome of neurotic? How can I not get my neuroses published??? Am I so weird that even self-proclaimed neurotics think I’m too much..? Anyway, I decided that INSTEAD, I’m gunna put up a bunch of my neuroses here and then maybe my loyal dozen can also tell me what’s neurotic about them then we can all be a happy spastic internet-family..? No..? Ok, I’ll do it anyway.

Cassandrae’sNeuroses #1:

The stair lights in my house are at the bottom of the staircase. When I have to go downstairs at night for a glass of water, I get my water, then I switch off the lights and run up the stairs three at a time because I think demons are gunna get me.

Cassandrae’sNeuroses #2

When I change channels on the remote, I touch every other button so they don’t feel left out. Or if my hand relaxes and I touch a few, I have to touch the others so I make the number of times I’ve touched each button equal.

Cassandrae’sNeuroses #3

Whenever I meet a new person and they’re wearing sandals, I count their toes obsessively over and over again to make sure there’s five on each foot, ever since I saw the Ripley’s with the man with twelve fingers.

Cassandrae’sNeuroses #4

When I have makeup on, and I get an itch on my face somewhere – usually around my eye or something – I can’t bring myself to scratch it. I feel like I might accidentally ruin the eyeliner or something then walk around for ages with a streak of black on my cheek like a whisker.. so I have this trick. I sort of ‘brush’ the itch away with my hair. I act like I’m brushing hair off my face, but I’m actually using the hair to scratch my itch. I feel this is less damaging.

Cassandrae’sNeuroses #5

I can’t say the unlucky number out loud and if I have to say it I’ll need to say it one more time because somehow saying it the second time cancels out the first.  The only times I feel I have to say it is in Math class as an answer or when I’m counting. In Math class I’ll say it twice. When I’m counting I’ll mumble through the word. Sometimes if I’m having a bad day I’ll wonder if I accidentally thought the unlucky number and that’s what’s causing my bad day and so I’ll have to think it again in order to reverse the unlucky number spell.  If I’m in a building and I have to go to the unlucky number floor, I can’t hit the button so I just ride the elevator until someone else presses it. This has only ever happened once, and I rode the elevator all the way up and all the way down till someone got in the elevator and was going a floor above the unlucky floor so I got out with him and acted like I was confused and he pointed me to the stairs. Whenever I have to say the unlucky number outside Math class I just say “12 plus 1″ in a jokey way. Only Angela knows this. Whenever I say “12 plus 1″, SHE SAYS “You mean (UNLUCKY NUMBER)?” and then I throw her out of the room before the building collapses from her recklessness.

Sigh.

Anybody else as neurotic as me?

Please be my friend.

UPDATE: Angela just rung me up and yelled the unlucky number in my ear for ten seconds. And then I begged her to stop, almost in tears, and then she laughed derisively at me and yelled the unlucky number at me again. This is my life.

Johnny Depp is anorexic!!! Wait, no.. false alarm.

Holy moley.

I was just continuing my good and safe use of the internet when I came across this picture of Johnny Depp (and no, I wasn’t looking for pictures of Johnny Depp shirtless or anything, get your mind out of the gutter).

such an attractive man

So you know how on a Google image search page there’s so many images per page, right? So I’m happily browsing the images, filling my brain to full capacity with Johnny Depp’s perfect, perfect face and being happy, when I see that picture.

And then I was horrified. I was like,

WHY ARE HIS ARMS SO SKINNY??? SO THIN,those arms?! SO THIN!!! But why!? JOHNNY, GET PARADIS-WHAT’S-HER-FACE TO FEED YOU!!! Such skinny arms!!!

And I was getting all worked up about it.

Then I realised that was his scarf and not his body.

The lesson here is that Johnny Depp should not wear scarves men should not wear scarves. That look like arms. There may not be a lesson at all.

Your cat is a murderer

Alright, so as usual, I was making good and safe use of the internet when I came across this rug being sold:

That's right guys, A 3-D RUG.. (o_0)

It was on this dodgy save-the-world-from-global-warming type website, and I don’t really get it but I think the little 3-D polar bear is supposed to make you realize why global warming sucks and then when people come to your house they see it and they feel bad and then that somehow helps the bear.

Like I said, i really don’t get it.

It’s probably some metaphoric art thing that is deeply meaningful and probably hard to vacuum.

Also, in my house my cat would eat the shit out of that bear in like 5 seconds.

So metaphorically speaking, the real danger here is cats.

Or maybe the message here is that cats are more dangerous than global warning or polar bears.

Which, is a pretty poor analogy because cats aren’t dangerous at all unless you trip on them and fall without using your hands to slow your fall and you left an upright fork on the floor and it goes straight through your eyeball and into your brain and kills you.  Which would suck, and actually now that I think about it, is probably more of an concern than global warming because I have lots of friends with cats and forks so they might die at any second, whereas I’ve never even seen a polar bear.  In fact, I’m not even sure they really exist.  So I guess the real message here is “Your cat is trying to murder you so make sure you catch yourself with your hands if it trips you because if you left forks sticking straight up around your house you’re probably gonna get impaled, dumb-ass.” And also that polar bears are probably made up and don’t really exist.

Sometimes I think I am insane.

RCKGBZ93N744

TECHNORATI HAS TURNED ME INTO PHILIP ONYANCHA

Um. Wow. Ok so I was just talking to Bounty on the phone (BOUNTY IS TALKING TO ME AGAIN!!! I KNEW YOU COULDN’T RESIST ME!!! Tra la la la la I am a SEX GODDESS!!! Lol if you want the truth, I totally placated him by promising I would marry him. bounty, all the twelve readers of this blog are pointing and laughing at your gullibility. Everyone knows I’m gunna marry Ne-Yo, you dumbdumb )

Anyway, I was telling him how I went on Technorati to look up blogs, then I got the sudden urge to look myself up on Technorati…

Me: Guess what?

Bounty: Why do you always ask me to guess things? What’s the likelihood that I’ll guess right?

Me: Um, you’re just meant to say “what?”

Bounty: Why can’t you just tell me?

Me: Say “what?”

Bounty: When did you get so harlem and ghetto? You always used to say ‘pardon?’ now you’re saying ‘say what?’ It doesn’t suit you.

Me: No, I mean you say ‘what?’

Bounty: Why?

I MEAN, REALLY. I’M SURE HE JUST DIDN’T WANT TO HEAR THE STORY.

Me: I was on Technorati and I was looking through it, hen I decided to search for my blog.. and I’M NOT EVEN ON THERE.

Bounty: I don’t follow. What is Technorati?

Me: It’s this blog rating thingie. Like Afrigator. It rates blogs.. and I’m not even on there.

Bounty: Did you think you would be on?

Me: Not really, but still. I’m trying to console myself that I only just didn’t make the list.

Bounty: What does it take to get there?

Me: Well, I just have to be like really popular like all over the owrld, more popular than the, say, 1 million blogs already on Technorati.

Bounty: So one million people are better than you.

Me: No, one million bloggers are better than me.

Bounty: Big deal. I still think you’re great.                       *awwwwwwwww

Me: It is a big deal. I HAVE TO MAKE IT ONTO THAT LIST!!!

Bounty: How are you gunna do that?

Me: Well, I guess I just have to kill a million bloggers and then I’ll be number one.

Bounty: What do you get if you’re top of the Technorati list?

Me: Um. Nothing.

Bounty: Good luck with that whole killing-one-million-people-for-nothing plan.

And now I just feel stupid.

ANYWAY, I have a point to make.

I think it’s v horrible that there’s competitions.

I mean, for talents and all. And DON’T GIVE ME THAT LOOK, blogging IS a talent, okay? Ask all the failed bloggers *tee hee hee* #unnecessary-remark

Like seriously, once upon a time, people just sang to be happy, and they made their friends play the guitar and the piano for them and they were all just happy and rainbowy and they did it CUZ THEY COULD. Then along came the wisecracks who thought

“Hey, let’s have MUSIC AWARDS!!! Haha and wouldn’t it be funny if our awards were the measure for SUCCESS in music? Haha!!! Let’s!!!”

And then some other fuckwits said,

“Yeah, and since the Music award people are gunna do it only once a year, let’s have a weekly CHART to rate the musicians!!! Yay, torture all year round!!!”

So then all the musicians stopped prancing around together and turned into sworn enemies. For instance, if two guys were homie-gees and they would rap on the ‘streets’ and talk about the ‘game’ and how they ‘own that shit’ and how they ‘spit’ all the ‘dopest’ ‘rhymes’ (really having trouble with the hood-talk, allow me to stop) then they heard about the Billboard Hip-Hop Chart, and the BET awad for Best Male Hip-Hop artist . they’d both see there once homie-gee as COMPETITION.

And yeah, you can say competition is good, cuz it pushes the quality higher, but it also makes people desperate.

GO SEE FOR YOURSELF how desperate Ciara is to stay relevant. Remember when she was the IF YOU LOOKIN FOR THE GOODIES KEEP ON LOOKIN CUZ THEY STAY IN THE JAR girl? Now she’s the I CAN DO IT BIG I CAN DO IT LONG I CAN DO IT WHENEVER OR HOWEVER YOU WANT girl. Way to upgrade, Ceecee.

It’s the same thing with blogging. You come into this thing and all you want it TO POUR YOUR HEART OUT and write and write and write, cuz you’ve always loved writing and YAY now you can get PUBLISHED woo hoo!!! And you find joys in the little things, like your first thousand readers, or your first pingback.. then suddenly you’re watching your stats like a PSYCHOPATH and you almost faint when the line goes down and you’re scouring the web tryna scope out the competition and you dream that your next blog post will make you famous and then you will RULE THE WORLD LIKE YOU ALWAYS DREAMED AND THEN NE-YO WILL MARRY YOU AND YOUR BOYFRIEND WILL CALL YOU!!!

Sorry. Lost control for a bit.

Anyway. Now I REALLY, REALLY wanna be on the Technorati list.

P.S. I’m not ACTUALLY gunna kill those one million bloggers. I feel I should clarify this, cuz seeing as there’s all these serial killers around, I don’t want the disappeareance of a few bloggers to get pinned on me. Plus it’d be so much work. Some of those blogs are frickin’ GROUP BLOGS so altogether there’s probably about 10,000,000 people involved, and that’s A LOTTA WORK, killing all those people and then putting them in bodybags and then dumping them in rivers with concrete blocks attached so that they don’t float, and then getting someone to be your alibi-person and then getting rid of the bloody clothes, and then disposing of the weapons.. NOT THAT I’VE DONE THIS BEFORE. OMG you probably think I’m a killer. Would that up my stats? Cuz then I’M ONYANCHA’S FRICKIN’ ACCOMPLICE. If not, who is Onyancha???

P.P.S. But if I ever get to the Top Ten or something, I WOULD TOTALLY KILL THE OTHER NiNE.

P.P.P.S. But only if they live near me.

P.P.P.P.S Cuz I can’t drive for SHIT. I’ve been in frickin’ driving school for a frickin’ fortnight and I’m STILL nearly mowing people down whenever I get in a car. I dunno why they’re still letting me. Maybe all driving instructors secretly wanna die, I dunno. And why can’t they just let you PICK between manual and automatic??? Cuz obviously when I buy a car or whatever, I’ll get to PICK, so why teach me that stupid clutch thing when I’ll never drive a car with it, cuz that’s dumb and self-punishing??? WHO CARES what gear I should go up hills with? CARS COME IN AUTOMATIC THESE DAYS, you ignorant CAVEMEN at Karengata driving school!!! I HATE driving.

P.P.P.P.P.S. As an aside, my blog popularity is very sporadic and I wish you people would just decide if you wanna be with me or not. Cuz our relationship is so up and down that I’m getting internet-nausea and I’m gunna vomit all over your screen now. Look what you made me do.

Also, if you’ve linked to me before and I haven’t linked back it’s cuz I’m an internet-bitch-from-hell and I wanna keep all the traffic. Please yell at me on my email or on the comments and I will promptly put you on my list of people to kill blogroll. Thank you.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. (LAST ONE) I’ve missed blogging

Hiatus = Sabbatical

Alright, so guess who’s back? Back again?

The lovely, the amazing, the wonderful…
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C!!!

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There’s a word for this behaviour I’m exhibiting:

MASOCHISM.

Look it up.

Yuck. Sometimes I disgust myself.

Gosh, what an extra-long hiatus it’s been. I should just call it a sabbatical or something.

LoL, of late I’m too confused to blog everything out. But I’ve set aside ALL DAY tomorrow to catch up.

*fingers crossed*

Love you blogtarts!!! :*

Dirty Little Secret

I was lonely.

He was lonely.

It hadn’t been a good night.

I’d always been very unlucky in love.

I think he could tell.

We got to talking.

He said his woman had stopped paying attention to him after the babies came.

I understood, somehow. People always lose interest. I would know.

It works, me and him.

He keeps me iced.

I keep him young.

Fifty really isn’t that old, if you think about it. I mean, bible peeps lived to like 900 or something.

——————–

LOL JK, I’m not THAT desperate!!! But wouldn’t that be interesting? Hmmm…

Bounty… Oh, Bounty…

Wow. Alright, so a lot has happened.

First off, I’d just like to say that the next time I write about going back to C, I’d like someone to slap me really, really hard.

Ok. Now to another thing I really need to blog about.

So on Monday, this guy that I’ve known for a while now.. like two years or something.. came out and told me that he’s in love with me.

Which is great, right?

Um.. Wrong.

I know I’m always whining about guys leading girls on, and being total emotional fuckwits, and how we should throw rocks at them, but suddenly I feel like a hypocrite.

I feel like I led this guy on.

Let’s call him Bounty cuz he’s black on the outside but white on the inside.. =)

When I first met Bounty, I’d just started A-levels and things weren’t going as great as they could have been. I guess I was having some sort of teenage crisis in my life, and I was just not a v happy person.

I met him at the MUN mock debate thingybob, at which he spoke so well that I was v impressed (and yes, that’s a big deal) and in the mess of that break thing – why is it always so.. chaotic? – I bumped into him and I thought I should tell him.

Me: Oh, woops, sorry.

Him: It’s ok.

Me: You were pretty good up there.

Him: *trying to be heard above the din* What?

Me: YOU WERE GOOD! YOU’RE A GREAT SPEAKER!

Him: OH, THANKS!!! YOU WERE CHAIRING, WEREN’T YOU? GOOD JOB!

Me: THANKS!

Him: I’M BOUNTY, BY THE WAY.

Me: ANGEL!!!

Him: REALLY? LIKE IS THAT YOUR GOVERNMENT NAME?

Me: YES!!! PRETTY, NO?

HIM: VERY.

I remember this conversation because the entire time I’ve known him, he’s never stopped making a stupid joke: every time he says something and I go “what?” he’ll start yelling like we’re in a really noisy place and then I’ll yell back and we’ll keep going till one of us laughs. It’s v sweet.
So anyway, we were both just standing there looking at each other, cuz what the hell are you meant to say after you’ve both complimented each other? He wasn’t saying anything.. and I was too busy being dumbfounded by how cute he was up-close, so nothing was forthcoming from my end.. then he said,

Him: REALLY? THAT FAST? YOU LOOKED MAYBE TEN MINUTES MORE INTERESTING.

Me: YEAH WELL, I COULD TELL YOU WERE A TOTAL BORE, SO NO SURPRISES HERE!

Then we both laughed and chatted a bit more about our schools and MUN and stuff.. but it was kind of flirtatious in that covert way, you know? Hard to explain.

I think this is where things fell apart, because my paramour at the time called me cuz he couldn’t find me, so then I had to go, and that was that. We would probably have switched numbers had it not been for my absurd taste in guys; the said paramour was a COMPLETE douchebag from school, womanizer par excellence. YUCK. I later found out that one of my schoolmates had seen me talking to Bounty and had told the paramour, and that’s why he called. Touching.

So fast forward to the actual conference, and me and Bounty were in the same conference room!!! You see? YOU SEE?  Fate jumps up and down in front of me and it’s like I’m blind. Sheesh.
He saw me first, and he came over to the back row and the end of the first day to say wassup (I was the Human Rights delegate for the USA, in case you were wondering.. were you wondering? TOO BAD, I already said it..) and I HAD TOTALLY FORGOTTEN WHO THE HELL HE WAS!!! Which was v bad, cuz he was really psyched saying wassup, so I overcompensated:

Him: ANGEL! Hey!!!

Me: Oh, hi.. um.. <<<*wtf? Who are you? What is your name?*>>> HEY YOU!!! Long time!!!

Him: Yeah! How’ve you been?

Me: Um, great!!! You???

Him: Holding up, I guess. How’s Brookhouse?

Me: Great!!! How’s.. um.. <<<*Jeez, what school? What school? OMFG*>>> your school?

Him: You don’t remember me, do you?

Me: What? Of COURSE I remember you!!! You’re that guy, from that day, at that place!!! Ok, no.

Him: Bounty. Mock debate.

Me: Oh my goodness, I am so sorry!!! I have the memory span of a goldfish, can’t remember anything!

Him: Ok, gimme your number so I can call and remind you every 3 seconds.

Me: Why 3 seconds?

Him: Goldfish memory span.

OMG I nearly fainted.. Isn’t that just the sweetest??? And how ATTRACTIVE that he knew this..?

SO I gave him my number.

And he walked away.. and texted me like a minute later;

BOUNTY.

I still have that text. It’s moved from phone to phone cuz I stored it in my SIM memory.. :’(

Anyway, that week, we’d talk when we ran into each other, and he’d text me afterwards to ask if I got home ok, but me being the GENIUS I was, I totally to-the-lefted him cuz I was busy chasing after stupid fuckwits.

I would give him stupid excuses like “I didn’t see your text.” or “I was broke.”

Then I’d holla at him when I needed credit cuz I knew he was damn rich and I knew that even if he happened to not have any credit on his phone he’d go out and buy some if I asked him to.

After a while I guess he got the message (or lack thereof, in this case) and stopped hollering. Then one day in May he messaged me;

BOUNTY.

It was so amazing to me that someone so smart and so cute and so charming and so rich and so perfect would be so interested in me that he would put up with that bullshit, realise it was bullshit, walk away from it, then COME BACK.

I guess he’s exactly like me; he picks the option MOST likely to hurt him.

Anyway, I hollered back and we talked and talked and talked, and got very close very fast. I began to treat him like some kind of pseudo-best-friend, I would tell him everything the way I’d tell my girlfriends, but then I’d look for advice from a guy’s perspective, rather than a girl’s. When I think about it now, I can’t believe how horrible I’ve been to him, constantly rubbing his face in the way I was so caught up in stupid almost-romances with stupid boys, when he was right there.

When C messed with my head, or Greg was a complete douche, I’d text Bounty and he’d call for HOURS and let me whine and whine and even cry sometimes. Mind you, he’s been in uni in Canada for the past year, so I’m talking international calls. I don’t even know how he managed to eat; he must have been spending so much talking to me on the phone.

SO anyway he’s back around for the summer, and then on Monday he just called me at like 4 in the frickin’ morning and he said that he was drunk for the first time in years and he has to tell me while he still has the guts to, that he’s in love with me and he wants to understand what’s so wrong with him that I’ve never entertained notions of him and me and us and.. you know..

And it broke my heart. Because HOW MANY TIMES have4 I been the peron that cared more? HOW MANY TIMES have I been the one that looks on while the object of my affections paramours around with all sorts of skanks and tricks while I knew in my heart of hearts that I’d be good to them if they only gave me a chance to? HOW MANY TIMES have I cried over someone who was looking the other way…? And I honestly thought that I was a victim, and I had been dealt a bad hand.. when I was doing the same thing to someone else.

It was so very heart-wrenching to be on the other side and to hear the pain in his voice. And I know it seems like I’m just being melodramatic as usual, but there was genuine pain there. And I’m just so frickin’ UNDESERVING, you know? I’m loud, and obnoxious, and a total nag, and needy, and spoilt, and I complain a damn lot, and I’m self-absorbed and narcissistic.. and he’s pining away after me? This mess???

Bounty, I know you’re reading this, and I’m so very very.. sorry. For being stupid and for running off after stupid boys that weren’t worth it, and for getting hurt and looking to you for comfort, and for making you stay on the phone with me, yet never calling you. And for making you listen to all the mundane details of the daily events of my life and never asking how your day was. I’m so so sorry. You deserve better.
God. I don’t feel very good about myself right now.