Accidental Stalkers

So one night me and the Hedgehog left the apartment right behind this other couple; it was cold, so we were all in hoodies with the hoods up. They were on the other side of the parking lot by the time we left, so they were far enough away that I didn’t think anything and laughing or joking with the Hedgehog.

Apparently this was my first mistake.

As we walked, I noticed the guy ahead of us nudge his girl and look back at us, as if pointing out our presence; I laughed about this at the time because, well… Did they really think we were stalking them? We just happened to be walking down the same road, they were way ahead of us, and despite the fact we were in a hurry, we weren’t terribly close to them despite walking slightly faster; they were still a whole parking lot length away.

Well, by the time we reached East Coast Wings, it was confirmed: they thought we were muggers. Suddenly both of them veered off and went into the restaurant, and as we passed by I looked over to watch the both of them walking back out. For a while they walked behind us, but apparently we freaked them out still, because they darted across the road… at the same time we needed to cross the road…

Chapter One: Positive (Part 2 of 2)

And now for the exciting conclusion of chapter one of Cathrin Kushman's "novel" In The Presence of Hope!

This is part of a "Learn By Fail" series I'll be doing once a week in which I attempt to edit and fact check her book in an effort to teach others how to write, it's also because... well, because she's insane and frustrating and I need this!

Dougal nudged me slightly and I realized that I had fallen asleep. (Nice way to timeskip... No, it's not, it just gets rid of time that could've been used on character development.) “Your mother is here”, he said to me, quietly helping me get up (Speaking to you is being quiet?) and carrying my things for me. (;) He truly was an amazing man. I looked at the car that had just pulled up, my mother jumped out as soon as she had the car in park and came over to us. (She's sure in a rush, the next scene just confirms this.)

“Rissa,” (How do you get Rissa out of the word Anarsa? I could understand Anna, or even Narsy, but Rissa?) she said and wrapped me in her arms, “how are you feeling? Better? Worse?” (Okay, just because some authors don't think you should capatilize the he or she after quotations doesn't mean you do the same thing in quotations when continuing the quote...) she asked me as she took my things from Dougal. “Thank you Doug,” she said using her personal nickname for him that both of us hated. (Both of us, who? Her and her mom? Her and Dougal? Also, with a name like Dougal I'm sure the mom isn't the only one who's ever used it. A personal nickname is something only that person calls you, like when Lulu calls me "Kitness". I sometimes joke and say "I'm the Kitness", but no one else does.) “You are such a good guy, I’m glad she’s dating you and not some jerky jock.” Well at least she was trying to give him a complement, (No comma needed.) and trying to show that it made her happy that he was looking after me. (New paragraph!) Trying was the keyword. My mother was still getting used to me being heterosexual, (Okay, if I didn't know her mom was lesbian in this story, this would confuse me. It still doesn't make sense: heterosexuality is the society norm, and just because you're raised with two homosexual or heterosexual parents doesn't mean you turn out the same way. Her mom should've been expecting it; sure her daughter would understand better than most that you don't choose love, but still...) and her discomfort around men always showed around Dougal, and any other boy I had dated. (... Her mom should've been expecting it, apparently she's been dating boys for awhile.) “Your mom is worried about you, she’s home to stay for the day(.) I’ve got to go back to work, I would stay home with you(,) but I have a horrible deadline tonight that I’m not ready for,(;) but mom will take good care of you as always.” (Okay, two uses of the word mom from the mom talking... I understand she has two moms... but this is something that needs to be fixed. Wouldn't they be confused? Why isn't one "mom" and the other "momma"? Can someone help me out here?) She said and gave me another hug and ushered me to the car. “Bye Dougal,” She said to him as she got into the car and I waved at him as my mother drove me home. (Way to rush through sentences without fleshing them out...)

“You’re sure you’re going to be okay?” my (... Should I go through and mark that all of these need to be capitalized?) mother asked after I was tucked under blankets in the living room on the couch, fretting over me,(;) I assumed this was normal as I was her only child. (Another lovely time skip!)

“She is fine, Joy, (; or .) I won’t let anything happen to her and I’ll be right here with her.” My mom said to her, well my other mother (Told you it was confusing.), (; or .) Joy was my biological mother, my other mother is Cassy. The two of them are the only parents that I had ever known, (; or .) I had not realized that people did not have two moms(,) that they had one mom and one dad(,) until I started kindergarten. I was not Cassy’s only child(;), she had a son from before she met my mom, a long while before. When Cassy was sixteen she had been raped and had gotten pregnant(Okay, this makes me wince... it also makes me wonder how well this fact is known in the family. You don't just go around telling your children that you were raped and you never wanted them.), she had given birth to a son who was named Michael. Michael is my only sibling(,) but with him being sixteen years older (Wait... Hold on, math time... If Cassy was sixteen years old when she got pregnant, then sixteen years later they had a kid who is nearly sixteen years old now... Also, notice the repeating number, then Cassy is forty-eight now!) than me(,) I only ever saw him and his boyfriend (Oh, no wonder her one mom was worried she wasn't homosexual as well; she seemed to think it really does run in the family... Thank you for making it harder for the homosexuals to fit into society with your misinformation!) on the holidays, (; or .) well he would come to help me with makeup for homecoming and such (That made me flinch... Seriously, gay men have other talents and not all of them are awesome at make up, or, and a , here) but other than that I never saw him, James, or their three adoptive children. (It's okay when your brother adopts, but not you?)

( When I first read this I screamed "fact check" to myself, as a result, I have two little rants that need to go here... She named her character Anarsa, after a Hindu pastry, but she has her two moms with normal names, and her older brother with a normal name. It would make sense if she had this name because she's part Indian, but she is clearly a white girl... Why the strange name? Honestly: do not make your character have a funny name just so they're a special little snowflake. If they have an odd name, address it, because I guarantee someone made fun of them growing up and it's a sensitive issue.

And while we're on the subject of sensitive issues...: Adoption societies are strict, very very strict, about who they let adopt from them.You have to have a stable household, a steady income, be healthy, mentally and physically, and a lot of states don't let gay people adopt, and even if they do a lot of people are unreasonably biased towards them. I know it's not fair, but it's true. Not to mention it's apparently a known fact that Micheal was the child of a rape, he would've grown up knowing this, he probably would've acted out, needed counseling to get past it... The adoption society would have seen this on record and held it against him; also, they rarely adopt to single parents.)

My mothers looked at each other, having one of their silent conversation moments that they often had. Then my mom leaned down, kissed my forehead, and headed to the door(,) reminding me of all the times she had done that when I was a kid. (So she stares at your other mom, kisses you, and leaves, and says nothing? She does this often enough you remember your mom just kissing your forehead and leaving you without a "good-bye" or "I love you?" Also, you should say which mom... and why use their names? Seriously, pick: mom, momma, or real names.) Cassy sat on the couch where there was space for her(,) smiled at me(,) and brushed my hair out of my face. “Is there anything you want me to get you? A soda to calm your stomach?” she asked quietly. (In my family, Coke was remedy to stomach ailments.)

“Saltines(,)” I said quietly in response “and maybe some of the orange carrot juice (Thank you for letting me know what color carrot juice is; no, seriously, thank you. I would've been wondering if it had been made of yellow or purple carrots. Also, saying "the orange carrot juice" implies she really did want it instead of, perhaps, "the white carrot juice".),(;) I think that will make me feel better.” I rolled over as Cassy stood up and kissed my forehead(,) then headed into the kitchen. (Wait... she rolled over as she was standing and kissing your forehead at the same time...? Were you avoiding the kiss for some reason?) I closed my eyes and began to think again. Seeing Cassy made me wonder how she had done it, how had she decided to not only continue the pregnancy but to actually keep the baby. I could never keep the baby I conceived through rape. I was not (... Conjunctions are your best friend, use them.) even sure I was going to keep the baby that I conceived through love. (You conceived it through love, but abortion is your option ahead of adoption? Abortion is a tough issue, and I understand both sides of the argument, but still...) So how did she do it? (She's a stronger woman than you? You said she was sixteen, right? Apparently she did well enough to raise her son on her own so he grew up to be successful enough that even though he's unmarried he could convince and adoption agency to give him not just one but three kids.) I opened my eyes with a start as Cassy placed her hand on my shoulder (This is how you fall asleep thinking.) . I looked up at her, her brown eyes looking concerned, my drink and saltines in her hand. “Thanks mom,” I said sitting up and taking the stuff (Such a descriptive word...) from her.

“You’re welcome sweetie.” She said with a smile.

“Hey mom?” I said(,) and she tilted her head to the side(,) which was her way of saying ‘yes?’ (Like a puppy? Most people go "hmm?" when they do that.) “How come you didn’t get an abortion when you were pregnant with Michael,(?) I was thinking about it and I was just wondering how you not only didn’t get an abortion but didn’t give him up for adoption either; I don’t think I could have done either.” (Wait, she just said she couldn't have either not gotten an abortion or not adopted... Also, I told you it was common knowledge in this household that Cassy had been raped. Micheal grew up and was raised with the knowledge that his father had forced himself on his mother.)

Cassy looked at me for another few moments(,) then sat down on the couch with me again(,) brushing her very short brown hair behind her ear.(See, this is how you describe people: little bits and pieces at a time, unless they make a dramatic entrance and the character is shocked by their looks.) “What brought this up?” she asked, “It never seemed to interest you before now.” (Of course it didn't; what fourteen year old wants to know something like this?)

“In class we were talking about abortion(,) and I remembered that you got pregnant with Michael because of rape. (Rape makes you think abortion? Well, considering that's a common pro for abortions, I understand, but still... It just reminds me about this one story Cathrin wrote where our Mythology teacher, her English teacher the year before, raped her... It was all made up of course, just a way to get a different conflict in, but still...)” I said quickly(,) beginning to wish I had not started this conversation. (I wish you hadn't either, I feel squicky now. This is a sensitive subject and should only be brought up when the person who was raped wants to talk about it...)

“Well, after it first happened I was very ashamed and would not tell anyone. My parents would have never accepted that their little girl could have been raped,(;) that only happened to other girls who were asking for it, wearing slutty clothes. (This whole part right here makes me very sad... and wish for pauses in descriptive breaks. You know: she said as she frowned, eyes dazed and unfocused as she thought back on what had happened.) And (Get rid of the and.) I knew that they would disown me because no little girl of theirs was going to be a slut. (Are they really that bad? They would disown her over rape?) So for fear of being out on the streets I didn’t say a word, (get rid of the comma) to anyone, not even my girlfriend at the time. My parents also didn’t know that I was gay,(;) they(,) being the (remove this the) upstanding members of (the) community(, also, they are The Upstanding Members of Community!) would not allow me to be gay, (;)they would have sent me somewhere that would have gotten the ‘gay’ out of me. (Personally, I'm just sad places like those exist...) So obviously, I was not very close to my parents. (Obviously.) Anyway, when about two months after I was raped I realized that I had not gotten my period yet. (... It took her two months to notice? I'd be like "eh, it's late" after two weeks, then worried after a month "do I need to see a doctor, am I sick?" then suspicious after a month and a half. She says it like one day she woke up, went to the bathroom, saw the box of tampons and went "Huh, haven't used those in a while...") This was just another thing that would kill my relationship with my parents (You mean it was still alive after having to hide your sexuality from them and having them think rape victims were sluts?) ,(;) teen pregnancy was a very horrible thing to them, (:) any sex before marriage was horrible,(; or .) so naturally I would be disowned if they found out so I went to the nearest abortion clinic and talked to one of the councilors (I think she means counselor, these words sound the same but are very different.) there, (.) it was the first time I had told anyone about the rape, and I told her that if I were to keep the baby that I was sure I was pregnant with(,) then I would have no home and no way to take care of the baby (it could've worked... you never want to overuse adjectives or nouns, imagine if every he and she were the person's name.) . I had always been taught that abortion was wrong, that it was murder(,) but here I was sixteen and pregnant,(;) and what was I going to do? Raise the baby on the street?

“After talking for a while(,) she told me to keep thinking about what I wanted to do. She knew I wasn’t sure that I wanted to get the abortion. (;) I wasn’t sure about it because I knew that I would probably never get pregnant again,(.) I had already known that I was gay(, also... it always seems odd to use gay for lesbians...) and had dated several girls at my school(,) and I knew that one day I would want to be a mother(;) and (but would work instead) I didn’t see a way to do that. Obviously Adoption was not (hadn't would work instead, and sound better) occurring (occured, this happened in the past) to me in any way, shape, or form,(; or .) I wasn’t thinking (I want to replace this with considering) that later in life I could adopt(,) or that maybe I could give the baby up. But again most of all of(pick one, most of or all of) this runs (comes would work better) back to how I had been raised.

“So for several days I sat at home thinking about what I wanted, (;)did I want to throw away my only chance at having a baby?(get rid of the ? put a comma, and keep on trucking.) Or was I willing to find a way to be a mother to my child? In the end I decided to keep the baby,(; or .) I knew that my parents would kick me out(, also, they are the worst parents in the world.) so I just left one night and left them a note. I found a church and they got me in a home (I flinched, I know I did. I lived in one of these homes, there's basically only one in the area where Cathrin lives, and it's the same one I lived at. They're an orphanage which also helps teen moms and homeless teenagers; they are also zealously religious and I got in severe trouble just for hugging a friend of mine. A girl there wound up pregnant... you don't want to know how they treated her.) with people who helped me though my pregnancy and helped me stay in school after high school. If it wasn’t for them I would never have met you’re (your, otherwise this is: I would never have met you are mother) mother, (and) I never would have gone to college.” She smiled at me. “Abortion is a very controversial thing(,) Rissa, but when it comes down to it, it is that person’s decision.” She kissed my four head. (You wrote forehead twice and slip up now? Also, are both of these moms interchangeable? They seem to have the same habits and "personal nicknames".)

“Thanks mom,” I said to her(.) and (get rid of the and, I) watched her walk over to her laptop(,) which was sitting on the loveseat on the other side of the room. (I want more of this sentence. Is she surfing? Working?) Cassy was always a little bit more down to earth then my (other) mother (, Joy,) was, (;) a little less worrying (worried. Keep tense in mind.) about things then(than. Really, don't mix these two. Than is the difference between things, then is describing time.) mom. “Mom,” I said suddenly thinking about something. (Is this "I said, suddenly thinking about something" or "I said suddenly, thinking about something"? There is a difference.) “Couldn’t you have just done, (No comma) artificial insemination like mom (Hey mom, why aren't you like mom?) did with me? Or Invetro?” I had been convinced through artificial insemination, my moms had read through many different profiles of the ‘great’ attributes of the men (,) and decided on a sperm donor,(; or .) I had never really thought about it other then (than) when people asked me how I existed when I only had mom and my mom had never been with a man before. I knew I got my green eyes from my father and not my mother, (Actually they could have come from grandparents or a combination of genes reacting... You know what, I'm not even going to go into genetics...) my mother had blue eyes and almost platinum blond hair(,) so my hair must have came from my father too. (But your hair is blonde and blonde shades vary even in genetics... Wait, I said I'm not going into genetics... Just... No.)

Cassy looked back over at me as she opened her laptop again to begin working on her column again. (Again.) “When I was pregnant with Michael they didn’t exist, and maybe if they did I didn’t know about them.” (It's math and fact check time! First, the fact check: invetro became sensationalized in the news across the entire globe around 1978-1980 when the first couple was impregnated this way and later when the first official clinic opened, let's see... It's 2011 now, so I'll assume that's when this story takes place, minus sixteen years for Anarsa's age, and sixteen years more for Micheal's age... That is 1979, when it was in the news and everyone everywhere was talking about it. Also, most religious families, like the kind who think being gay is a sin, considered it be a crime against God; basically, it would probably be the most talked about thing in her household. Also, in the 70's the sperm bank industry and artificial insemination was commercialized, so there was no avoiding these two things. I think that about sums it up.) She answered(,) her fingers beginning to type away at her column. “Anything else Riss?”

“No(,) I think I’ve got it all covered now.” I said and (Start a new sentence here and get rid of the and.) munched on my saltines and juice. (;) I really did love this juice(,) it was one of my favorite things in the world, and so far the baby didn’t seem to mind that I was drinking it(,) which was good. (The baby shouldn't be protesting much of anything at this stage, there should be little to no nausea at all, let alone so bad that the only thing you can eat are crackers and carrot juice.) I looked down at my stomach as I munched. What am I going to do about you? (I flinched... This reminds me way too much of the pro-choice post going around from the point of view of the baby: "I love you mommy, you're so warm and happy. You talk to me. I'm sad, mommy, today daddy hit you, and you won't talk to me anymore. What's going on, mommy? I hurt, why is the doctor hurting me?" Oh gods I just made myself feel squicky...)I know Dougal would want you, he’s just that kind of guy. Am I the type of woman who would abort you? It’s not that I don’t want you, I do, it’s just that now is such a bad time,(;) I can’t support you, (get rid of comma, and) I can’t be a good mother to you, not now. I just want you to have everything and I can’t give you anything (And adoption is your second choice after abortion...?). (New paragraph!) I sighed as I finished eating my saltines and curled back up under the blankets(,) closing me(my. Are we Irish, now? Because I'm insulted if we are.) eyes. Pros of abortion: No one would ever need to know, (Oooh, I'll play this game too! Um, let's see: the child won't have to grow up in the system and be passed around from place to place feeling unwanted and unloved and end up as a broken shell of a human being. See, I can play this game, too.) Cons of abortion: guilt, possible self hatred, Dougal hating me. (Fact: most women who get an abortion say they would never do it again.) Pros of adoption: I wouldn’t be killing the baby, the baby would have good parents, I could have an open adoption. (You could see the baby again, if it was adopted by people you knew you could be part of their lives), Cons of adoption: Missing the baby, every one (everyone) would have to know, my grades would probably go down while pregnant (The baby could spend its entire life in the system and end up in an orphanage like the one I was at, also... if you're that concerned with missing the baby and the baby being happy, why even consider an abortion?). Pros of keeping the baby: Dougal wouldn’t hate me, and um Cons of keeping the baby: bad grades, having to get a job, every one (everyone) would have to know about the baby. There has got to be more then (than) those reasons for keeping the baby(,) right? If there wasn’t then there would not be so many teenage girls keeping their babies(,) would there? (Three words for you: Sixteen And Pregnant.)

That is the end of this chapter, this is no more of this chapter. What saddens me is that towards the end of the first half of this chapter it felt like she might be getting the hang of writing; I've read the other two chapters that are up, from this point on she just gave up.

Grammar lessons to remember:

Whenever you're not sure how something sounds, read it aloud to yourself; if something sounds stiff or just not right, fix it.

Conjunctions are your friend, if you wouldn't talk that way out loud, then don't write that way.

You're and your are different words, you're is you are. Say it out loud if you're not sure.

Then and than, there is a difference, mainly the difference between one meaning "and then this happened" and the other being the difference between two things, such as "I would rather eat chocolate than go to the dentist."

Also, everyone and every one is different. Everyone refers to all of a group of people, every one is saying all of one.

And as always, remember punctuation and spell check, and that only proper nouns are capitalized. See you next week for another lesson!

Butter Dean

It’s a well known fact around our apartment that Paula Dean scares me.

I'm Paula Dean, ya'll!

On television there’s nothing wrong with the Butter lady, except maybe her addiction to butter.

Come on, people! She makes cakes that call for two and half cups of butter, and puts at least two tablespoons in everything! She has something called Gooey Butter Cake that is essentially a pile of buttery pudding that used to be cake mix! That isn't to say her food probably doesn't taste good, and I'm sure it does, and I don't hate her as a person, it's just that, well... her face is terrifying.

I mean, I’ve been made fun of in the past for being like her; it’s the curse of being a southern cook. Making veggies? Tablespoon of butter. Making rice? Two tablespoons. Making a grilled cheese? Butter for the pan and some Duke's mayonaise on the inside for flavor. Making a homemade cake? Melted butter for that. Making my famous cookies? Well, I use oil and honey... Frying eggs? Okay, I use olive oil.

I've got some confused DNA...

Hey, I’m part Italian, too. (And Irish and Romani and Native American and Swedish and German…)

"All this cake took was two cups of butter and your soul."

Anyway, Paula seems like she’s a nice lady on tv, but her magazines all have her with these perfectly white, straight, teeth and these wide pale blue eyes; the result is a set of soul stealing eyes and teeth that look set to rend your flesh from their very bones. I die a little inside every time I look at her that way; and I know she doesn’t look that way,  because if you catch a picture of her when her face is too far back, you can see that she has normal blue eyes, and on her cookware you can even see normal colored teeth that are slightly crooked in the front and natural.

Butter face terries me. Sorry guys, I’ll come up with a butter pun next time. Pfft…

Moving right along… Last night I made veggies for dinner, and the Hedgehog said, “Alright now, Paula  Dean.” Well, when I went to reply back to him, I accidently called her “Butter Dean”… Not one to let me live anything down (he certainly never let me live down “fub” or “bake-ed”), the Hedgehog informed me that my new nickname was Butter Dean.

I promptly died.

And then he made butter puns for the next ten minutes, I don’t think I’ll ever forgive him for this.

"You'll change your mind once I butter you up."

And She Does It AGAIN Ladies And Gentlemen! Part One In An Epic Series On How To Write A Book!

Alright, when you sit down to write a book, there are a lot of things you have to have in mind when you begin, a lot of things other than just a basic grasp of the English language; you need to have a feel for your audience, lure them in with a catch hook.. The following is how NOT to write a book.

"Blogging: A school project that blossomed into something more"

(Ah, so I see we're already off to a great start! That is so not a title that leads me to believe that the entire following post will be based off of something you had to do in class; I so didn't get confused when the About Me popped up.)

So this is the first "post" that I wrote for the book I started a couple days ago that is titled "Blogging: A school project that blossomed into something more" (for now at least). I'm not really set on how I'm going to do the date and time thing yet, and I'm not sure if I want to have the title be above or below the date/time, but eventually I'll figure it out. This is basically all I have of the book so far and it is about a page in length. (A fake blog is a book...? You do know most publishers won't take anything that's been published on the internet, right...?)

August 25th 2012 6:15pm (Pffft, silly Kit! You should've known this wasn't her just blogging from the get-go! It's in the future!)

About Me; Part One? Maybe? (I don't know?)

Life is funny thing; you think that one thing will happen(, and for added bonus of flowing better, add an and) then something totally different happens. Like today, (The comma works sort of, but you could easily go with a ; here, or a : As in the following is an example of something that happens you didn't expect.) I was assigned to do this blog all year long for my English class. I’m not sure what all there is to write about,(; because you're beginning a new thought) I am the quiet person who doesn’t really insert herself (Since you're talking about neutral gendered people who don't like to talk in an effort to describe yourself, use themselves. Say it aloud. Herself sounds funny...) in conversations, I (like to) keep things to myself. This is probably one of my down falls as none of my relationships have lasted very long.

Anyway, my teacher wants us to go over our pasts for at least a while in these blogs.(Combine these two sentences, they don't need to be separated.) But first I think that what I need to do is introduce myself. I am Leah, (This could sound a lot better if it was just changed to "My name is", and it would look and flow better.) Leah Myrna O'Reilly-Matthews, (and) I am (conjunctions are your best friends, people) nineteen years old and (Remove that and as it's unneeded, give yourself a ;) I am in my second year of college, (No comma, and) my major is still in the air (End the sentence there.) I have (Get rid of that part and changed it to, There are) so many things that I would like to do its (that) picking what I want to do forever that (Remove the that) is the hard part.

The reason for my ("I have" would be a better way to start the sentence.) two last names is because when I was sixteen I was adopted, (No comma.) by an amazing couple named Laura and Pamela (... Okay, the first chapter of her other book isn't up yet, but I'd like to say... She seems to be on a "I have two mommys" kick. Nothing wrong with it, but I just can't help but see the theme...) ,(;) when they adopted me they wanted to change my last name to their last name, Matthews, but I wanted to keep my last name (because) it was one of the only things I had (left) of my parents. I say one of because I do have a photo album of me and my parents,(;) I used to have more things, that (but instead of that) I lost slowly (reverse these two and put a those) though all of the foster homes that I had (have) been though. The thing I remember most that I lost was a locket that my parents had given me the day of the accident.(;) But the locket wasn’t really lost(,) it was stolen,(;) but that is not something I am going to talk to the world about(,) not today at least.

The accident is how I became an orphan. (Really? With an ominous title like The Accident, I thought it was just the day you wet yourself at school.) My parents(,) Myrna (... Your mom gave you her first name as your middle name...?) and Drummond O’Reilly(,) were Irish (Awesome, thanks, make me regret being Irish...) immigrants, (remove the comma...) who moved over(here instead of over, because over means they moved slowly from Ireland to America over several years...) several years before I was born. So when my parents’ BMW was crushed between one of those Toyota heavy-duty trucks and an eighteen-wheeler (... Yeah...? So when it was crushed, then what happened? Ideally this should be changed to remove the "so when", and then this sentence combined with the next.). The back bumper of the eighteen-wheeler went through the front windshield of their car and they died instantly(,) or at least that is what I was told. I didn’t have any other family, not in the states at least(,) so I was placed into foster care (Wait... what? You always go to your closest family member, no matter where they live, and if something happened and you didn't it's because they didn't want you and gave up the rights. If they wanted you they would've gotten custody.) (End the sentence and make this a new one.) and since I was four and people don’t want to adopt a child that old. (... And since you you were four, what...? Also, are you nuts?! Not adopting a four year old because that's "too old"? Four year olds are ripe for adopting: they're past the terrible twos, fully into their cuteness, and you don't have to wake up all hours of the night changing their diapers.)

(Take the last sentence of that last paragraph and stick it to this one... Though it still doesn't make a lick of sense...) I bounced around from foster home to foster home tell (until) I was fifteen, when Laura and Pamela became my foster parents(,) and then adopted me. I had (have) been though a lot in foster care, (No comma.) and I am very happy with who my parents are now. I’ll talk more about the foster care thing some other day (I can't wait for this! She's going to make me fact check everything!), right now I have homework to do and my roommate hates it when I stay up past midnight with the lights on as(when) she has classes early in the morning. (... So you just don't care if you keep her awake?)

~Leah O’Reilly-Matthews

After you write something you should read it aloud to yourself to find out if you wrote anything awkward; also, be careful of tense changes. Would you tell someone, "Yeah, I had been through a lot." or "Yeah, I've been through a lot." ?

I Am A Horrible, Cruel, Mean, Twisted, Evil, Passive Aggressive, Vindictive Person (but I just can't stop!)

I stand at the apex of war...

I am a horrible, cruel, mean, twisted, evil, passive aggressive, vindictive person... but there really isn't much I can do to help myself; you see, once upon a time I had a temper just like my mom, and then one day... she was gone. When I realized I could never take back my regrets and the things I'd said, I decided I would just never have regrets over things I'd said ever again... except now I have regrets over things I don't say. This isn't about that, though: this post is about my love of looking for things that make me angry so I can sit and feel insanely alive as my adrenaline courses through my blood. I am, needless to say, a terrible person...

There are things that must be said.

 Especially I am terrible when it comes to the subject of a certain young woman named Cathrin... I won't even try to hide her name, she's seeking out attention all over the internet, so it won't matter if I hide it, you'll still find her... eventually. See, we used to be friends in high school, she was younger than me and a lot more immature even back then, but we got along fine... only she had, problems...

I still worry about her...

Like she was completely obsessed with a boy she'd met at 13 or 14 named Chris over the internet. He was 18 when she met him, and her parents had already had him arrested once for cybering with her over the internet. How obsessed was obsessed? She'd write fanfiction, horrible mini-novels, all with the same plotline: underage girl meets older boy, gets pregnant, loses baby.

I'm talking physically ill...

Oh, and I do mean bad fanfiction... She wrote a Twilight spin off called What She Didn't Know. It was from the point of view of a male vampire who was obviously based on Chris. He met an underage girl over the internet and got arrested, then tricked his family into moving to her town so he could sneak into her room at night and have sex with her. The name of one chapter was basically But What She Didn't Know Was That When A Vampire And A Human Have Sex And The Woman Gets Pregnant The Baby Grows Really Fast And When It's Born She Dies. It was probably the worst thing I had ever read, but I did because at the time, we were friends, and I fairly liked her... also, I clearly didn't understand what delusions are and how it would've been smarter to do something about it before it ruined her life...

"I'm pregnant with his spirit baby."

And why did she do this? Why did she write stories about 18 year olds getting under aged girls pregnant against the wishes of their parents only for her to write in a miscarriage? Because despite having never met him in person and the fact he lived several states away, she used to tell us, quite blatantly, that he had sex with her in her sleep and she was pregnant from his spirit. When, normally a few weeks later, she wasn't showing any signs of actually being pregnant, she'd give up and claim miscarriage. Of course, she never told her parents and never went to the doctor, so you can see how this made her stories untrustworthy... especially when she'd claim a miscarriage then a week later say she was two weeks pregnant... Oh, and the spirit babies thing, too..

Still mad she used them, though...

A few years later she was on Facebook and she had managed to convince an entire community of women who really had lost children that this had all happened; oh, and she managed to manipulate her parents into letting her meet him in person, and now she's married to him... When I tried to tell these women this, a lot of them believed me because they had seen the holes in her stories and how obsessed she was, but a lot didn't because, well, it's the internet and they don't know me from jack, and they couldn't believe that anyone would do such a thing. When Cathrin told me stop after slandering me for almost a week, I let it go... I felt awful that her delusions were accidentally being reinforced, but I let it go; there was nothing I could do anymore anyway.

Am I really seeing what I think I'm seeing?

During NaNoWriMo, though, I saw her name on the site, and I read her book summary... and my petty nature had me silently competing with her in an effort to write better quality faster than she could. It got me through the book quickly, and it let me vent some anger, and all was well... until I saw she made a page on FB promoting herself as an author... and then I saw she made a blog... where she had put up the first three chapters of her book... She's completely convinced she's a writer now; I consider myself a writer, and even I know I'm probably never going to get a book deal: when your average book is more than 500 pages, you tend to have problems getting published.

... I'm a terrible person...

She butchered the English language though and did so little fact checking on her source material that a paragraph in I felt like, well... like taking her hopes and dreams and grinding them into a paste beneath my heel and rubbing her face in it. It was just too good to pass up... So, instead of letting my rage and anger take over me... I'm instead going to play the role of editor to these three chapters. Follow along if you dare, if you don't... Well then, you can return to your regularly scheduled programming and ignore those posts.

Brownies and Hedgehog's are Tasty Midnight Snacks

So while I was in the middle of working on my webcomic, reading Cracked, and learning to crochet, I decided I should go put up the brownies I'd made and grab one while I did so; well, the Hedgehog was asleep, so I thought I was being quiet for him, but when I turned around after closing the fridge door, I saw him blinking blearily at me from the bed. So I smiled and waved cheerfully, and was halfway back to the bathroom before I thought better of it and turned back to kiss him goodnight; as I neared his face, I was treated to this reaction:

This is clearly the face of someone who thinks his girlfriend is about to eat him.

Happy Birthday, Hunny!

Believe it or not, if it wasn’t for the Blonde One, I would never have met Hunny, or even Lulu and Tiffy for that matter. Heck, if it wasn’t for the fact I was so ridiculously talented, I never would have met the Blonde One!

No, seriously. We were in the same art class, and one day I’m sitting there drawing this anime style winged guard for a story I was writing, and she just sat down across from me and started talking about how awesome it was. By the end of class we were friends and she invited me to sit with her and her friends; I almost didn’t do it, since I normally ate lunch with Mir-Mir and her friends, but for a while there I kept feeling left out of conversations and awkward, so I thought I’d try this whole “making new friends” thing all my other friends were doing… That and I have abandonment issues, so I thought I’d get back at them for daring to make friends other than me.

This is the group I walked up to: find Hunny!

Can’t? She’s the blonde one… no, the one on the bench.

They were in a class lower than me, well, except for the one girl,  but we all loved anime and manga and art and writing and all the creative things in the entire world like acting and movies! Hunny especially was talented, what with her adorable kitty drawings and writing abilities, and her website, and her piano and flute, and sign-language, and clothes designing skills… We were awesome and full of win and spread our otaku goodness across the entire school! WOOO!

For her birthday that year, we all went out to the local Chinese buffet place, and we got the cute waiter:

He had anime hair.

It was the perfect start to a perfect storm of awesome, later we went to her grandmothers place to stay the night, and we made up a game called the Blushing Game. It was a hilarious game, using each other anime crushes and our creative abilities, we created mental images and stories to make people blush, and we even had a point system.

I remember that Tiffy like Sasuke of Naruto fame, and Hunny liked Dark Mousey… but I can’t remember who the Blonde One liked… it might have been Satoshi from DNAngel… I remember that I didn’t like anyone, I was past that point of fangirling and had moved on to writing my own characters and fangirling over the awesomeness I had made, but for the night they made a human form to the kyuubi no kitsune, and thrust him, half-completed and full of badassery, at me.

Eventually things downgraded into bad porn, though, when the Blonde One started talking about Dark throwing Hunny on tables and covering her with Buckets Of Butter… I fell asleep…

And then the Blonde One swore she saw the Tooth Fairy in the pendulum of the clock, so we all hid in one bedroom, and I slept in the doorway to protect everyone.

Worst 50th Post Ever

... You know how I'm an easily terrified person? My mind sits and thinks about how things can go wrong so I'm always prepared, but sometimes something happens that even I haven't thought of; maybe it's something so good my brain thinks it's a trick, or maybe it's something so bad that all of my instincts scream at me to run before something worse happens.

This has happened to me a lot in the past, but only in the years after I lost my mom. After I lost her, I changed. I couldn't take confrontation, couldn't handle change... Believe it or not, I didn't get terrified at every little thing that might go wrong. I've run a lot. Get in a fight with my dad? Run. Get in a fight with a friend? Run, then make excuses not to talk to them. Get in a fight with my dad's Girl-Fiend? Get forced into a fight with her, then run.

Tonight's no different, either.

See, apparently the Terror (oh gods, should I be calling her that...?) had a bruise. I saw it today, she showed it to me. I figured it came from either when she made me pick her up and carry her away from the door while she was kicking and screaming, or from when her dad had to haul her up last night. Either way, it was getting blamed on me... Remember my fear of the Hedgehog's family hating me? Thinking me a horrible person? Yeah, well it happened, apparently... They are mad at me...

And every single fiber of my being is screaming at me to run, trying to come up with plans so I can avoid confrontation all together. Even horrible stuff I would never do my brain is thinking of. Everything from "fake sick so you have to stay home on Thanksgiving and not talk to them" to "get up after the Hedgehog goes to sleep and walk away, we'll figure it out from there."

... What kind of horrible person am I if I'm thinking of running off in the middle of the night without saying goodbye to my Hedgehog? Or even that I love him? What kind of twisted, selfish, cruel-hearted person would do that?

I'm terrified the answer is me...

A Thousand Views Already...?

... Those of you who know me might know I'm kind of a paranoid person. I panic easily, I'm afraid of the unknown... Those of you who read my blog might be used to this face showing up by now:

This is because I'm not very confident in myself and I've spent most of my life trying to think of the worst possible things that could happen so I could avoid them. When something good or unexpected happens, my brain tells me I should fear it and fear it hard, rather than be happy...

That's why right now my heart is pounding really hard and I'm freaking out, because more than a thousand people have looked at my blog and I've had 80 views already, and it isn't even 5 yet...

... Also, this is my 41st post... Awwww yeaaaah...

Now someone other than Jess and Hunny comment!

Creepy Conversation of the Day

(The color changes in the next pic... tried to find a more tile-y color...)

So yesterday wasn’t too bad of a day with the Terror… I mean, she was a real, horrible, Terror yesterday, but the Hedgehog had the day off of work so he was there, and his little sister came over for a while, so the Terror wasn’t focused terribly on me… Still, she pitched an ever loving screaming fit because the Spawn and the Hedgehog’s little sis wouldn’t play with her? Or something like that… So to punish her for being bad I put her in timeout like I always do.

Timeout is a chair in the corner of the kitchen. Sometimes she sits and whimpers quietly for five minutes, sometimes she sits and screams and tries to move and I have to bump it up to ten minutes… Guess which one she did this time?

Not pictured here: a weeks worth of dirty dishes, and sanity.

 Oh, and when she sits and screams, she does it purposely, meaningfully, emphasizing each individual scream. And if I make the mistake of looking back at her she stares forcefully into my eyes, screaming short little blasts of “ah”!

"Ah! Ah! Aahh! Ah! Aaaah! Ah!"

"AH! AAAAHHHH! CAN'T YOU SEE I'M SUFFERING?!"

Well, while ignoring her so that she understands this won’t get her her way, Hedgehog’s sister came out, saw her in the kitchen, and told her, “If you want out of the chair, just get out of it.” and so the Terror did so… I may have lied when telling this to the Hedgehog by telling him that his sister picked the Terror up and moved her, because honestly… his little sister is scary and intimidating to my “shy-just-getting-to-know-you-and-therefore-not-comfortable-speaking” stage I go through. Normal me would like her, but for now she’s loud and aggressive and yells a lot at everything.

… All I could think was that my authority had been undermined… Whether purposeful or not (and I doubt it was, though she had to know that the chair in the corner was timeout) it put a thought in the Terror’s head: she could get away with anything, timeout was no longer a punishment…

I know this because a few hours later she got into raw cookie dough and huddled in a corner trying to eat it quickly before anyone noticed… right behind me… while my back was turned… I who thought she was just being a weird kid staring over my shoulder making slurping noises.

And I could’ve prevented it, too, if I’d spoken up earlier in the day when the Hedgehog’s sister had given her a chunk of the cookie dough. I could’ve said, “No, that’s your older sister’s, I don’t think she should have that”, but instead I clamed up and worried about how if I spoke up she’d hate me… But the Terror suddenly saw that the cookie dough was something she could have, and she did so…

When she got yelled at for doing it, she crawled under the table and proceeded to drag herself across the floor, looking pathetic and shoving at anything within arm’s length…

In fact, the only not bad thing that really happened with her today was a creepy conversation we had. See, after the Terror woke up I asked what she wanted for breakfast. Normally she wants pbj, because she freaking loves the stuff, but for the past couple of days she’s wanted toast instead. So I toasted her some bread and was looking for a butter knife, but all the forks and butter knives were dirty. Well, thinking she could help, the Terror grabbed the only knife left and thrust it at me, so I had to talk to her about how certain things are only for adults… (Apparently telling her how cars are only for adults doesn’t work, because the Hedgehog’s little sister lets her drive sometimes… Seeing a trend here...)

While telling her about this, we had this conversation:

Me: Knives are only for adults.
Terror: But mommy uses them.
Me: Well, mommy’s an adult.
Terror: She uses this one on her toe!

I was caught so off guard, I lapsed straight into, “Ugh, ew! That’s so disgusting!”

I then, because you should never tell a small child their mother is disgusting, had to cover it up quickly by saying that the Terror should never do such a thing… but I couldn’t help but ask why her mom used it that way.

Terror: Because her toe hurts.

… And the knife solves this problem?!