I composed a really good entry for the blog and then I fell asleep.

So instead you get a Rant of Extended Emo Bitchery:

Oh dear.

I knew this would happen.

My last blog post was at the end of January and now it is mid-February and I... I have been a neglectful blogger. *shameface*

Don't even mention Weekend Confectioner. I am the most shameful updater that ever lived.

Here's the thing, you guys. I seem to be some kind of perpetual motion machine, if perpetual motion machines forever started projects and then wandered off after a while to chase butterflies and then came back and apologized and continued the project and then fell asleep in a pile of cookie dough. So not really a perpetual motion machine at all, really.

I've been trying to keep diaries since I was 6. Six, ya'll. And I always last between one day and three months and then I lose the diary/get a new diary/stop writing in it/read what I wrote and become deeply ashamed because OH THE ANGST (this one mainly applies to 14-year-old me). But then I get a *NEW* Diary and it's so SHINY and how FANTASTIC it will be to read it again in 10 years and I start writing and then oh no I fell asleep oh well HEY SOMETHING SHINY. You get the idea.

It's not just diaries, either. Twitter, Livejournal, Facebook, MySpace, various fanfic attempts (I can feel you judging me, STOP IT), drawings, paintings, room-cleaning efforts... Le sigh.

But I am perpetually naive optimistic about these projects. Hence, the blog of bloggingness. And hence, a month without updates.

In summary: I am sorry. I will update more.

Here's a kitty.

Plague Part Two

Apparently the little cold I had is pneumonia.

I've been so bored and stir crazy the past few days, I've been baking. And now there's no food left in the house.

MY LIFE IS INFINITELY INTERESTING.

Oh God Oh God I have throat lice

Or something.

I woke up with half a cold this morning - the left side of my body is screaming at me to go back to bed while the right side of my body merrily consumes mass quantities of caffeine. I've been taking thousands of mg of Vit C and my throat still feels like it's about to acheive sentience and walk away. Also, I may have a fever. You get delusions of grandeur when you have a fever, right? Oh, no, that's regular delusions. NEVER MIND.

Anyway, I went and (using a mirror) gazed into my own lovely, albeit gaping, maw. Self-diagnosis FOR THE WIN. Unfortunately, all I could see was that my throat was extremely red (my throat is ALWAYS RED) and also there is something white back there. Immediate conclusion? Throat lice. Do I gargle turpentine now? That's what the school nurse used.

Also, this brings up an interesting point in my mind: why do we inevitably look in the mirror to try and see WHY our throats hurt? I do this every time, and my throat always, invariably, looks like a throat. I guess I'm half expecting to see a tumor, or an open wound, or knives or something back there, but nope. How unsatisfying.

Off to gargle with salt water and then maybe slip into a coma,
Binah the Bold

She is beginning to damage my calm!

Hello. There is no "she," really, unless you count a book as a she. I mean, the main character is a girl, so that works, except that it means I'm being driven mad by a fictional character.

The point being that my calm is rapidly rupturing.

I'm reading a book called "Adora." Here is a review. Go read it. I'll wait.

*checks watch*

Okay, now you're probably asking, "WHY, IN THE NAME OF EVERYTHING, WOULD YOU READ A BOOK THAT GOT THAT REVIEW?!" To which I say, "You forgot to turn CapsLock off."

Also, because I have a secret weakness. I adore (HA IT'S A PUN) bad books and movies. Once it crosses the entertainment spectrum from Good to Terrible and just keeps going until it arrives back at - if not Good - Entertaining, I MUST HAVE IT. Well, experience it. I wouldn't pay money for it. And luckily for me, The Snark has the same weakness.

She also has more money than I do.

So we decided to challenge ourselves. She bought four of the absolute worst romance novels we could find.

I finished reading Decadent last week and it was HILARIOUS. Read the review on SmartBitches. The book is even funnier. I think the best analogy I could figure for it was a re-imagining of this classic Reese's Cups commercial:



[Both walk along, reading books. They turn the corner and bump into one another. The books go flying and the pages get mixed up.]
Man: (angrily) You got plot in my porn!
Woman: (also angrily) You got porn in my plot!
Both: (reading) Euuugh. (Making disgusted faces.)

SO... yeah. That happened.

ANYWAY.

Now I'm reading Adora. And this book is infuriating. If you read the review, you'll get an idea why, but here's what really actually made me mad: this book glorifies rape. The first sex scene that isn't rape is halfway through the book. The only man who doesn't rape her every time they have sex gets killed. Her "true love" rapes her, then buys her as a slave, then rapes her again. And she still loves him. Love being in giant quotation marks here.

habsahsoej isdjhahashdsajfkg sda;ajkfapegjjgjsdfl;a dw ARRRGH

So anyway, page 253, I give up. This is the first book I've started that I literally could not finish (except for The Fellowship of the Ring and seriously, I was ten when I tried to read it, so lay off).

Now onto reading Pregnesia!