The Fashion Of Nerdom

Hello....yes, I have not blogged in a while. I had much better things to do than spend my time entertaining my mind peons (that would be you....peon is much nicer than slave, don't cha think? {yes, master}) Actually, I haven't had much better things to do, but that's quite beside the point. In fact, pretty much the only bloggable thing I did during my lengthy absence has been to discover a sense of style, one beyond "whatever's comfy". 

You heard correctly, the music hating and poorly dressed nerd who you met at the beginning of our adventure through the magical world of blogging (where unicorns and lemon scented bunnies abound) has, perhaps through the power of grape flavored bubbles or said unicorns, both filled an ipod and a closet. WAIT! Don't panic and think I went all runway on you. Remember my taste in music. Remember my inherent nerdiness. Look at the picture, for goodness sake! Yes, I am wearing neon blue pants, an oversized pink sweater, and a shirt with the pope on it (in pink!)...what else did you expect...hmmm?! I would NEVER abandon my ideals (and thrashed black converse with DFTBA scrawled on the on them in multiple places) just to be stylish! No, my new fashion is more of a ME fashion, one that involves granny glasses and non matching clothes, shirts that ask "what's up home skillet?" and feature everyone's favorite kitchen friend (you don't befriend skillets? How dare you?!) . SO don't worry...even though getting dressed takes longer than five seconds now, and I actually care about clothes, this change has actually made me MORE nerd-tastic (if that was even possible) Have fun, lesser peoples!!! (just kidding, I love you, little mind slaves)

Zit Karma

I'm home sick today, so no CCQ. 

First, a note for all people who read and don't comment. Those who comment may skip this paragraph. Starting...NOW!

Hello lovely child! You read but don't comment, right? I see. I have a great idea! With all that time and energy you save by not commenting, you'll be able to fit a very fulfilling new exercise into your day. Here's what I suggest: Don your most stylish black clothes (It's very flattening). Then, wait until nighttime and take a nice moonlit stroll near your local road. Don't bring a flashlight, it might block the beautiful headlights. Remember- sidewalks are for squares! Have you decided to comment now? Fantastic, you're back to being a good little mind slave*.

Okay, now that we've rid ourselves of those pesky little rebels, we can get on with the topic of the day: zit karma. Yes, I know the real definition of karma, and that it is nothing like what I'm describing, but we can pretend, can't we? (read: you WILL pretend, mind slaves, master commands it!) Recently I have discovered a clever piece of magic that I call zit karma. This is how it went down:

I, being a teenager, have recently begun to aquire those nasty little nuggets of facial irritation known fondly as zits. I don't really enjoy sharing my face with these crusty red buggers, but I've resolved to let them stay a while, rent-free. For all those wondering why, it's because the diminutive demons won't go away, even when I ask nicely! (Hey, it works with slow computers. You should try it sometime. Repeat after me: Nice computer, you can do it! Yay, you CAN load the page! Please!!!) But those rude zits don't know good manners when they see them, and they refused to leave. I also tried those zit creams and acne washes, but they only make the scarlet terrorists angry.  I can picture them talking, in their little zit language:

Hey Julia tried to exfoliate us!

Ew, cream! What is she trying to do?

I think she's trying to kick us out!

No fair! Let's get back at her!

Hey, call your friends, let's build an army on Julia's nose!

I call her forehead.

Let's show her what t-zone really stands for!

TROUBLE (that starts with t which rhymes with p and that stands for pool!)**

So, as I was saying, I gave up. Then (this is where the karma comes in), my mom started making mean little teasing comments. Did she really need to point out the zits? NO! (Her: "Hmm, I wonder if Julia notices the enormous red volcano in the middle of her face? NAH! I'd better point it out. Multiple times, in case she forgets") I was just beginning to get a teensey but annoyed with this when something magical happened. My mom pointed out a zit on my forehead. An hour later, Mommy has an even bigger zit on  HER forehead! The same thing with her nose, chin, and cheek. By the end of the day, mommy's face is a perfect map of Julia's*** zits, but way bigger. Yay zit karma!!!

There are two beautiful morals to this story. (Who knew you'd learn so much?) 1. Never, ever, point out a zit, unless you want a matching one. 2. If you have a zit, trick someone into pointing it out so you can secretly giggle at their huger one! (Moral 2 is more important!) Farewell for now, mind slaves!

* If you're wondering anything at this point, read the first entry

**sorry, I couldn't help myself

***I don't know why this is in third person, btw

Boys Boys Boys

* I know I said this wouldn't read like your average diary. It still won't, I promise. This entry isn't me gushing about some "hawt" guy. It's really more of a short and pointless rant on my own cluelessness.

Okay, I’m a tad delayed when it comes to boys. All right, I’m utterly lost. I like a few boys (who I’m not stupid enough to name, even in private). Not that I want a boyfriend yet or anything, but I’d like to someday. Thing is, I’m terribly ignorant about certain female skills, like flirting. Yes, even though my mom tortured me with a flirting role play (an experience burned into my memory), I have no clue how to flirt. I’m just too shy! Hey! at least I know when someone is 

flirting with me, even if I don’t have a clue what to do about it. 

Hmm, this blog was pointless. (Maybe I should meet some archeologists? Nah, I'm too new to be dated!) {