My Stupidity has Increased

So I was seeing this weird little argument on youtube about the word: “Gay.” They were saying such things as: “Gay is a male homosexual.”

And to that I said: “Gay can also refer to women.”

“The term for a homosexual girl is a lesbian,” is what they replied.

I got this in my inbox about a month too late, so I’m not going to awkwardly reply to that person. But to be honest, seriously? You’re going to change the word gay to being only for male now? Really? Gay is a noun/adj that primarily refers to a homosexual person. PERSON. Not male. However, I guess people are making gay more of a male-term since somebody decided to think of the word lesbian. I don’t know why they can’t be all called gay. Then again, lesbian does sound sexier.

Gay does mean happy. Now it also means a homosexual (or stupid). Oh, English, you’ve changed. Well, that’s what English does.



I hate Christmas. I hate days where people show their appreciation through presents. I may sound selfish saying that nobody cares about me, or maybe just arrogant. I may sound selfish saying I don’t get presents. But to me, it’s a way to vent my frustration. A present isn’t another way to get free stuff (most of the time), it’s a way (like I said) to show your appreciation.

I don’t give out gifts anymore because…. why should I? I‘m tired of this give and give relationship. I’m tired of being around people who would leave me within a minute if I can’t make them laugh. And especially, I’m tired of being the group’s comedian. I have a sense of humor and I like making people laugh, but I hate to do it just to fit in. I hate to exploit my one trait. I want people to know the person I am instead of this doofus. I used to be able to dance on the table like an idiot in order to make them laugh and stay around, but now, what’s the point? They’re just here for the show. They’re all going to leave after the show’s over.

I was sick during the Friday and it felt terrible, but I went from being sick from a cold to being sick to my stomach.

Feeling Teased

Just a quick post:


Are these people of these magazines teasing me with these hot looking blond models? Seriously, I look at those clothing magazines and such, and all I see are blondes everywhere. Maybe it’s just me. Or maybe people just love blondes in clothings. I don’t know. There are some brunettes here and there, but those blondes seem to dominate most of the magazine. And I say that from what I’ve seen, and that’s Victoria’s Secret. Yup.

Losing Interest

So like I said last post I was going to answer myself. Indeed, I was only intrigued. It t’was not a crush. A crush is something that people have when they think that they’re in love, and thus it’s why t’is call a crush. Because it HURTS! In which case, today, the blonde that wasn’t blond but is kind of blond although she really isn’t anymore, she helped me realized that it wasn’t a crush. Maybe, possibly… probably.

I was doing my usual thing, getting myself into class and doing whatever else. Then, out of the ordinary, she mentioned her boyfriend and such. I just stared into the abyss, and I thought, “Huh.”

That probably triggered my brain to slap my mind (yes, they are two different things in my head xD) and told it to SNAP OUT OF IT! So in the end, Natasha wins all. Sorry, that was off-topic. What I meant to say was, my superficial is kicking back in. I already figured out the magic of her hair, so what is there to be interested about? Her personality? She’s just like every other person in this fucking school! Duuurrr

I might sound angry, but I’m really not. I feel… awfully light, and released of my weight. Ah, well, it’s time to go back on my path. I was sidetracked, now I’m on the road again. Just one day, I tell ya. There is over a billion people in this world, she must be somewhere out there. And when I do find her, it doesn’t matter if she’s married or anything like that. I at least want to befriend her.

Humans need social contact, and at least that part of me is human.

Intrigued, or a Crush?

I talked of the blonde that isn’t really blond but is kind of blond. Her nickname shall soon be a paragraph. Anyways, I started thinking about it more. At first, I was intrigued by the fact that her hair kept on changing almost every day.

Now, I can’t even get her out of my head @_@

I told myself that I’ve developed a crush, brainwashed myself into thinking about that. But is it really? I’ve told people of her, and they say that it’s a crush. I wrote a couple of romance stories even though I’ve yet to experience what love is. To be honest, I don’t even think I’ll ever experience love.

I’m interested in a relationship, but that’s only because I crave for  communication. I want somebody whom I can talk to. Am I really interested in romance? Well, according to the stories I write, I am. I love romance, my third favorite genre aside from scifi and fantasy.

I’ve said that I’m asexual. I’m intrigued by the fact that humans use this reproductive activity as a way of enjoyment. I wouldn’t want to be part of it though. Besides, I’m saving myself up for somebody who resembles Natasha. Might never happen, but that’s alright. I think they said something about if you die a virgin, you become an angel… or something like that. I don’t know.

For all I care, you might be part of those 72 virgins that the suicidal bombers get. Oh, goodness.

The blonde that isn’t blond but is kind of blondwellthe moment I got myself out of the delusional zone, I do realized that she wasn’t exactly blond. So why am I still thinking about her? To me, it might be her personality. She is a basketball player, she seems to be an outgoing person. An active student in class. Everything I’m opposite off. Maybe that’s why I’m so intrigued? It shouldn’t be. If I was interested in people whose personality is opposite of mine, that would be everybody in this goddamn school.

So what makes her so special?

I need to answer that question… I’ll do it on the next post once I have a talk with myself. By the way, why is it called a crush? That sounds painful.

A Story for the Yearbook

I was walking  in the hallway and saw Benny taking out his books for the next period. He saw me coming and accelerated his process. I continue marching toward him and as he straightened up—his hands holding tightly to his books—I shoved him against the lockers. He gawked at me, his eyes wavering, gulping. I kicked his legs and said, “After school, go to Adamen Park. Don’t be late.”

The boy said nothing back. People around stared at this situation, though nobody had the guts to even stop me. Pathetic. The same kids, the same witness, and I still have yet to be called in by the counselors or anything like that. It made me grin, giving me such a boost for today. I needed this in order to get through the night.

Adamen Park was a place currently being reconstructed after a terrible storm. There was nobody here. It was the perfect place. I brought two guys with me for the lookout. As expected, Benny was there at the right time. I didn’t hesitate when I saw him, rushing toward the boy, I kicked him right in his stomach. Falling down, his face in pain, but he didn’t scream. Benny had gotten used to this, and it bored me now. So I had to take it to the next level. In my pocket was a switchblade.

I ordered the other two to hold him down. I stood up, watching Benny trying to release himself, and pulled out the knife. Benny stared in terror, struggling even harder. I pierced through his shirt, imprinting my initial onto his chest. He screamed, yelled, begging me to stop. Tears leaked from his eyes, and a temporary satisfying feeling that would keep me through the night. When the damage was done, I told the two to leave, and I had done the same. Benny was barely conscious, bleeding terribly. We had to leave quickly, before anyone arrived.

At home, I quietly opened the front door, gaping at the bottles and can on the table and some dropped on the floor. She was out cold until I turned up. Grabbing one of the empty beer can and threw it at me, banging against my head. “Get me more beer, you trash!”

Anger flow through my veins, however, my childhood fear won over the rage. And I followed her command. Going to the refrigerator, I grabbed a beer and slowly brought myself to the woman lying on the couch. She got up, snatching the bottle away from my hand and slapped me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Stealing my knife when I’m not here. Where is it, you mutt!”

During my way back home, I had washed off the blood on the knife. It should be fine, but I still didn’t want to give it up. My body didn’t listen to me, though. It moved without my permission and handed it over. Another smack and I stumbled down to the ground.

The same thing… repeating over and over. I thought I was able to change when I entered high school. Freshman year was ending, and nothing changed. Then the last day of school came. Benny was gone for three weeks. I shouldn’t be caring, however, I felt terrible without having anybody to lash out at. Sixth period was here and it was almost the end.

Without a notice, Benny entered through the door. His face was grim, and his hand held a pistol. They noticed what was in his hand and quickly panicked. The first shot he made was toward the ceiling. Then he unleashed the bullets on anyone he could see, including me. He shot me, hitting my shoulder. I fell down, breathing quickly. A whole different type of fear surged through my body. I gawked at him, my eyes almost the same as him. The position was opposite. He frowned, pointing the gun toward his head, and muttered something that I could never forget. “You did this to me.”




I wrote this story for my school’s yearbook ;P had to keep it in one page.