Life of a Teenage Hermit

Tourist of my Hometown

2009-08-23T17:25:00.000-07:00

Something I like to do on weekends (when I'd really rather not be at home) is tour my hometown in my trusty, air conditioned vehicle.

Today, I learned some fun facts.

1. In my town there is a stretch of road rarely traversed. As you travel down it, the world changes from the beige of summertime that I've grown to detest, into lush green. What is it? Simple. It is the street to the land of Oz! At least I think it is. I didn't follow it all the way, as I was worried I might hit a unicorn or something.
2. There's a shop called the X-Hale, in which the X is surprisingly similar to that of the Xbox. Is this a gamer's smoking bar? I have no idea, but I was impressed all the same.
3. Orchards tend to smell like the corpses you know are hidden there.
4. There's an abundance of "Jew 'Fro's" wandering the streets. I don't recall the hair style being so popular.. But this begs the question of how many of those wandering white-boy 'fros are actually perms?
5. Round-a-bouts are still probably the funnest things to speed through.

That is all.

A Flashback

2009-02-20T17:02:00.000-08:00

Date: Oct 22, 2008 12:19 AM

I just found a stash of Post-it Notes in one of my drawers as I was packing..

I totally forgot that I used to pour out my insanity on the little yellow sticky-pads when I worked 55+ hours a week as a data-entry clerk.

I would sit down at my cubical every day at 3:30pm, plug in my MP3, (to either metal/rock music or Agatha Christie murder mysteries (because those were the only audiobooks I could find to pirate)), and check out of my mind for 12 hours as I keyed countless patient documents, insurance claims, and death certificates.

It was truly amazing how little I needed to pay attention to get work done. My eyes needed to be open, and my fingers needed to be poised over the F and J, as well as a clear 12 inches in which my right hand could slide smoothly to the number pad when necessary. That was it.

When my mind wasn't wandering down the hall to that cute guy with the messy "looking-like-I-dont-care-takes-me-hours-every-morning" hair, or wondering what the sun looked like, it would be fully engrossed in Ms. Marple's latest adventure in which someone near the ol' bluehair suddenly dies, and for some reason, this lady finds it her business to play detective and find the true murderer.

I would randomly, throughout my hours there, get sparks of what I then called 'inspiration'. I'd then sneak my notepad out of my desk and scribble on it furiously. We were'nt allowed to have pens or paper on our desk, because we had access to a database of social security numbers, and insurance card and driver's license scans, yet they still supplied us with pens and yellow sticky notes..
I'd leave every day with at least two fully covered Post-its.

This inspiration, I now know was basically my unconscious mind crying out for help.

Here's what a few of them say:

(Note that I was writing a movie, two main characters are Adam and Emma.)

Adam flashes back before getting dressed.

Nix hammer scenes.

Pennies found face up!
Before shots, they live near!
Adam in bed remembers Emma.

Penny bracelet!
Paperclip clips!
Emma proposed to at old folks home.

"I think we should ask your wife first.
"
Girl has random baby.

Torch! Foil! Gorgon!?
Fiction in truth!
Metal Hole Punch?

I Got Hay In Places Hay Should Never Be...

2008-08-22T12:50:00.000-07:00

I had a job interview monday and tuesday at the Farm Sanctuary in Orland.
First day I was on doodie-duty, and it was like, 100 degrees out, with little shade, and lots of heavy labor.
I actually passed out. I woke up some seconds later with my "interviewer" holding my face, and a lovely rock collection embedded in my side. That, or it was merely sandpaper-ed as I slid down the side of the building I'd initially been leaning against, then the embedded gravel in my hip was collected on impact.
Either way, my shower was incredibly interesting as I removed foreign objects from my rather annoyed and pained flesh.

On tuesday, I was on feed-duty. I figured pouring some turkey chow and pig slop would be relatively easy-peasy compared to my previous day.It wasn't.
Feeding was somehow harder work. I had to walk across this huge stretch of land from one barn to the next, on hilly terrain no less. Collecting the food wasnt hard.. Appropriate scoops into the appropriate bowls into appropriate pens.. The work in between that was backbreaking and at times, sort of ridiculous. We had to separate some animals from other animals, such as a pig the size of my car, and a "small cow" (who's shoulders towered over my 5'8" frame).
I think the worst part was the hay-feeds.
I wasn't previously aware of the fact that I'm extremely allergic to hay. My throat was closing up, and I had hives all up my arms, on my chest, and oddly enough, on my legs (I was wearing jeans). Still, we had to load 16.5 bails (devided into two trips) onto a trailer-- from a barn filled to the rafters with bails of hay! It was really neat, actually---, and drive out to the cow fields.
On said fields, I had to sit in the back of this trailer, on top of the hay, while we were driving around in circles on extremely bumpy hills, and toss out flakes of hay.

I got hay in places hay should never be.
That day's shower was interesting as well, I assure you.

Other than the heat stroke, and my aching muscles, and throbbing feet, I did have a lot of fun. The animals were amazing, and the entire sanctuary was inspiring.
I met a goose with no eyes! And a sheep with three legs! ... And a disabled bunny (I got to feed her carrots on break.. She was adorable!)

I'll definitely go back to volunteer, but I just couldn't do what they needed me to.
Plus, I blew half a tank of gas in 2 days!
So yes, I'm still job hunting.
And yes, I'm extremely desperate.
Just not willing to kill myself, or damage my brain further by frying it in the sun.

Static Cling Meets Perverts in Jumpsuits

2008-04-07T00:42:00.000-07:00

I just got home from a long day of running around doing nothing.
I went up to Paradise, and half way there, Bitchcar's gaslight came on. So I had to rub the nipples for luck.. The Bitchcar's nipples-- Not my own.

Can you imagine what it would be like to be going 60 on a winding two-lane highway, and buzz past some chick frantically rubbing her nipples? Wiierd.

It's more of an inside joke between a friend and myself.. On our many road trips, we've developed sorts of superstitions.. One of which is rubbing two certain points on the dashboard whenever the car starts acting up... And it always seems to work!

Anyway, I got into Paradise, and pulled into the well placed gas station right in the entrance of town.. Where I nearly ran over an extremely attractive painter, then was forced to struggle with this super old school gas pump, during which the rest of the painters all stood about 20 feet away and simply stared in my direction, until I looked at them, and then they would turn their attention to their paint-spattered boots.
I felt like a possibly less whorey Marilyn, because the wind kept blowing my shorter-than-usual skirt up, and all I could do was back against the car and attempt to wrangle it's frilly edges down, while cooing a little "Oooh!" here and there for effect.
Not like the "ooh" as in "oooh, bright light bulb", but like the "oooh, what an awkward breeze in my nethers".
In the midst of my skirt-wrangling, I realized what the painters were looking at. It was another of those bastards on a cherry picker getting a real good look down my top. Fortunately for him, I wore my 'upper' bra.I chiefly put the gas hose back, returned the gas cap, grabbed my receipt and dove into my car. Cherry-Picker-Painter-Man gave me a wave before I wasted all the gas I'd just bought in a gravel flinging escape, and continued on my way up that damn hill.

That was the highlight of my day. I don't know if I'm simply noticing this creepy attention more, or if I've finally blossomed to the point of womanhood where balding and most likely married men are attracted to you, like old socks after a tumble in the dryer without one of those cling free fabric softener paper towel/things.

I need me a job.

I need to make my great escape.

2008-03-22T18:14:00.000-07:00

I know there's often befuddlement over what I babble about, so to clarify.. About my fleeing the country..
I know you all take what I say lightly, due to my habitual venting. I bitch about how awful our country is. How hellish the government is, and how people are suffering. I bitch about how I'm somehow the butt of it all, and how terrible my life is.
This is the problem.
I'm all bitch with no fix.

... No, not the 'Street' kind of fix...

I complain constantly about how 'THEY' need to fix this, and how 'WE' need to do something.
"We"..
You know what "I" do every day?
Here's a small breakdown.
I wake up around noon, if I'm lucky. I check my email and Myspace. I feed my pets before stumbling to the bathroom to wash my face, brush my teeth, and maybe brush my hair if I feel it's in a state it can be revived from. I then return to the internet. When I get bored or lonely, (around 4-5PM), I drive across town to my mother's home, where I fetch coffee, chase children, and play the Legend of Zelda on my Gamecube. Hours later, I watch Ninja Warrior whilst toying on the internet. Amanda and I eat Chinese food while she plays on Neopets, and I colour in a Hello Kitty colouring book. Around midnight or later, I go home, bathe, and fall asleep around 5AM.
Toss in fighting with my parents, a phone call to my dad, switch Hello Kitty for Strawberry Shortcake depending on my mood, and that's about it.

Did you see "punch the president", or "save the world" in there?
Me either.

What you're supposed to perceive from this -- I'm all talk, no action.

Inspired by the immortal words of our fallen King, "A little less conversation, a little more action", I've decided to take the plunge.
I'm applying to the Peace Corps.

I've been dying to make a difference in the world. Why else am I here? To live a life where I go from home to work, from work to home, and in my down time, watch bad reality television? This is the epitome of failure to me. I need out before I'm swallowed up by the expectations of my family, and of our ridiculous culture. I need to make my great escape.

So the secret is out.
If accepted, I'll most likely be going to Cambodia, Thailand, or China to teach English or aid in agriculture, or provide HIV/AIDs awareness in Mongolia or Africa. To be able to help would be amazing, and would really allow me to be proud of myself without feeling like an asshole.
Fingers crossed!

"Where sound leaps from your lips only to crash to the floor."

2008-01-25T20:25:00.000-08:00

So, I applied to Longs last week-- well, technically, I dropped off a resume, because "Longs doesn't give out applications..no..uh. More.."
Well I dropped off the damn resume-- that is, after I went in no less than FOUR times with the fecking paper at hand, then all the bastard employees just shrugged and made a "Bob da manager no here" sort of grunt, and told me to come by later.
Anyway, some time last week, I FINALLY handed it in to Doug the assistant manager (whom I saw there every time I previously attempted to drop it off), and he told me to come by in a couple days to meet Bob the Manager and let him put a face with the paper. A week later, and FOUR MORE trips to Longs before I actually met the elusive manager, and I'm offered a flat "I don't know."

Let's go step by step, shall we?

This morning, (let's say at about noon..), I wake to an incredibly obnoxious ringtone. It's my mommy, ready and very willing to bitch me out about being unemployed.
Here's the thing with my mother-- if she's stressed out, it's her one enormous aim to share the love. I dont know why this is, and why she's not considerate enough to bottle up her emotions until she goes mad and shoots out a high school or two, rather than spread the hatred along to her loved ones. If only.
So, 30 minutes later, I'm up and attempting to make myself look somewhat presentable for another hit & miss with the mysterious manager. My cell phone was going off every 2 minutes, and I was more than willing to ignore it, as it was mother dear yet again.
At about 1:00, I step out of my house into the melodious trickle, practically slide all the way down the stairs, and trudge like an eskimo with electric fly-swatter snow shoes out to my car-- which is out of gas.
I step back out and into the rain in order to jump up and down on the rear bumper of my car to slosh around what liquid is left in the tank. To my neighbors, I'm sure I looked like a very confused, and rather ruttish rhinoceros, but I'll play sweet nonetheless.
Back in the car. It starts! Hooray!
Thirty bucks later and I'm standing at Longs, waiting for the clerk to call Bob the Manager to the desk. Finally, I'm going to meet Bob. Finally, I may actually have a job. Finally, I may make rent! --- "Bob's out to lunch. Come back later."

.......... What fuckery is this??

So I leave, and I scurry down the sidewalk to prance around in Michaels for an hour before returning to Longs.
Michaels is really boring when you can't spend money.
I bought a tattoo last week and a tank of gas today, I'm absolutely broke..... But.. is that 50% off of $40 acrylics? That couldn't be two treated canvases for only $5!! And-- is that a candle that smells like roses and baby's ass? It IS?!
I had to get out of there, quick. Instead of waiting in the nice warm store, I wandered outside in the 40ft stretch of covered sidewalk where they keep the sale bins and the carts. Then something happened that hasn't ever happened before----

Some guy gawked at me! Usually I'm gleefully ignorant to people showing any interest in me (except of course when the person staring is a child, because my Spidey Senses warn me of danger, and I bust a move to get out of sight). I'm then informed of my admirers at a later time, by friends or what have you.. Which is awesome, because I'm not used to having admirers, and if I didn't notice it myself, it may or may not be true, and I can believe in whatever I choose... Which seems complicated, but really, it makes sense.
Anyway, this creep in a bronco was staring at me as he slowly drove by. He was unbuckled and practically hanging at the window, with a wide-eyed grin that looked like he was a toddler driving past a Mrs. Fields Cookies shop, or like he just made a doody in his pants. I blurted out the first thing that came to mind before everything actually processed in my brain, and that was "EEW!"A finer moment for me and my wannabe labrinthine vocabulary.
I shook off the image of the gawker as best I could before scampering through the rain back to Longs. I got inside and the nice lady from before calls me over saying Bob was in, and that she'd radio for him.

Suddenly, my head was flooded with panic.
"This is it! I'm going to meet Bob the manager! Am I ready for a job? Are my boobs sticking out too much? Oh god, what if Bob's gay, and my outfit isnt cute enough?? And my boobs aren't going to be appreciated at all! Tuck 'em in! Hide the boobs!... My hair is frizzed out in every direction.. My makeup is leaking, I'm sure of it.. What if he sees my tattoo, and hates it? What if he's an asshole?"

The lady's voice brought me out of my inner doomsday, and she instructed me to go into the back and wait for him.
So I did. I crossed the threshold of "Employees only, DO NOT ENTER". In the dark distance, I saw two men, backs to me, shuffling around. I called out, but my voice didnt reach them. Instant terror. I'd suddenly entered a negative space in the present, where sound leaps from your lips only to crash to the floor in front of you.
The Twilight Zone.
I decided to flee.
I turned on my heel to exit, and my heart sprung out of my chest like a Cuckoo clock bird. A short, angry looking man with his hands on his hips was standing there. We chatted for a second. He said he had my resume somewhere, and it might be a few weeks before any calls. I was offered that deadly "I don't know".

Well.. That was a FANTASTIC waste of two weeks.
Rent's due in just two more.
Unless I can get a job this week, I'm so screwed.
I may have to go into prostitution.
Then I'll still be screwed, but I'll have rent money, for sure.

Penis-less and Boob-tagless.

2008-01-20T14:06:00.000-08:00

I've been subjected to the quiet of my single apartment for months since quitting my 60 hour/week job in November. Though I was hunting for new work before I had quit, back then I was picky. I wanted something with access to at least a little asetaline torch.. A big plus would have a plasma cutter and a MIG welder, but a simple torch was all I'd ask... And maybe an uncounted collection of 16g. copper sheets and sheet solder.

I applied to a scrap yard on the outskirts of Oroville, as the Dismanteller. I'd have full access to a beautiful plasma cutter, not to mention all the odd bits and ends that I'd tear off of surrendered vehicles. Little did I know, my brother also applied there about a month or so after I did. Guess who was hired.I cant say if it was simply due to my current (and hopefully rather perminant) lack of a penis, or if it's because the owner is a very flamey homosexual man... Which would still make it about my non-penis state, but I could be a little more understanding if it was because he wanted to sleep with my brother instead of me. Mind you, I'm not the kind of girl to jump a man for a torch and some copper... Only if he had silver sheets too.

Anywho, as it turns I'm still fantastically unemployed, but now I'm not so picky. Before, I didnt want anything in which I'd have to wear a uniform.
I'd look like such a douche in some little polo with my name embroidered on my left breast.

But looking at my bank account, and at that adorable monthly fee of five-hundred-something dollars to keep my exquisite, third story, ladybug infested victorian, I'll gracefully accept a boob-tag.

So I've applied to just about everywhere in town.
Not a one call back.

Bastards.

Little Dead Chicks, the Magic School Bus, and Your Belly Buttons.

2007-11-20T18:30:00.001-08:00

To type as little as possible-- I quit my job.
So now I'm unemployed, and living alone. Oh snap!

Since I quit, I havent been doing much. I'm trying to scratch up rent, and I registered to UCLA (YAY), but I dont really have many friends around to hang out with. My best friend moved to France for the year, so really, I'm all alone here.

Anyway, to make the time roll faster, I've taken to an old form of entertainment-- one I practiced regularly with said best friend when she was in town-- pirating Asian Horror films! And boy, what fun!

I watched a Chinese film called Ngo Joh Aan Gin Diy Gwai (My Left Eye Sees Ghosts). It's about this woman who's in an accident, and with damage to her left optical nerve, upon recovery, can see spirits. It's actually not a horror, like I was hoping for. It's a wacky, Asian Comedy, a genre I havent looked into much. It's kind of dumb, as Asian humor is a little low and slapstick-y, but it turned out to be pretty cute.

I reeeally needed something to laugh at after My Left Eye Sees Ghosts (HUGE sobfest-- I definately recommend if you can tolerate the worst digital effects of your life), so I turned to the never tired, pale, stringy haired, dead girl films, the stars of which like to snap cute living Asian girls like twigs beneath their paranormal and prepubescent fists of fury.

I watched a film called Chakushin Ari (One Missed Call), so if you bastards keep ringing me, I swear one of you will be mysteriously hit by a train or something!
Do NOT anger the Foreign Film Gods!
And do NOT give me a frickin' heart attack, you pricks!
All during that film, my cell phone was going off, and the number was blocked. I live alone, and I'm watching horror films, I'm freakin' out enough all ready.
Suhlung heh!
And yes, I insult and yell via internet in a foreign language, 'cause that's how mega joogeen-dah I am.
Suck it!

But HOLY FRICK. Where's Said-Best-Friend when I NEED HER?? Chakushin Ari was SO TERRIFYING, I had to keep pausing it!
The scariest thing in film-- to me, obviously-- is the attack of the intangible. Nothing tops a paranormal force, specifically, an angry one that likes to kill people. But this movie combines the scariest thing in film, to one of my biggest fears in reality--- Little girls.
I hate them. They're so sweet, and so cute, but you know, behind those big, curious eyes, hides a barbarous and savage, soul devouring creature, that at any moment--more often when singing or humming a soothing tune--will spring into ninja-like action in their true gorgon form, and tear your voice box out your belly button.
I've watched a lot of Asian horrors. Said-Best-Friend knows. She and I are usually laughing through them too, or she's jumping three feet in the air from her butt (and I have no idea how she does this little trick), and I'm laughing at her for being scared, then she beats the hell out of me with a pillow.
But this.. Is the scariest one yet, I think. I mean, Wishing Stairs was foo-foo Carebears-y compared to this shit. Ju-on, the Simpsons, and Bushinsaba, the Magic School Bus! I could go on, but I wont......

Or maybe it's just extra scary because I'm alone in a house that's been around for decades, and has usual creaks of an old Victorian, and random scampering squirrels across the rooftop, and an exremely unusual infestation of lady bugs.

I dont know....
I dont know.

Toilets of Doom and Venereal Diseases

2007-09-26T02:14:00.000-07:00

So excited I am to arrive home at two!
I've started writing this book I've been planning for months, and tonight I'll actually have time to write a little before I have to go back to frickin' work.

Last week, the power went out. Got to come home 'early' (at 3:20!)
It was SO dark..SO creepy. It was just like something out of a horror movie.. I expected to turn the corner and find some poor employee gutted, and a message like "Buffalo Bill was here!" written in blood across a wall.
But unfortunately, no massacre...

The coolest thing that happened was when the power went out, some innocent was in the toilet, and she had to pee and find her way out in blackness.
Obviously I wasnt there to witness the blunder.. But I can imagine it was pretty freaking hilarious.
If it were me, though, trapped in some freezing stall, with that funny lobster bib on my ass in my most vulnerable moment, I wouldve snatched up a streamer of toilet paper and a tried to hang myself from the false cieling.
Those toilets scare me when the lights are ON-- It would have been awful to be trapped in there behind a large, cold, germ infested and hard to unlock, metal door, with the cheapo butt protectors, and the toilets that seriously open their hideous mouths and squeal "DIIIIIIIEYOUPINKANDPITTIFULASSOFSATAN!!" whenever you near your bare and completely innocent heinie to them.

I SWEAR.. Someone other than the Toilets of Doom is out to get me in that hell hole.
First, I was pulled over at the beginning of my shift earlier in the week, and got a terrifyingly motherly lecture about how Someone noticed I wasnt typing that fast, at three in the morning the night before... Umm.. At that hour, I wasnt even sure I was conscious.
And I was definitely halucinating! I couldve sworn that there were blue gremlins acting out Agatha Christie's Murder at the Vicarage on my desktop. But of course, I had no idea this Someone was watching me. I'd assumed all eyes other my own and the sickeningly cute little Asian girl seated to my right were closed at that ungodly hour.
Then yesterday, I got in trouble for not backing out of a batch.. So my supervisor had to boot my username over the weekend. ... Well, of course I didnt exit out of the damn batch! The power went out!
UGGH.

I have to keep telling myself 'it could be worse'.
.. But how could it be? I sit in front of a computer for up to 12 hours daily, duplicating medical documents of people that have OBVIOUSLY been screwed over by The System-- by the people we wrongly choose to trust, no less, and listen to pirated and poorly acted Radio Dramas from a BBC network.
I suppose I could be a prositite or something.. That would probably be worse...
At least in my current job, I can somewhat easily avoid most venereal diseases....

But the hours would be better, I'm sure.
And the pay?
Totally worth an itchy crotch.

Asians, Erotic Novels, and Reflective Leg-Skin.

2007-09-25T02:36:00.000-07:00

The Teenage Hermit did indeed get a job. I'm a data-entry clerk for a medical insurance company. I go to work each day, along with about 50 or so Asian co-workers that simply refuse to speak to me in English, I sit in my work station (which is located beneath 2 A/C vents that must be set by either a penguin, or a menopausal eskimo), and I type. And I type.
Then I type some more.
Then I consume caffeine and continue typing.

Does coffee cause cancer?

If so, I'm screwed..... At least it's free.

I'm eating away at week three now, and overnight (sometime last week), the brilliance and excitement of this new life of mine, has died. In fact, it's in a deep, repulsive state of decomposition.

4... (Four)..... FOUR hours of overtime, because my company doesnt have enough people yet-- at least that's the excuse that's floating around like a dirty dog fart. I have the bitter thought that even when more are hired, overtime will linger just like that smelly excuse. I get home between the lovely hours of midnight and 4, due to overtime hours.
Know how many audiobooks I've "read"?
8.
Eight audio books in 2 days. That's like.. 17 hours of a audiobooks. And because I refuse to pay for them (yo ho, motha fuckas), and I dont have the appropriate playing devices to borrow from the audiobook library at work, the selection is pretty shitty. I've listened to a number of Agatha Christie novels. I'm very much addicted to her works, I must admit.. There's nothing like poorly voiced murder mystery to get you in the working mood!
I listened to George Carlin's Napalm and Silly Putty a couple times.. It was pretty good, but some times that old man's jokes are just that; Old... Though he does go into a delightful rant about how his breakfast cereal was mocking him. I love senility.
And this one book.. Wicked Beauty.. I mistook it for a book I'd flipped through at Barnes & Noble, but I'd forgotten to write down the title (and thanks to a friend of mine, it's been identified as Wicked LOVELY)....
I was expecting an enchanting romantic novel.. But what did I get?
Smut!
An erotic story about the 'truths' of Sleeping Beauty.
And it took me a while to realize I was in the wrong book... I got deep enough in to learn that Sleeping Beauty, (or simply Beauty, as she's dubbed in the book), was an eager-to-please sex slave, 'captured' by Prince Charming, who had not just one sex slave, but a great number of those damsels in distress that craved... Rescue....
Here's a few words of wisdom:NAUGHTY SEX BOOKS NOT GOOD FOR WORK.
I turned a very odd colour, and scared the poor Asians, who already had to let their undeserving eyes adjust to the near blinding blue tint my legs turn when I'm cold. No lie, when I walk at night, I need not wear reflective clothing, as these shins bounce headlights right back at you, tenfold.

Yay, Arrhythmia!

2007-09-04T19:07:00.000-07:00

So, I made some pineapple/mango/lime/apple/banana smoothies with a triple shot of energy drink syrup, and I'm FLYING. Seriously, I had like, 3 cups of that stuff. I only got 4 hours of sleep last night, so I thought I'd need a little kick 'cause I was driving around so much and I didnt want to crack up "Baby", my sister's prissy, stinky, brat of a car since it just had some body work done, and if i was in an accident, the officers that would possibly be notified would assume I was high because my eyes were red and glazed over, my hair was a mess (as if it's not always..), and I've been stumbling around like Ozzy Osbourne on one of those days when he cant find the TV remote.

WEEEEEEEOOH!

Anyway, I think I got an apartment. I'm excited about it, but I dont want to prance around with glee until I have the keys in my hand. I think moving out would be good for me though. As long as I'm forced to come out of the 'cave' every day or so, and that shouldnt be difficult with the job I'm supposed to start this week. It'll be me and Moo in my very own living space.
And I really, REALLY hope I get paid well so I can decorate the place, 'cause I only have the furniture in my bedroom and a dining set my 'peeps' are giving to me. I don't even have a shower curtain. And that's desperately needed, 'cause even though I'll be on the third story, the bathroom window is RIGHT on the stairway. It's so frickin' cute though!
I think I need to go slow down, because my leg is twitchin' like crazy, and I have like, 4 songs running through my head, but only a few lines from each, so it's frickin' WILD in this head of mine.
Imogen Heap, Colin Hays (x2!), and Feist.

"Where are we? What the hell is going on? The dust has only just began to fall, Crop circles in the carpet. Sinking feeling..
Any minute now, my ship is coming in. I'll keep checking the horizon. I'll stand on the bow. Feel the waves come crashing, Come crashing down, down, down, on me.
I can't get to sleep, I think about the implications, of diving in too deep. And possibly complications. Especially at night. I worry over situations, I know will be all right. Perhaps it's just imagination.
Sweet heart, bitter heart, now I can't tell you apart. Cozy and cold, put the horse before the cart. Those teenage hopes, who have tears in their eyes, too scared to own up to one little lie."

Makes a sweet song all together, but I think I'm going a littler further insane.
Insane like the Poop Puddle Fiasco..
Well, maybe not that insane..

I went out and picked up some new ear buds.. These ones are called 'Marshmellows'.. It's the brilliance of foam earplugs with built-in speakers. They're oh so comfy.
And pink. ♥ ♥
But they do amplify sounds in your body, such as heartbeats, gum chewing, yawning and talking. It's weird.
But they're SO much better that stretching my poor ears raw with buds that are CIRCULAR. What genius designed them anyway? The inner ear is NOT CIRCULAR. Did this person never have one of those shape finder block sets, where you pick the triangle block and put it in the triangle hole, instead of the circular or square hole? Did they fail kindergarten?
Good lord, are you mentally impaired, Mr. Designer? Was your mother Brittany Spears?
Were you dumped on your head as an infant? Was your soft spot dented?
Did you attend school with our President?
Can I stop now?
Yeeeah.. These new headphones kick your headphone's ass. Like Chuck Norris when he runs out of voluming mousse.

There's Something Seriously Wrong.

2007-08-27T03:32:00.000-07:00

According to 7th grade earth science, one day, our pollution will cause global warming.
Notice how much hotter the summers are getting?
Apparently, glaciers are melting, loosing mass at an alarming rate.
I know everyone's heard the rumours that California is sinking into the ocean.. Probably because the glacier's are melting, adding to the volume of water in the ocean, causing the water level to rise, noticeably on the coasts of California... Right?

Not to mention..

The food is killing us.
It's full of parasites, pesticides, and worse. All the food is FULL of sodium-- The average teen drinks (at least) one beverage containing 500+mg of sodium per day (say, your afternoon Pepsi, or morning Redbull).
In a direct result of this, youth is fatter, lazier, and with super high blood pressure among other health conditions.. Such as, say, girls starting their periods as young as 7.
Now, that's pretty fucked up to say the least. I'm 18 years old, and am already praying for menopause. I couldn't imagine being that miserable back in the days where my chief amusement came from spinning nonstop around that one low bar on the playground and playing tag for kisses from boys that would run in circles giggling about cooties.

And there's terrible stuff in the water.. We're full of metals, chemicals, and parasites due simply to our daily showers. Now, don't fight me here, because I've seen it all with my very own eyes. These two right here on my face. Yep.
How, you ask? Well, some of you may know that I helped out at my hippy mother's health clinic for a while. She has this nifty thingy called an Ionic Footbath. In layman's terms, I put a negative electrical charge to your feet (which have the biggest and highest concentration of pores in the body) and this draws the positively charged metals, chemicals, etc out of you through your skin. You start with pure, filtered water, and in 40 minutes (the time it takes for your blood to circulate through your whole body once) you'll end with the most disgusting, swampy water imaginable, and the room reeks of chlorine (or other things, depending on what you smoke.).... I shit you not.
We had a smoker come in, and when he left, the entire clinic smelled of stale cigarettes and bleach. It was gross... But I digress.

Have you noticed the sudden change in our youth? You can see a dramatic difference in the mental state of our generation. Those born before the cut off of 1989 are relatively usual, but those of the 90s are hugely.... different. I don't know how to explain it. I've noticed these people seem to have high IQ's, mainly because they excel in numbers, patterns, and puzzles.
They like to feel-- they fidget a lot, they're attracted to textures, and they are quicker to experiment with drugs and alcohol. They seem to be aware of what they possibly shouldn't be (mortality, for example). Hence the sudden attack of the 'Emos'.
They don't appear to have a connection from their heads to their limbs-- what I mean is, they seem to have a rather delayed reaction time. You jump out and scare the hell out of them, and they take some 15 seconds to go "AAH!" (I've tested this many times.. Same reaction, yet it never gets old..)
They also seem to lack appropriate wiring from their brains to their mouths. Many do not excel in speech, and have a hard time arranging their thoughts into a grammatically correct order.

Needless to say, I fear the future.
I don't know..Maybe I think too much.

A Near Death Experience!

2007-06-26T12:45:00.000-07:00

So, I'm house-sitting for my aunt, taking care of her dog while she's out of town. I stop every day or so, but usually only get around to it after midnight.
Last night I left at about 2:15 a.m.
When I got in, I noticed the door to the laundry room was open, which is not how I left it, 'cause the laundry room leads to the garage, and I dont like the garage. But I didnt think anything of it, and assumed the gardener left it. I continued my usual business. I fed and watered the dog, made myself a cup of tea, and handwashed some of my earlier glasses.
Minutes later, when I was on my way out, I heard a foreign sound. I dropped everything and attempted to follow what sounded like someone rhythimically tapping their fingernails on the hood of a car. I followed the sound to the absolute closest point I could get to, which lead me to the laundry room, and was coming from inside the garage. Of course, I panicked.
I stood dead still, wondering if I should call someone.. But it was 2:30 a.m.! I didnt want to wake anyone. I considered calling the police, but I didnt want to cause a fuss over a racoon or something..
So I stood there, too afraid to move. The image of a serial rapest murderer (OMFGBUFFALOBILL!!) in black and camo, tapping on the car in the garage, just to torment me, and let me know I had no means of escape kept rolling through my skull. ((So I've been watching a lot of documentries on murderers, leave it!))
I pounded the door to the garage twice.. The tapping stopped momentarilly. Then it continued. I couldnt scare him!
I decided to arm myself. If I was about to die a brutal death, I wasnt going to give up easily! Quickly, I ran through the house looking for any kind of weapon. I wanted something preferably nonlethal, and something long. Buffalo Bill probably had a hunter's knife (so he could skin me for a lampshade, no doubt). I was really regretting not carrying my cutlass with me. But fortunately, my aunt is an avid golfer. I hurriedly grabbed the biggest golf club in her emergency bag, ripped it's silly sock thingy off, and rushed back to the laundry room.
The tapping continued. I took a deep breath, raised my driver, and in one, ninja-like motion, unlocked and swung open the garage door to find-----
The water heater winding down from my dishes and tea.
Goddamnit!
Nothing interesting ever happens in this damn town!

It's Catching Up..

2007-05-01T14:00:00.000-07:00

A lot has happened since X-Mas. Gone through a lot of shifts.. I've matured quite a bit.. Got out of high school, heartbeat intact.. Hardly catch myself elbow deep in poo puddles, or urging to swerve into oncoming traffic..
Still unemployed.
All time allowed for introspection has helped me realize-- I think I'll become a serial killer.
Yeah. A serial killer.
Maybe my family isnt different from any other family in this world, but if that's the case, I dont think I was born with the same mental stability as the average human.
It doesnt start here, but for example-- I had to give up my friday, monday, and now today thanks to my little brother. The kid got suspended from school for fighting about shoe laces or something.. So because I have nothing important to do, I'm called in to babysit. He's 13 years old, and I have to sit here and make sure he doesnt watch TV or free-range in the kitchen. I sit on this couch for 5 hours in silence, as the little shit runs amok in the garage, then at the end of those 5 hours my sister arrives with the two retards of the family-- the 16 year old who thought JFK was a fried chicken joint, and the 13 year old who's like a mix of Fran Drescher and Pee-Wee Herman. Her voice alone melts my optical nerves into what feels like acid, and makes me want to strangle babies.
Everyday, there's yelling in Pee-Wee's Playhouse. There's a bird screaming, there's a fistfight brewing, and theres "My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard", "I'ma get-get-get-get you drunk, get you lovedrunk off my humps", or (my personal favourite) "I aint no hall of that gurrrl, I aint no hall of that gurrrl" (as the 13 year old sings it) playing in the background. There's the random self applied haircut, and food fights, and locking ones self out of the house, or locking ones self into clamp hitched luggage, or digging ones self into a 6 foot hole in the back yard..
All together, I think I'm going to have a difficult time adjusting to the normal chaos of a busy city when I move out of this circus freak hellhole.
Wont go as far to say I'll miss it.

Happy XXX-Mas!

2006-12-24T16:25:00.000-08:00

Just like a crazy weiniewagger, it jumped outta the bushes and did this strange "I'M HERE, LOOKIE, LOOKIE" dance right in my face!

The god damn little nutcracker on the stairway that holds the dice that count down to Christmas day jumped from 20 days to 3! I'm SO screwed!

I've been running rounds of 3 a.m. shopping at Wallmart every night 'cause that's the only time I'm presentable... Not that anyone ever really cares to be presentable in Wallmart.. One time, I saw an old man wearing his wife's ugly teal sweatpants.
How'd you know they're his wife's, you ask?
Well, if you're so curious, there was a a blood stain the size of a small country in the low seat of those awful, awful little pants. Picture the blood pattern of an elephant sitting on a small child. This is the terror I witnessed on the ass of a hairy old man.

Not a pretty image. No.

If you've seen me in public before nightfall, you know I look like a vampire without that sex appeal and all the eyeliner, and have a David Bowie thing goin' on with my pupils outta wack and hair sticking out in every direction, then topping off the look of pure exhaust with a twinkling trail of drool down my chin and the gate of a drunken toddler.

I went to the mall with a friend of mine a couple days ago, and jumped into Spencer's Gifts.
WOW.
Now that's a store a mother would love!

They carry the most adorable little Teddy bear keychains and stuffed toys .. Oh, but look a little closer... They all sport little penises! Kind of like Peek-a-Bo Bears, but more like Peek-a-Balls? A store my grandmother would appove of! Oh, and I must mention all their lovely feminine (or if it rocks your manly boats, whatever) toys. Like the discrete collection. A cellphone? Nope! A vibrater! Do roaming fees apply? Not in this contract! Martini glasses? You bet! And they morph with built-inTransformer-like action into glowing dildos! Yay! Gifts for the whole family!

Needless to say, I'm freakishly behind, and have been kind of just making little gifts with polymer clay, novice metalworking, and sewing!

For those of you that think you're cool enough for a handmade doughnut necklace, think again.
I'm keeping the doughnut.
And the pink popcicle.
.... And Gimpy the goldfish I left in the oven too long and is more of a black/brownfish.

Take THAT.

Have a happy frickin' Christmas.
I love you all, my darling readers.
Kind of.
Not enough to share my peanut brittle or eggnog with you though.

Get your own.

Bitches.

Scream-Sneeze

2006-09-30T22:54:00.000-07:00

Yeeeah. Things turned eventful for the Teenage Hermit, and I actually havent had the time to check in and post a paragraph about my boring life.

Since school started again (damn it all), I've been either completely engulfed in it, or exhausted, annoyed, and probably PMSing (Uggh, kill me now).

But all this week, I've been absolutely dead. Or rather, wishing I were. Something is in the air, and I just cant breathe! My head is stuffed up, my face is puffy (and ugly), my throat is burning 'cause I sneeze nonstop, and I guess I've inheireted my mothers 'Scream-Sneeze" so that just makes it all worse.

Through all this I really just want to lay down and go into hibernation until my acne clears, my throat opens up, and my temples stop throbbing-- But alas. Gotta wake up. Gotta put the dog out. Gotta feed the birds, dog, and reptiles. Gotta try sit and do homework without my eyes threatening to pop out of my skull due to built up pressure... Gotta get the kids home from school.
Do you know how hard it is to drive and Scream-Sneeze at the same time? Your body contorts in direction unsafe for the human structure, both legs shoot outward onto both the brake and gas, and as you bend un half, your head rushes to the wheel or window (both equally painful, by the way). And it's not just one Scream-Sneeze, nooo, it's 10 in a row. People behind me think I'm seizing, and go around me as fast as they can.
There's only one thing worse, and that's when you cant sneeze. You have to. You want to. You know it's coming. But to no avail.. You try everything-- You look up or into lights, you breath in as much as you can, but only end up getting lightheaded from hyperventilation, and sitting there like a dumbass with your eyes watering, and your right eyelid twitching nonstop.

As for anything else in my world that I may be neglecting (for example, my friends), I apologize, and promise I'll get back to you all as soon as the pressure in my skull deflates.

Pondering the Many Loopholes to My Future

2006-06-27T11:41:00.000-07:00

I was reminded only a few hours before the huge event. My future depends on this event, as well as the future of the tattered and bleeding petal of sanity that I've been trying to rehabilitate back to the wild after the Poop-Puddle Fiasco.
I had to go take the CHSPE (that's the California High School Proficiency Exam, for those of you that don't speak Californian). That's the exam to legally get out of high school early, and receive a certificate of proficiency, which is treated like a diploma. So instead of wasting my time in high school, learning about the Cold War for probably the 7th time, I could go to college and take classes that wont only effect my future, but will be more enjoyable than a game of frisbee for P.E. credits.

Only 14 hours 'til I had to be at that test location, and virtually no studying since I last thought I would take the test (last year). My palms were sweaty, my palpitating heart was in my throat, my lungs refused to let in more than half a decent breath, and I couldn't eat.

I tried to sit down and go through my CHSPE study book, but my sight kept blurring on the book. I couldn't sit still without feeling nauseated, and hysterical because my mom realized just the few hours before the test, that she couldn't drive me down to the testing location. Which meant I would have to drive myself there at 7 o'clock in the morning. Alone. I wanted my mother there to hold my friggin' hand!! I know it's childish, but I was terrified.

So terrified that I couldn't sleep that night. I kept rolling what mathematical formulas I retained over and over in my head. I watched the clock somehow jump from 11:00 to 3:45 am. I turned on music to get the numbers out of my head, but then ended up singing along to my favourite Broadway hits instead of getting tired. Soon, after a few rounds of Keep It Gay from the Producers, I saw the blue sky was growing brighter through my window at about 5 am.

Then suddenly, my mom wrenches my bedroom door open and squeals "ALYSSA! You're LATE! Get up! Sit up! YOU'RE LATE!" Thanks to her, my heart had now launched itself from my throat, and I swear, out my butt. It was suddenly light out, and 7 o'clock in the morning. I had gotten about 2 hours of sleep. I ran my fingers through my hair, slapped on some deodorant, and trudged out to my car.

Have you ever had one of those days, where you seriously considered cranking your wheel just as a car in the opposite lane came at you? I was thinking about it the whole way there, along with "does red light mean stop, or go?" It's bizarre how a test could make you SO nervous you forget absolutely everything you know. Like which pedal did what.... And when I arrived at the testing location, I really regretted that I hadn't dove into all those oncoming cars.

I wasn't the first one there. There were about 7 other students, who were of course, accompanied by their mommies. We were all locked out of the building in which the test would be given. They didn't even offer us any friggin' chairs to wait on. We all just stood there, until 5 minutes before the test would be 'administered' at 8 o'clock.

Waiting for the test was way more annoying than the ride there. A woman was staring at me, and talking to another woman. Even when I looked her dead in the eye, she just kept staring! The only place I could escape to to avoid her glare, was RIGHT next to the boys restroom. entrance. Then a creepy old man on his way to the toilet, came up, swaying in a drunken/redneck saunter---- Really, I imagined it was the walk of a man who just got out of a hot tub, nude. He winked at me, tipped his invisible hat, and strolled into the washroom. This is the moment, where I stood there, stupidly, wondering if it would be worse to go back out where the woman could stare at me again, or right stay there, where I could hear the tinkle, and mid-tinkle fart of Drunk Man at the urinal. I chose to step out and take my chances with the lady.

Finally, the doors opened, and I flipped off the staring lady before racing into my test room. I was stopped, and asked for my ID so I could get my test. Pausing only a second to think "What the hell is an 'I-D'?" I quickly showed her the card, strategically covering the photo with my thumb, got my test and took my seat. I flew through the two English sections, and the essay, then I was caught for 2.5 hours in the math section, struggling through things I've never learned. Didn't realize that fucking HONORS CALCULUS would be represented in the exam... Tiny little popular girls finished the test before me-- people I know to be more stupid than me, buzzed straight through it.

When I got out of the test is when all the energy I had, was completely sucked out of my body. On my way out I saw the staring lady tapping her little white cane as she wandered down the sidewalk.... I was shaky while getting into my toaster of a vehicle, and quite worried that I forgot everything I needed to know, such as basic motoring. 'D' means what? What's 'R' do? I drove up on the sidewalk before remembering R is the one I needed, because I needed Reverse to get out of he parking spot.. But I got home safely, and raided the fridge, quite happy that I found ice cream, and didn't kill myself on the way to the test.

In about 6 weeks, once I get the test results, I find out then if I should have swerved into oncoming traffic or not.

The Shit Has Hit... The Floor?

2006-06-14T00:54:00.000-07:00

Things have been leisurely, if not boring, since school got out on June 1st.

But today...

Today, I was awoken by my little sister at 11 o'clock. Apparently my older sister needed me to rush over and pick up Alex, my niece, from school because she was "unable to drive". On my way out, I stumble tiredly to the door and tell my younger siblings (whom I'm supposed to be babysitting) that I'd be back soon. But once I get my niece and take her home, my older sister collapses halfway down stairs, saying she needed to go to the hospital for severe food poisoning. She quickly hitched a ride with her other driving sister, and I'm left there, with Alex, the 6 year old demon-child, and Gavin, the 6 month old chub.

Here's where it gets ugly.

When my sister left, she hadn't realized that the "emergency bottle" had been used earlier that morning, didn't have any other "ba-ba"'s that weren't connected to her chest and on the way to the hospital with her. The baby was screaming within 20 minutes, and all I had was a jar of Gerber's apple sauce.
It took me another 10 minutes to realize... Gavin doesn't like apple sauce.
And I hate feeding babies.
They drool, they spit up, and I wanted to vomit.
On several occasions, I nearly did.

As the minutes ticked away, I was sure Gavin didn't keep down any of his apple sauce.
Looking down at that plump little face as he drooled and punched me in the boob angrily, I thought to myself "This kid reminds me of Jabbah the Hut!"

After I cleaned him up, he cried for about 10 minutes, then passed out. Unfortunately, Alex was too enthralled in her video game to notice. After only 15 minutes of nap time, Alex squealed at the TV, waking Gavin.
A small chunk of my sanity withers away to ashes.
I slipped away to the second story of the townhouse to entertain Gavin in this bouncy seat thing, that's basically a chair tied with bungee rope to a very unsafe looking claw that hooks onto a doorway, but that amusement only lasted 20 minutes.

Then, as if I needed more work, Alex peed herself, because she didn't want to leave her video game. And she attempted to hide her wet panties so I wouldn't realize. It worked swell until I went to go pee and slipped in a mystery puddle. After that screamfest, she wanted food.
What am I supposed to feed her, when we didn't know what made my older sister sick?

With a fat, hungry, and very perturbed baby on my hip, I boiled up some oatmeal for Alex, then attempted to force-feed apple sauce to Jabbah again.
...Gag...
After 20 minutes of me shoveling food in, and Gavin spitting it back up at me, I called it quits and attempted to shut him up with toys.

Suddenly, disaster struck.

A terrifying noise rang out of the child's diaper, along with an even more terrifying stench. I winced, expecting the worst. Like a doctor of skill, I said in monotone to my niece "We need diapers and wipies, stat." Once armed with a fresh diaper and a handful of baby wipes, I pulled down the restless child's red choo-choo-train pants, and unbuttoned his onesie. Using my diaper holding hand, I tried to hold the fidgeting munchkin still as I tore the Velcro of his diaper off, and opened it to see the disaster within.

Immediately, I regretted my actions.

Both of his chubby hands latched onto his doody covered wee-wee, and I realized laying him down was a VERY stupid thing to do. His poopie had squished out the back of his diaper, up his onesie, and onto the floor where I laid him down for changing.
My niece screamed.
I screamed.
My nephew giggled, and tugged on his wee-wee.
Another petal of my already unstable sanity burst into flames.
I yelled to my niece to get a towel, and she just stood there, horror-stricken. I yelled again, and she raced upstairs, stumbled around and threw me a towel. I laid down the towel, and carefully, trying to avoid touching poop, pulled Gavin out of the diaper and wrapped him up in the towel. With the lightening speed of a fat girl with a wedgie, I bolted for the bathroom, poopy baby and all.

Once I scrubbed him all up, and he stopped splashing poop-water at me, I rinsed him in the sink, wrapped him in a new towel and went downstairs, where my niece was screaming because she stepped in the poop puddle Gavin left on the carpet. I laid down the baby and wiped up Alex, then tried to put a diaper on Gavin before his wee-willie got even more wee from the cold.

By then, Alex's screams had upset Gavin, and he too began screaming, and fussing, and apparently trying to find his penis.

Alex returned to her video game, but Gavin would not stop crying.
I don't know about your personal breaking point, but with a child's screams echoing in my head, and theoverwhelmingg smell of poo, along with the terrible heat of an 80 degree house, and the body heat of the screaming midget that was latched onto me, I was suffering from too much sensoryinputt.
I was nearing the end...
The last shred of my sanity was breaking loose..

Soon, Alex started yelling at Jabbah to shut up because he was distracting her when she was trying to play Spyro, which of course made him cry harder, and scream louder, and swing his fat stubby arms even more, and I was running to the edge of my cliff, nearing an emotional breakdown when I finally told Alex to turn off the TV because she was pissing me off.

She then threw a tantrum, throwing things, screaming, and scaring the upset Jabbah. When I told her to go to her room she refused, and tried to play the old "I'm scared the Grudge is going to get me'' card. It was 3 o'clock in the afternoon, and she wanted me to think she was scared to be in her bedroom. Oh sure. The sun shining through the window is very scary. If your a vampire. Or Michael Jackson. Nice try, kiddo.

I calmly (i.e. fighting back my rage), laid the screaming kid down, shut down the Playstation (i.e. tore it out of the wall by the controller), then urged Alex to go to her room (grabbed my niece and tossed her upstairs, screaming in my motherly-est voice "GO TO YOUR ROOM BEFORE I SCREAM!!")
I, of course, didn't realize I was already screaming, because over Alex's screaming, and the now squeaky clean Jabbah's screaming, had gone partially deaf.

So, after Alex threw everything that was upstairs, down the stairs to show me her anger, she finally went into her room.
At 4 o'clock, when my sister arrived home doped up with pain killers, my niece and nephew were sleeping, and I had just finished cleaning up poop from the carpet and tub.

I'll never complain of a boring day again..

Greetings from the Home of the Hermit

2006-06-13T00:57:00.000-07:00

Perhaps this blog will be seen by people that mean something?
Maybe my words will be read all over the world!!
.... It'd be the furthest I've ever gone from my house without leaving my house, that's for sure.

Though I'm not sure just what that meant, maybe I should say a little about myself, just so you could feel closer to the Teenage Hermit..

My name is Alyssa Lindstadt, and I'm seventeen years old. At least I will be on July 29th, if I can survive my boring life to meet that day.
School recently got out, but when in school, I'm a decent student.. Decent for the school of misfits that is. I go to the school with the worst reputation in Butte County (not counting anything in O-ville). Every day, I'd amuse myself by counting pregnant students, or used condoms stuck to the cieling in the restroom. But I must say, I'm more fond 0f this School, Fair View, than I am of Pleasant Valley High School.. When I was there, the most ammusing thing to do was count how many times my science teacher would breath out his nose in between sentences, like he was trying to evict the squirrels that had taken up residence in his nostrils.

I need to be square with my readers-- The only reason I've started this blog is because I figure an employer may come across it. I'll use it as a writing sample.
I want to be a writer.
But I really really want to be an actress. With my sneakyness, and devine cleverness, I've desided, I'll break into acting with my writing!

Upon my realization at the fantastic age of 13, I started writing a screenplay. Three years later, I've still yet to finish it... But when I do, by golly, you will hear about it!!
And I can only hope to be casted as lead in it. If that works well, I have about 15 other movie ideas posted on my "Writer's Wall of Movie Notes".

Remember my face, because one day, hopefully in the near future, I'll be famous!! I'll be the next face in Star that has 4-5 pictures of me tripping on the red carpet, or my boob hanging out of my dress, under the heading of "Nip Slip!".