Leave the Creepin' to Alfred Hitchcock

Because I stink at writing scary stuff. Basically the scariest thing that ever happens to me is . . . well, maybe I should elaborate. 

Walking down the hall. Out of breath. Panting, but trying to appear composed. Late to statistics class again.

"THAT'S 15  MINUTES IN DETENTION!" someone yells. 

Walk faster. Don't meet their eyes. 

Do they know who I am? Can't let them see my face. Haunting images of being locked away during lunch. 

Haunting . . . haunting. 

Something on your arm. A mosquito? A flea? No. It's winter. 

A hair? No. PLEASE NO. 

Panting. Does the fear show in my face? Look at my arm, nothing there. 

Look away. Feeling is back. I know there is a hair on my arm. A long, detached, piece of me, hanging loosely.

Look down again. 

Disappeared. No long hair in sight. 

no. No. NO. 

PLEASE. 

Feel around, people stare. Shaking my left arm fanatically. Quizzical looks. 

"WHAT ARE YOU?!" I scream at the ghost.

I am haunted by the invisible presence creeping on my outer layer of skin.

Why . . . why . . . 

Despair. Horror. Brush and scrape arm. Brush and scrape. No avail. What is this phantom?

Lay down and give up. 

I will never escape this curse.

Sometimes Being Loud Is Bad

Wanna hear a story about something that happened to me earlier this year?
No?
Too bad.


        "I thought it was sad - well, bitter-sweet, really. I liked it though. What about you?" I said to my cousin as we walked out of the theater after seeing The Glass Menagerie. 
      We entered the foyer area, where a small gift shop was located. Right in front of the table with some Shakespeare books was standing one of the actors from the play we saw the night before, Romeo and Juliet. 
       About 5 seconds after I noticed him, my cousin started shout-whispering to me, "Aubrey! It's the PRINCE! Oh my gosh, Aubrey, look, it's the prince! Aubrey it's the prince!"
       Here's thing the thing about "shout-whispering": 
a) since you're "whispering" you think no one can hear you, and b) this makes it embarrassing when people can, in fact, hear you perfectly. 
       As I tried in vain to whisper (without the shouting part) that "yes, I know, I saw him already, sh, he's going to hear you", it was no surprise that his gaze shifted to the crazy girl that was frantically pointing at him and grabbing my arm.  (And just so you know, she's in college. We're not talking about a 5-year-old here).
       As swiftly as possible, I ushered her away to the restroom, where my aunt had gone just before us and was already in line (you know how ladies bathrooms get, it's pretty ridiculous). It wasn't long before we were laughing hysterically, as I informed my cousin that "the prince" was fully aware of her devoted recognition and admiration for him. This warranted a remark from my aunt, that she "didn't want to be seen with us" because we were "so loud". 
       Of course, I had to launch into an overly excited - and, I admit, somewhat loud - explanation of the events that had just transpired. 
       It wasn't long before an elderly woman with hair like a rusty sponge turned around and boldly pronounced:

"Ma'am, my ears are normal!"

       My vocal chords sunk into oblivion as I gawked at her, open-mouthed, and she expounded, "And you're giving me a . . . "
       At this point, her frustration was such that she could only motion grumpily near the area of her ear and turn back around. 
       The silence that followed was thicker than a baby elephant and not quite as cute. 
       Even though there was an enormous line of probably otherwise chatty women, every one of them was as shocked into silence as I was. Needless to say, we gave her ears a little break from . . . whatever they were suffering from. 
       I attempted to mumble a slight "Oh . . . sorry . . . I . . ." but it was not to be mended. The harsh chill in the air was interrupted by a particularly cheery woman, when she came out to wash her hands. She remarked, "Wow! This is the quietest group I've ever seen!"
       I never truly understood the meaning of "awkward silence" until that moment. 
       Then I did the worst thing I possibly could have; I met eyes with my cousin. It was all either of us could do to refrain from boisterous laughter. Down, down! Stay down in the thick of my belly! No, no! Don't come up to my mouth! I stifled it the best I could, but it's easy to say that when I got out of that restroom, it wasn't soon enough. 
       
       To this day, all my aunt has to say is, "Ma'am . . ." and I'm done for.

Do I Talk To Myself?

Of course not, you wild giraffe-baboon! (I just pictured that. I don't recommend it. I think my brain just shorted out . . . uuuuhhh . . .)


Okay, okay, maybe I talk to myself a little bit. But only inside my head, presumably.
My most recent conversation with myself went something like this:

"Hey, remember that one time, when you used to - "
"What, spend more than 5 minutes on my hair?"
"Yeah, pretty much. Or, like, actually plan what you were going to wear?"
"I'm pretty sure that never happened."
"Really? I feel like you used to do that all the time."
"You're probably thinking of . . . I dunno, the prom maybe? 'Cause I think  I did my hair for that."
"Yeah that must be what I'm thinking of. For sure. Maybe homecoming too?"
"Most likely. But other than that . . . choir concerts?"
"Ha. HA. You're a comedian."
"You're right, dumb question. You just don't really care anymore, do you?"
"Did I ever?"
"Who knows?"
"Does it matter?"
"Uh . . . what were we talking about again?"
"AH! I NEED TO DO STATS HOMEWORK!"
"K-bye."

And . . . now you've had a look inside my head.
You'll probs never ask me what I'm thinking about now. But that's cool. Because it's an inside joke between me and myself anyway. Not even I is in on the joke. Be quiet, I, you're not invited!

Don't trust I. I is super conceited. I only cares about itself. I stick my hypothetical tongue out at you, I.

It's Time.

I've been putting it off for way too long.
I'm just so afraid I'll make things worse than they already are.
But then again, I don't think it can get much worse.
And it will only keep eating away at me, always in the back of my mind.
I need to solve this.
Unless I do everything that I know won't work, it has to get better than before, right?
I just need to grit my teeth and do it.
It won't take long. I know what I need to do, and exactly how to do it.
I'm ready.
I've waited long enough.
And it's time.



Yes, my friends, it's time for me to put a new screen protector on my iPod.

And I'm pretty sure you have to live in a dust-free world, or maybe be a wizard, to do it without any pesky little air bubbles. Does anyone have another solution? Because as much as I wish I was a wizard . . .

(This is where I would put a winky face, if I was into that sort of thing).

Happy People

You know what I realized?
The happy people are the people who are fascinated by little things and find joy in everyday occurrences.

Although, it doesn't hurt to have awesome friends and randomly find a million dollars in the street.

NO! MONEY ISN'T HAPPINESS!


...sorry. um. yeah.
Really though! Happy people are people who laugh at small things that others don't notice. Happy people are people who smile at everyone they pass on the street. Happy people are people who aren't living their life to impress anyone else, but are living life to live life.

For example: If you are disappointed by the apparent lack of hilarity in this post, just read it over and over until you have it memorized, then stand up in the middle of math class and recite it loudly with conviction until the glazed looks of "what the..." are too much to bear, and nonchalantly sit down. Then it will be funny.

Yep.

The Funniest Man in the World

Dan Bergstein.
Well, actually, when I am married, my husband will probably seem like the funniest man in the world.
But for now, it's THIS GUY. (And no, I'm not saying I'm going to marry Dan Bergstein).
If you don't know who he is already, then you need to read this: (if you have read the Twilight series)
Blogging Twilight

Or, in the spirit of October, watch this genius (well actually just hilarious) Halloween craft:



You might be saying: Aub that's ridiculous that video is a whole 7 minutes long there's no way I can possibly watch that that is such a waste of time I'm not going to pause my music and waste 7 whole minutes I could be spending on Facebook just so I can watch that that is so dumb.
And in that case, I say to you: Just watch it, it's worth the 7 minutes you wussypants.

K-Bye. (Also, that is the most useful expression on the phone ever).

When Life Gives You Awk . . .

. . . make it into entertainment for everyone else.
Instead of boring you with another whine session about how I never get enough sleep, I'm going to relate an experience I had over the summer, when I flew on an airplane by myself for the first time.

       I am in the line to get my boarding pass. I feel embarrassed because I'm caught in between a small group of men, all what I would call "sophisticated men of class". Tall, simple but classy clothes, model hairdos, and the slightest facial scruff. I feel vulnerable between the white guy who looks like a Macey's model and the black guy who is so . . . smooth, cool. I hate to admit it, but it is impossible to deny their attractiveness. I feel so undeniable small, asking myself why in the world I decided to wear a big bow in my hair today. I think to myself, "they're probably looking at me like I'm a lost puppy", as they talk over me (literally - these guys are tall, remember?). I try to appear as composed and gathered as I can. 
       Clearly, all of them are traveling together for some sort of business venture. I try for what seems like ages to think of a way to express that I don't mind if the one behind me goes ahead, so I'm not caught in the middle anymore. I just want to get out of the uncomfortable sandwich situation. 
       I'm suddenly aware that the man behind me is starting to inch forward on the right side of me, as if trying to make conversation with his co-worker easier. The other starts  narrating, "Whoah! Making his move in the right lane!" as if we are race cars and he is passing. I figure this is as good a chance as any to say something.
       "If you both are together, you can go ahead. I don't mind," I say as cordially and professionally, but anything but sweetly, as I can.
       As one mumbles "Oh no that's alright," the other boldly states, "Oh, no, we're not together."
       My cheeks rush with scarlet as I realize what that just sounded like.
       He has the audacity to add, "He doesn't even like me."
       I stumble, with something like, "No, I meant, like . . . uh . . ."
       As they chuckle to themselves, the black-and-white floor tiles suddenly become extremely intriguing. 
       
       I guess my pre-school teacher was right about not talking to strangers.

Dear [insert your name here],

You are, like, really cool. You can be whatever you want to be.
Except, maybe, a narwhal. Or a rock.
Follow your dreams . . . and your heart . . . and stuff . . . you might be surprised at how beautiful your life can be.



The point is, you are a person. And because you are a person, you have a brain (hopefully). This brain is pretty cool, because, you see, it's kind of what keeps you alive.
Always remember to thank your medulla, because it's pretty difficult to eat cookies, belt along with Aretha Franklin, or ride a unicycle up a cliff when you're out of breath.
And don't forget to thank your motor cortex, because how else would we go for long walks on the beach? After all, this seems to be an activity everyone enjoys. (Unless they just say it for kicks and giggles . . .because it doesn't seem like many people actually do go for such walks).
And always thank your association areas, because without them, you'd never be able to do your math homework. (Well, not that we all do this anyway, but you know what I'm getting at).



Did you know that your brain's capacity to retain information is virtually limitless? (Don't excuse him Mr. Osborne!)

So I think it would be appropriate for us all to wake up in the mornings and say, "Hey brain, you're pretty cool. I don't like having to memorize you for a test, but you're still alright. Thanks for helping me with, well, everything I've ever done, thought, or subconsciously processed. You're the boss. Literally."

You, whoever you are, have potential. I'm not just talking about the action potential among your neurons, I'm talking about YOU. Your WHOLE self.



You've heard people say "don't cheat yourself", and you've brushed it off like unwanted dust on your sleeve, because you've heard it from your algebra teacher or a brochure for class rings. Well, now a non-affiliated-with-any-such-person-or-advertisement-rapper wants to tell you the same thing. Don't cheat yo'self, dawg.

Homeskillet (I'm a rapper, remember?), you can learn a lot, and you can make a difference in some other homeskillet's life. You ain't got no excuse for less than 100%!

All I'm saying is (and don't worry, I'll say this part in proper English), if you spend your whole life worrying about things that don't matter and wasting your time on things of no value, you really are cheating yourself. If you never push through hard times, or never challenge yourself, or never make goals, never aspire to anything above where you are . . .

. . . then you'll never know how how wicked legitimate your life can be. 

So, moral of the story: if you keep using abbreves, like "legit", you'll never know the exquisite wonder of using the full word.

Legitimate . . . legitimate . . . legitimate. . .

Ah, being a nerd is fun.