MANDATORY SEX PARTY

I was reading Hyperbole and a Half and I decided to write a post about mandatory sex parties.

So here it is:

MANDATORY SEX PARTY MANDATORY SEX PARTY MANDATORY SEX PARTY

The end.

Someday I'll be a grown-up. Maybe.

Lupe and I were talking today about adulthood and growing-up, specifically the subject of cleaning.

I am probably the worst cleaner in the history of cleaning. Cavemen had better cleaning skills than I do. They were going about their caveman days, probably using a corner in their caveman caves as a toilet, and their living space was more clean than mine.


So it is plain to see that wherever I inhabit on my own, it will be very, very messy all the fucking time.

That is, if I'm not living in a box.

So, whilst Lupe and I were discussing this, I told her she would have to clean the bedroom, or else we would never find anything and it would be completely uninhabitable and we would have to live in the living room, which incidentally is not meant to be slept in.


Oddly, this inability to clean doesn't really span to the rest of the house (except the bathroom, because I try to keep my time in there to a minimum). I keep the living room and kitchen in my own home fairly decent (and by decent I mean you can see the floor). It's just my room that is dangerous/disgusting/horrible to look at. I'm a little frightened that there is something living under my bed, and that it isn't one of my two asshole cats.
I remember one time, I was very thirsty. I wanted a glass of milk. It was four o'clock in the morning, and I wanted milk. Damn it, there was nothing that was going to keep me from my milk.
So I ventured forth, unafraid of the dark or of the rapists and vandals and other n'er do wells lurking in my home, waiting to jump out of the dark and attack me and use my intestines as a jump rope. It was just me, and the kitchen, and milk. It was like there was some kind of race, except I didn't actually run anywhere. I felt like I needed to, but I didn't, because I was tired.

When I finally got to the kitchen, I was very excited. You wouldn't have been able to see it in my face, but inside I was about to explode from success and happiness.


I drank my first glass, and then I decided 'why not?' and poured another glass to take with me to bed. Little did I know that that milk would turn not into a delicious beverage for nighttime thirstiness, it would turn into an instrument for pure evil.

I fell asleep that night, milk still sitting by my bed, sirens blaring off in the distance, the comforting hum of street lights lulling me to sleep like some over-sized she-baby. I had totally forgotten all about the milk I had been so desperate to get, and did so for almost a week straight.

By the time I got around to throwing the disgusting milk away, it looked something like this:
It. Was. Disgusting. I had never been so grossed-out by myself.

So, it is plain to see, that I will probably never be very good at being an adult. Maybe when I'm living on my own and can't convince my mom to help me clean, I'll be more inclined to break out the vacuum every once in a while and the glass cleaner and eventually un-messy up my environment.

But probably not.

Your life: in phobias

Some people have been giving me crap lately about my phobia, which has gone from a 'this makes me slightly uncomfortable' fear into a 'HOLY CRAP PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME DO THIS, I WILL SERIOUSLY DIE IF I DO, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME DO THIS' fear of immense proportions. They don't seem to believe that, yes, this is a legitimate phobia and lots of people seem to suffer from it. I am not making this up, or trying to be lazy, or just trying to get out of going to school. It's super cereal.

Yes, I decided that I would rant about it on my blog, I'm such a teenager.

I also decided that I would put it into simple terms that even the most uncouth and Neanderthal-esque human being would understand.


Imagine your Fear Zone is a huge building. It is filled with every horrible thing you can imagine. Anything that scares you right to your very core, instills in you a fear so primal you are reduced to nothing but a quivering pile, crying and trembling and spouting off nonsensical babble about how you are absolutely positive that you are about to die. In the wake of this one thing, you are nothing. You are only fear.

Inside the Fear Zone, anything can reside:

ANYTHING

For our purposes, we're going to say that, inside your Fear Zone, is spiders.

Now, you are stuck in this room full of spiders- this building full of spiders, and there is no escape.
Imagine this. You are trapped here, in this room full of spiders, for seven straight hours. No matter where you go, you are stuck. There is nowhere you can go that the spiders won't be there too. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, nowhere that is safe. You have been plucked from your Safe Zone, which is spider free and comfortable, straight into your Fear Zone, which is clinically proven to make you shit yourself in terror.

That is what school is like to me. Being there, in a building full of over two thousand people for seven hours, is probably about as close to hell as I can get while still breathing. It is the worst thing ever. Simply being in a hallway during passing period has nearly made me burst into tears. Simply put: I. Am. Scared. Yes. And I am running away, and I bet you would too, from your own little version of the Fear Zone.

And that is why I'm not returning to public school this year. Amen.

Say your final goodbyes

Yeah.

That's not why I haven't been posting anything, but I did think everyone needed to know.

The past few days have been a blur of pain and confusion. I cannot remember what I did yesterday, or most of today. And what I can remember seems kind of fuzzy.

I'm prone to migraines anyway, but this is ridiculous. Even the light from my computer kind of makes me want to shoot myself in the face. So I'm kind of tempted to go put on my sunglasses, but I don't want to be one of those putzes that wears sunglasses indoors.

Anyway...

I forgot where I was going with this.

I'm gonna go curl into the fetal position and let myself die.

Giraffe hat