liath

While working on an AP Drawing assignment, I discovered that colored pencils don't like me. At all. In fact, they commit suicide in my presence.

me: *sharpensharpensharpen*
colored pencil: *promptly breaks*
me: Fuck. *sharpensharpensharpen*
colored pencil: *breaks before being used*
me: Fuck. *sharpensharpensharpen* YES! It didn't break!
10 minutes later...
colored pencil: *no longer sharp*
me: *sharpensharpensharpen*
colored pencil: *breaks*
me: Fuck. *sharpensharpensharpen*
colored pencil: *breaks*
me: FUCK. *sharpensharpensharpen*
sister: *cackle*
me: What? ...Fuck. *stares at brand new colored pencil which is now reduced to a stub* *hand starts twitching involuntarily*

I'm alive!

Funny thing, that. When I went to sleep last night, I had been awake for almost forty hours straight because of OVA. It was utter insanity, and involved caffiene pills. Details at eleven.

Step 1: Open your Winamp.
Step 2: Put all of your music on random.
Step 3: Write down the first twenty songs it plays, no matter how embarrassing.

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Jennie and I have decided that Mel Gibson has a personal vendetta against the English. This entails making them seem like evil, scum-sucking bastards.

Exhibit A: Braveheart.
The first thing about the notion of "prima nocte" in Scotland is that IT DIDN'T HAPPEN. The second thing is, even if it did happen (which it didn't), it's a really ineffective form of ethnic cleansing. I mean, think about it: say your mother was raped by an English nobleman on the first night of her marriage, and say you were the result of that union. And let's just say that you found out about that. Wouldn't it piss you off leik whoa? Wouldn't you be like, SCOTLAND THE BRAVE! DIE ON MY CLAYMORE, YOU DISGUSTING RAPIST! YOU GO TO HELL! YOU GO TO HELL AND YOU DIE! And then you'd get a bunch of your friends who were conceived in the same horrible way, and you would go and kick some bloody English ass.

...Yeah. Prima nocte? Complete and utter bullshit. Thank you, Mel Gibson, for another glaring historical inaccuracy.

I'm insane.

Anyway, Braveheart is much less disturbing when watched with my sister. Quoth Jennie, "Dude. She's dead and wrapped in plastic!" Ah, obscure Twin Peaks references.

So, dad's mood changed and he took Steph and I to Pratt at MWP today. Loved it, loved it, loved it!

Emilie Autumn is going to be on The Late Show with David Letterman tonight!

Good stuff, good stuff. If you haven't heard of her, I recommend downloading songs from her latest album off her website. And yes, she lets people pirate her music...she even encourages it.

Edit: Upon viewing, Courtney Love sucketh. You could hardly even hear Emilie play the violin. Bleh.

Happy Green Beer Day, I guess.

Thank Elbereth. Return of the King swept like a huge, epic, ass-kicking sweeping thing! Eleven out of eleven, which ties it with Titanic and Ben-Hur for the most Academy Awards ever won.

The best thing was that they thanked J.R.R. Tolkien when it got Best Picture.

Wah, Annie Lennox is singing "Into the West" on the Oscars. That song breaks my heart every time.

...Ahaha. "It's now official, there is no one left in New Zealand to thank."

This is a traditional Irish song, but it differs depending on who sings it. It's pretty hilarious, because it's about a wake that turns into a party which in turn becomes a brawl. Enter the Haggis leaves a lot out, so here's a good version of the lyrics:

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Apparently, dad is going to buy me this dress for prom. It's pretty much the simplest renaissance gown he'll allow me to get. I love it, but I'm still trying to figure out how I'm going to deal with the train. But still, I have to get that dress. I mean, the woman who makes these gowns has the surname of "Proudfoot".

In other news, I got a book about runes, and the Norse mythos is fascinating, if not ever so slightly familiar:

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