This is seven layers of stupid.

I was left home alone. That never happens, mostly because my parents don't like each other enough to go away on vacation together and leave me to watch over my brothers. And also, luck being the fickle bitch it is, never has both my parents out on business trips at the same time or anything.

BUT this weekend my dear youngest brother had a hockey tournament out of town, and I firmly declared I was in no uncertain terms staying home.

Well, I had the house all to myself for only the briefest amount of time before my mom shows up at the door at 1:00 in the morning. Just about an hour ago. No doubt because she (unwarantedly) doesn't trust me not to have a rave or something.

All I was going to do was blast my stereo and clean my room (because she said, and I quote "If I get back and your room is not clean, your life will be hell. I will throw away your plants. And THAT CHAIR!" as she pointed at my beloved psychedelic 60s orange arm-chair). But nooooo. Now I can't prance about and clean with gusto like I'd planned, because my mother is sleeping, and if I should wake her, I might very well get murdered.

I have to clean like a mouse would clean if mice cleaned. That is, quietly.


I am so unimpressed.

I am a chaotic person. It is very difficult to clean my room. And keeping it clean is impossible. Hence, why should my mother waste her time getting angry at me for having a jungle in my room? Clearly she does not see the futility of her rage.

I keep my door closed, so it's not like she even has to see the mess.


This is a useless post.
I am not happy with the way it turned out.

A tale of two Cave dudes.

Thank you to Luke for confirming my suspicions that my question was in fact unanswerable.

[nb. do not read the above line with sarcasm. Read it with a sincere tone of mind voice/voice depending on whether you read aloud or not]

What I really took from the comment was "screw attempts at relationships. Do drugs instead. They are less embarrassing" Which is excellent advice all round.

So to Luke, you are now my best internet friend.

And I re-gift the award of a thousand internets as a prize to you for best comment ever.


And on a different note, Urko and Walp never ended up together. Actually it's a pretty funny story....
After Urko had finished venting his anger on Gurt, he went left his cave in search of a dinosaur to beat up. Whilst he was slaying a dilophosaurus, Walp came to his cave to grunt at him about how he has failed to notice all her essays at making him know she wants to get down and dirty. Instead she found Gurt, and nursed him back to health. Nine months later, she also had his baby. Urko sewed for custody of the kid because he thought it was magically his (despite that being impossible). Gurt counter sewed claiming he could no longer work due to permanent leg injuries inflicted by Urko.
Judge Judy threw the case out of court.

.....Ok so I may have misrepresented the story when I said it was "pretty funny."

Sew me.

o crap

Ok, so this is in fact the 30th post.

The last one ought to have been called "Happy 29th post"

Happy 30th Post.

This is the 30th post.

There is nothing altogether special about thirty, but who cares?
Certainly, you, the person not reading this doesn't.

I'm a bit confused by what I just said. Disregard it.

Guess what I did today....well, not a whole lot. I went to the library of another school, had some coffee, and fell asleep between the pages of a giant sleep fairy disguised as a book. After I had the coffee. I'm drinking so much of it these days, I'm pretty sure caffeine does absolutely nothing to keep me awake anymore.

So I'm a tad worried as to how I am going to stay awake for the remainder of the semester.



On a different topic completement, I would like to throw a question out into the recesses of the internet with no expectation of an answer (but with the foolish hope of one): how on earth are you supposed to tell if someone likes likes you as opposed to just liking you?

I mean, I realize that cave persons have been asking this since the dawn of time, and have been venting their anger at the lack of response (this is the reason the club was made....Urko the Cave Dude asked Gurt his cave mate how he could tell if Walp the Cave Girl wanted to bear his offspring. Gurt had no answer, so Urko beat the shit out of him with a club and the rest is history) but really, I have to ask.

Another question I have is where in the world is Carmen San Diego? Why is she so fricking hard to find?

The mysteries of the world never fail to boggle my brain.
And also to give it a headache.

Getting to the point. NOT

hello hello, Not Alice here. Writing out of boredom.

So you may as well stop reading, since nothing of value will be found here.

BUT. Actually don't stop reading. Because....well, there may be something of minor amusement at some point, and you wouldn't want to miss that, now would you?


The previous post was my foolish attempt to engender rage out of any possible American readers who, as everyone knows, all like football solely on account of being born in the States. Just kidding. But not really.

I want someone to comment. FEEDBACK people. Even if the comment is:

"dear Alice, or whoever you are, SCREW YOU BITCH. football is the shit to top all shits, so fuck off and go suck a rugby player if you can even find their dick."

Sadly, I have not received a comment like that yet.
You may, however leave a comment more like this:

"OY! Not Alice! I heartily agree with you mate. Rugby is the bee's knees. And elbows too. Blimey, but if somma says otherwise, I'll knock their teeth askew. Cheers"


So think about it.


Think long and hard (ooooooer).

tehehhe.

Football? ick.

BOO.

You know what I don't get? The Super Bowl. Or football in general.
I mean, who would wanna watch football (not to be confused with soccer, which is actually the REAL football) when there is Rugby? Rugby has all the tackling and pulverization of opposing teams, but with no equipment except for cleats and a mouth guard. None of these pansy football players who need 12 layers of padding and an army of dudes with walkie-talkies stationed all over the stadium calling the plays.

Rugby is just better. SO much better. And it is super intense. And sometimes insane.

Rugby also involves more teamwork. And skill.

And the play isn't stopped every 5 seconds. The players are in fact running for almost the entire duration of the game.


Well, that's my Rugby vs. Football rant, in honour of the Super Bowl, in which rugby trounces football.

This is pointless. GAH.

So, if you noticed (or a better opener would be "if you read, which you probably did not") the previous post, it has three shameless, blatant references to "She's the Man," a geniusly great film. Really. So funny. And so referenceable.

I don't really know why I started another post. I have nothing to say. But I'm bored like a bored thing.




Pow Pow. Take a Bow.