Argle Blargle

Sorry for abandoning this place for a while. I kinda forgot it existed. Yeah. Expect a lot(or at least a few...actually maybe a couple...well, at least one) post(s) from me this weekend, as I've had a few adventures since last I blogged.

Today's adventures were my Valentines Day adventures, even though we're still a couple days from Valentines day. Let me explain. I mean, it's not like you have a choice. I'm going to explain no matter what you do. I suppose you could hack my account, but why you would do that is beyond me. Okay, no it's not. CEASE RAMBLE. CONTINUE BLOG. Which when you think about it, really is just one big, occasionally illustrated* ramble, but whatever.

This week at my school, people could buy a carnation for their sweet heart/friend/person they're stalking/creeping on/themselves/anyone who goes to my school and so today they came, and everyone got them.
As someone who lost most all interest in Valentines day ever since we stopped decorating shoe boxes with stickers and construction paper and getting cheesy cards and candy from everyone else in class, I didn't buy anyone one. As someone with multiple defects and a big mouth, I didn't receive one. As someone who lives/has a locker in the 'Make-out hill' part of the school (the band hallway is to our school as Chicago is to the US, the art hallway is that scary dark alleyway with mysterious stains that you have to walk through to get home in less than two hours, and the area my locker is in is surrounded by at least five PDAing couples) the ground was littered with discarded petals, stems and the occasional flower head. Back to the story. I was walking around with my friend Hannah (check out her wares here:http://zwireworks.blogspot.com/) and she was saying how she was going to start a lonely hearts club for all the people who hadn't gotten flowers. Later, as we were walking past my locker area, there, lying on the ground amidst all the carnation carnage was...more carnage. So I picked up a flower head and gave it to her. Then we skipped about school, found a discarded stem, skipped to the art room and tapped them together. The moral of this story is that re gifting will save you a buck, and give you much more joy they simply buying a load of them and standing in front of my locker. That is if it's you and a friend. Do that to you're girlfriend (or boyfriend)because if (s)he's not the type who appreciates skipping, trips to the art hallway for tape, and you-had-to-be-there humor you're in trouble.

My other story happened a bit before this one, but it wasn't till I was talking with Hannah that I realized the full consequences of what had taken place. I actually did get a Valentines day gift today, but it was from the fates themselves and either far better or far worse than a flower (in my opinion. Maybe you like flowers more than mysterious cookies). So, anyways, I was walking down the hallway with my good buddy Lawrence (not his real name, but codenamed that until he chooses a better one. Why? Because code names are awesome) and we were talking about his rat Phillis's weird tumor that grew huge and then shrunk. I suggested that it could be a parasite and Lawrence was thoughtful as only Lawrence can be. That was when it happened. Yeah, thats right. It.

"Oh hey, look," said Lawrence suddenly, pointing at a blue plastic package that lay abandoned on the floor, "Oreos**." Lokii's eyes widened for a second she deliberated her next move. Moving quickly, lest the owner of the cookies come back and be angry and muscular, she swept the cookies up from the floor, hugging them to herself like a mother with a tasty, dangerous, possibly sprinkled with rat poison child***.
"What are you doing?" Lawrence asked her with a small, awkward laugh, "Do you know whose those are?"
"They're mine," she snapped, and, ancient scavenger survival instincts running amok through her veins, she hurried quickly to an empty corner of the hallway. Once there, and still followed by the bemused Lawrence, she sat down, unzipped her backpack and stuffed the cookies inside, "They're mine," she repeated once more, this time with more confidence.

The cookies are still in my backpack. The package is opened, but pretty much full, with maybe a third of the cookies eaten. They appear to be unmoldy and I ate one a few hours ago and have suffered no adverse affects so far. Knowing me, I'll probably save them for some impromptu hallway picnic. The moral of this story is not to leave you cookie lying on the floor. Creepy people like me exist who will take them, find out what rat poison looks like, check the cookies for them and eat them later with unknowing friends.
So anyway, right now you might be wondering, Lokii, this is all very nice, but what could this possibly have to do with Valentines day? WELL I'LL TELL YOU. While talking with Hannah, I realized that this was my Valentines day gift. Not from some pimply teenager who I don't care about, but from the universe, from luck and chance and not being picky about where my cookies come from. And so in conclusion, the world is either trying to put me to sleep, or give me a nice present. I'm really not sure which one. I can't rely on past experience with the universe and food either, because I already checked them for boxelder bugs.

Oh yeah, and just so onone is wondering why on earth my mother would let me keep floor oreos (other than to teach me a lesson), to keep my dearest Mutti's reputation safe, I haven't told my mom.
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* funny story. All my art is currently being done on the weird tree stuff (paper, I think is what it's called) and those weird stick things called pencils because my computer broke and my dad doesn't want me taking over his laptop with my tablet and photoshop. I'm sure you care.

** TM and whatnot

***It is apparent that Lokii would not be a good mother.

insert witty title as needed

I need to start updating this again. I really do. I never suspected people would actually read my little ramblings, but apparently four people are at least pretending like they are. Go you guys! Nothing has really been happening lately. Thats not true though. My friend had a birthday party (here's her page: http://zwireworks.blogspot.com/ ) at which there was much fun, hilarity and I made a (tiny) pizza with sauce, cheese, gummy worms and cookies. It was one of the most disgusting things I've ever eaten. Imagine that warm pizza-y goodness, along with that sour sugery gummie goodness. They come together to create sour, chew pizza. The cookie part was okay, but we had a hard time getting the thing out of the pan. The gummies had melted and hardened, but they wern't half bad. They were about 70%-80% bad. If the concentration on alcohol in beer is the concentration of sugar in normal candy, this stuff was like mouthwash. Guh.
...
Hmm...still not long enough. How about I rant about how we're all slaves to socks? Okey-dokey then. Really. Think about it. If we don't wear socks, we get a weird foot funges from our shoes. If we don't wear our shoes then we can't go into places that we really need to be, like the doughnut shop or -- Gotta go again. I'll finnish this up when I get back from school. Tcheuse!

< ~~ <0))))>< ~~ <0)))><

Wow. Today was kind of brutle. I can barely remember this morning. I have to type up a script now. Bye.

Townsfolk=evil incarnate= ><((((º> ???

Hey, look, I'm posting :D
...
but anyways...
so, a couple nights ago, I woke up in the middle of the night. This happens to me a lot. I know there are a bunch of insomniacs, people who can't fall asleep, but I wonder if I'm the only one who will wake up during ungodly hours of the night and can't get back to sleep?
It's annoying. Though, this specific time a couple nights ago, I decided that I was going to do something constructive with my time, so from 1:45 AM to 4:55 AM, I wrote a plot outline.
Something I'm noticing now that I'm typing it up is that, well, my towns people are evil. Just look:
- Superstitious townsfolk afraid, and so decide to sacrifice baby to appease spirits
o Leave it on doorstep
... 0_o
and it's not just in this story. In almost every other story I've written/drawn that has small, rural villages in it, the people who live in them are they types of people who, when something is new or different, (usually in reaction to my main characters though) they respond with torches, pitchforks, and rally around the cry of "Not like us!" They're also really superstitious. Always. I dunno if it's just a reoccurring plot device or what, but...man, I'm going over some of my other stuff. My townsfolk are just evil. There's no other way to put it.
I'm not complaining about this or anything, I actually kinda like how I tend to write, violent, superstitious, arsonistic (what? dude, that's totally a word), unaccepting towns. I think it adds character. After all, The Lottery is a classic, and horrible townspeople is their whole plot. That and the whole, town lottery thing.
Still, in case you ever get stuck in one of my books, I suggest that if you are anything but the most normal person ever and a cousin of at least two people in town, to not stay in any small, rural towns.
Because that's totally something that would happen.
...
yeah...
...uh...
Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! For christmas today I got these absolutly amazing gloves. They're knit, dark red, and the fingers are left open. They're like hobo gloves, except they're nice and they go almost-but-not-quite up to my elbows. MY FINGERS WILL NEVER GET COLD TYPING AGAIN.

hope that you've had an equally wonderful day, Lokii out.
EDIT: It wouldn't let me use all my lables and so, petty creature that I am, I'm putting them up here:
Faintly Macabre, FM, Lokii, quote, reverse insomnia, superstitious townsfolk, The Lottery, hobo gloves, awesome gloves, the color of dark red, rant, I should be doing something else right now, hai, why are you still reading this?, writing, winter, never again, ungodly hours