Power of Words

Words are powerful. Think about it. They mean pretty much the same thing, but doesn't "man" sound so much weirder than "guy"? More distant, somehow. Stranger, more formal, more mysterious. Older, maturer.
"A strange man."  "Some random guy."
Feel the difference?
The power of words, people. The power of words.

[And yes, the whole point of this blog post was so that I could say those last two lines in the spooky, eerie, wise manner. Yes, its spooky, eerie and wise. Shut up.]

~A very jobless, Sam

And we're back to talking about guys.

UPDATE: This post requires way, way, way more context. Suffice to say that neither of us are giggle twelve year old One Direction fans, and that I do not spend all my free time telling Marsh that I love her. The only reason this is still on here is for posterity, and it might be better if you just skipped it.


Fortunately, this time I'm not the one doing the (c)raving.

Remember my friend the Marshmallow? She's back! And she can read Arabic and has an insanely inappropriate crush on Zayn Malik. The rest, I'll leave you to figure out for yourself.




Marsh: So I'm following this blog which states random "amazing" facts about One Direction. Today's fact was "Zayn can read in Arabic" and I was like, "YOU DON'T SAY!" -_-

Me: Ahahahaha! God I love you Marshy! Enough to spend actual balance to tell you that. You just made me literally laugh out loud when I was all depressed about how every other guy out here is hot. [I'm travelling.] I finally got what you mean about hotness being painful.

Marsh: See? You should listen to me more. Hotness was created as a tool for sadism.
Seriously! When I read that fact I was like "OF COURSE he knows how to read Arabic! Half the people in the world know how to read Arabic! His freaking NAME should've been an indiciation to the fact that he knows how to read Arabic! Even I know how to read Arabic! Gah!

Me: Seriously. Annoying. And now I can't even take comfort in the fact that I'm a nice, non-sadistic person anymore.
I LOVE YOU! That message is going in my "epic" folder. And. Being able to read Arabic IS amazing to most people you know. Including me. Like being able to read Chinese or something.

Marsh: Dude, there are more people in the world who can read Arabic than who can read Chinese. But yeah.
I saw this interview in which they asked him that if he was a girl, which guy would he date? And he instantly replied "Channing Tatum". And I was like, "Thats it. This guy is my soulmate."

Me: STOP MAKING ME LAUGH OUT LOUD IN PUBLIC! AND SPEND PRECIOUS BALANCE! DO NOT reply after this. And yes. He's your 17-year old, minor, illegal-to-date soulmate :D

The End.

UPDATE: Sorry, apparently I was wrong about that last bit. Here's Marsh's correction: "HE IS NOT MY 17 YEAR OD MINOR,ILLEGAL TO DATE SOULMATE! HE'S MY 19 YEAR OLD,TOTALLY APPROPRIATE,LEGAL-TO-DATE CRUSH!"

~Sam

More ramblings. (This is what I do when I have things to say but not enough to make an entire post.)

Hi.
If you're a hyper-sensitive guy well aware of his manliness who refuses to carry his girlfriend/mom's handbag, you should probably leave right now.
As should sane persons and other people who like coherence in their blog posts.

----------

So first up, if having a baby is anywhere near as uncomfortable as the processes that make childbirth possible, I'm never doing it. Screw experience, one magical moment is not going to make up for nine months of torture. I'll just adopt and pledge my soul to Greenpeace instead.

(Greenpeace because I'm being all eco-friendly by not adding to the population, and because everything-literally everything, from sushi to sanitation- can be linked to the environment. And therefore by extension to Greenpeace.)
(Also, congratulations. You now know that I've never experienced the joys of childbirth.
 (or have I?)
 Bravo.)

----------

God.
Why, God, why? Why do you hate me? And if you don't, why do you act like you do? Why do you ignore all my sorry's and pleas and thank you's? Do you not care about me? Why did you make me, then, if your plan all along was to leave me?
Why do you not listen to me? Why do you not acknowledge my existence? Why do you ignore all my thousands of thought-messages? Are you not telepathic? But you're God. If you're not telepathic, what hope do the rest of us have?

----------

Google.

If Google was a person (a guy person) I would marry it. It has everything I want. It's amazing and it's popular, it's successful and it knows everything without being an idiot about it, it looks good and it plays pranks on people, it's unique and it's accessible, it's multifaceted and it has a sense of humor, it's ultra-cute and I bet if it had a smile, it would have dimples.
So there you go. My perfect man is a search engine. 

Though I totally love Sergey Brin, too. Marry me?

----------

And that is what PMS and a soppy Valentine video from Google does to me.

This post is probably going to come back to haunt and embarrass the life out of me later.

Meh. I'll go eat my Subway now. (Subway <3)

~Sam

Winter -Updated

Okay, this blog is getting wayy too depressing/serious/unawesome. Jeez, I never knew I was such a drama queen! Anyway, we'll do something about that soon, promise, but for now hopefully this will revive your spirits a little bit, though this is another one of those posts that I'm posting just because its in my head and I'm desperate to write something. So sorry and all, we'll try becoming awesome again as soon as inspiration strikes!

In other news, we're 99! :D

Anyway, moving on..

"Wintry" is pretty much one of my favorite adjectives of all time. I love the way it sounds, the way it falls off your tongue, the image it creates in your mind, the harsh beauty it has. For similar reasons, I love 'winter', too.

But I hate winter. The freezing, the laziness it induces, the having to get out of my warm blankets in favor of a cold bathroom, the numbness, the perpetually cold fingers and feet. I hate it, I detest it, I wish it never happened. The worst thing is winter sounds so good-the warm evenings by a fire, the snowfall, the hot chocolate and good books/movies. The love, the cuddling together, the Christmas cheer. Unfortunately, things are rarely as pleasant as they seem in books. My winters are usually something like this:

*alarm rings*
*snooze*
*do that for about half an hour*
*finally wake up, and lay fantasizing under the warm blankets*
*eventually decide to get out of bed and face the big bad world*
*get out of bed*
*immediately regret the decision*
*consider getting back in*
*decide to brave it out (or, alternatively, to get back in, in which case I'm usually late and have a horrible morning)*
*shuffle slowly towards bathroom, which is currently as appealing as a dirty dank dungeon*
*try to prolong the journey for as long as possible*
*grab the brush on the way--no, I don't keep my brush in the bathroom, ever since that whole thing. I don't care if its not confirmed, this is one place where I don't mind being extra-careful*
*stare hatefully at the tap*
*gather up my courage and rinse my toothbrush, doing my best to keep my fingers as far away from the water as possible*
*finish brushing, etc, cursing the world the whole time (or composing in my head blog posts which will never see the light of day, or singing "We Shall Overcome" to myself and trying to pep myself into a shower)*

And the rest of the day is pretty much the same.

So you see why I have a problem.



I'm out of words now, so I'll go away. Again, we're hoping to get interesting again soon, and feel free to comment!


Love and all.
~Sam





Hi! Malko here! If you're wondering why I'm sharing the post with Sam, it's because I wanted to save the 100th post for something awesome. Well, awesomer than our regular posts.
So Sam here just described how her mornings go. If you found that amusing, i'm sure you'll enjoy reading my daily agenda.

*alarm rings at 6 AM*
*hit snooze and happily go back to sleep knowing that I have more time to sleep*
*what seems to be a moment later..*
Mom: "Get up! Don't you have work to do?" *death glare*
*get off the bed*
*die inside like I lost the love of my life (the love being my blanket and wondrous comfy  bed)*
*sleepily brush teeth*
*check phone and reply to texts and facebooks*
*procrastinate*
*procrastinate with book in front of my face*
*procrastinate by staring a spot on a page and then turning it to stare at another spot*
*breakfast*
*procrastinate*
*shower*
*lunch and GLEE(spoiler: FINN PROPOSES TO RACHEL!)/ ONE TREE HILL/SUPERNATURAL/HIMYM*
*try to work. fail*
*wait for mom to leave the house and then go back to watching t.v shows*
*determinedly try to work, but get distracted on sparknotes (obviously)*
*dinner*
*procrastinate*
*succumb to blissful slumber*

Oh and in case you're wondering what distracted me on sparknotes, its THIS.

Empty Pages

I'm sorry. In advance. My last post sucked, and this one is going the same way, at least in my head. I highly doubt you give a damn about what I'm going to say, but I want to talk and vent and have no one talk back, and empty pages are perfect for that. My diary is unavailable, and this is the next best thing. It's actually the best thing, I prefer blogging to diary-writing anyway. It seems less emo-ish, is that weird? And more productive, somehow, and less childish. I don't even know what I'm saying any more.

Whatever. I've tried to write so often in the past few days-or is it weeks? I don't even remember when the last time was that I uploaded a proper post, with something that I actually wanted to talk about instead of just random updates and thoughts. Well, they're all random thoughts, but you get what I mean. I hope.

I hope. I try to. In God, in human beings, in justice. It's usually for no reason. No miracle saves the day, people don't suddenly become wise and wonderful, the world is still unfair. And yet I persevere, because you have to hope, right? You have to hope to live, because without hope there really is no point to it all. If you don't hope for a better tomorrow, then why would you suffer today?
Maybe fear is another reason to live, though. Fear of the unknown-fear that what comes after death might actually be worse than life. I don't want to live of fear.
This is funny, because I was actually going to do a post once on the reasons to live. The reasons that I live. It's still sitting in my drafts-box, empty.

The thing is, I think too much. I think and I think and I reach a conclusion, and then I think some more and I ruin it all. Whoever said ignorance is bliss had the right idea. Knowledge might be power, but I'd choose bliss over power any day. The more I think, the less certain I become, and the less certain I become, the more frustrated I am. And God am I frustrated right now. Nothing is certain in my life, because there's so much blasted information everywhere, and I'm so ignorant of it-not of all of it, that would be too beneficent of the Gods; I know enough of it to know that I should know more, but not enough to make me feel like I know enough.

That makes sense, right?

I'm thinking so much that I'm losing track of what's real. I have almost no opinions any more because I can see both sides and neither can convince me. And I liked having opinions.  I wish I could go back to being an ignorant 12 year old whose biggest concern was classroom bullying, who didn't give a damn about life and death and religion and economy, who didn't have to give a damn about any of it, who was old enough to have a bit of freedom, young enough to enjoy that limited freedom without yearning for more, and innocent enough to endure all those little pleasures and problems without thinking too much about them. I want to be a kid again. I don't want to be old. I don't want to be wise. Enlightenment never got anyone anywhere. The wise people in all the movies and books are always alone, always lonely, have you ever noticed? I want to be an average, happy human being. I don't care about being extraordinary any more. I don't care about leaving a mark on the world. I don't care about the shit that's happening to the world, the wars and the subterfuge and the global warming and the poverty and the sickness and the sins. I just want to be happy. If it's just an illusion, I don't care. If you were happy in a dream, would you want to wake up?


~Sam

And the thoughts go pop pop pop in my head...

..And the wheels go round round round on the bus...

Like so.

You'd think from the title that I was quoting some random famous song. You'd be wrong.

This post basically consists of random thoughts that popped into my head at various times (hence the title), so if the tit-bits seems disconnected and sense-less, that's because my thoughts aren't usually very coherent or linear.

Anyways. Here you go. A little peek into what I think about at night, when I can't go to sleep.

1. Gravity is going to have her revenge someday. For all the airplanes and the free fall rides and the roller coasters and the skyscrapers. She's just lulling us into a false sense of security right now, messing with us, making us complacent. And then, boom, its gone.

Unnatural, thats what it is.

2. Life is crazy. But then again, whose isn't? And if anyone does believe that their's isn't, they're crazy. And even when life is in control, its only for a short time, never for long enough to count. Very volatile thing, life is.

That is not even close to how complicated life is. Its still a pretty good representation though. Lots of shit on the inside, but a nice smiley front on the outside.

3. The best thing about the teenage years? Sarcasm comes so naturally to you.

Give me House and TasteofAwesome, and I will give you heaven. Oh no, wait. I'll give you a funeral. Cuz I'll be the one who'll be in heaven, you see.

4. "Work expands to fill the time available for its completion." Truest thing ever quoted.

This guy said that, would you believe it?
Looks. They can be deceving. Bet he had a teenaged kid, though.

5. Little things, and little people, are cute, whether they be human babies, tiger cubs, or baby sparrows.

Cute

Little things of usually big things are even cuter, viz. baby elephants and giraffes. If I knew what a baby blue whale looked like, I'd probably find it cute, too.

Cuter

Things smaller than a certain limit, however, are not cute-like baby cockroaches and microbes and other creepy-crawlies *shudders*.

I don't even know why Google has pictures of this. 

So the point of this is..of course size matters!

Anyways. Cockroaches are ew, so I'll just end this on a happy note with a picture of Jack:

There should be a captain in there somewhere.

~An Almost Crazy Sam

For Your Edification-Part 1

I don't know why, but last night I couldn't sleep, so I started thinking of things that move in a cyclical fashion.


You may now call me crazy if you wish to.

Anyway. This is some of the stuff I came up with. Feel free to add more things if you think of them! Also feel free to come up with a reason why this might be useful. They do say knowledge is power though..

Sam's List Of Things That Move In A Cyclical Fashion: Life.

• Clocks. 
• Fans. 
• Exhaust Fans. 
• Migratory Birds. 
• Days. 
• Wheels. 
• Fashion. 
• The Female Menstrual Cycle.
•  The Food Chain.
• Aristotle's Cycle of Change (for the uninitiated, this states that Monarchy will eventually lead to Tyranny, which will lead to Aristocracy, which will lead to Oligarchy, which will lead to Polity (what we now call 'democracy'), which will lead to Democracy (aka mob rule) which will lead to Monarch again, and so on. If you want meanings or more details, I'm sure Google will be happy to help. Or you could just ask in a comment and make me happy that someone is reading this shit).
• The Earth. 
• Other Planets. 
• Scandinavian Myth Cycles. 
• The Inheritance Cycle, presumably.

So yeah, thats about it. And yes, this blog post is basically a bunch of random words floating around. Just like all others.

Ciao till later!

~Sam.

So Yeah.

So I never realised how random our conversation was until Malko suggested we put this up. And then I discovered it was pretty random, and we have nothing else to post, thanks to our oh-so-hectic (for all the wrong reasons, sadly.) lives, so till the next time Inspiration strikes us, here you go:
Malko: my love!

Me: my client!

Malko: client?

Me: what does a shrink have?

patients?

Malko: oh oh.

i forgot i had mental illnesses.

Me: yes. that is often seen in patients with your condition. 

denial .

Malko: btw..did you know that suicidal feelings happen when there arer chemical imbalances in the brain?

Me: did you know 99% of people regret committing suicide as soon as they do it?

they conducted a survey of the survivors apparently.

Malko: if the commit suicide, they dont live to tell the tale honey.

or is it tail?

Me: tale. SURVIVORS.

Malko: then it wouldnt be "committed"

it would be 'attempted'

*a little while later*

Malko: Sorry bout that.had to switch devices.

Me: Yes, well, that.

Malko: What did you say about the attempted suicide thing?

Me: "Yes, well, that"

Malko: Haha.okay.

Miss english made a booboo.

Me: Miss English? Better than Grammar Nazi I s'pose

Malko: No you're right.grammar nazi IS better.

Me: You know, I agree with you. You're evil

Malko: Yes.yes I am. *does the evil laugh*

This chat should go on our blog.

*a little while later* 

Me: Huh. I like your latest post. HOW DO YOU GET SUCH PERFECT PICTURES?!

It should?

It should.

Sorry for the grammar and lack of punctuation and shizz(yes, I used the word "shizz"~), but I was too lazy to fix it all. Till next time!

~Sam (& Malko, I s'pose). 

I take no responsibility for this. Now with answers!

I definitely did not have full grasp of my mental abilities when I wrote this, but I really don't want to go offline, so I'm going to post it here anyway. These are 25 things I (once) would (have) like(d) to ask Dan Bergstein:

1. Will you marry me?
2. What if I gave you a jet pack?
3. Many jetpacks?
4. Why not?
5. It's because I'm a girl, isn't it? I knew it! You sexist pig! You disappoint me Dan.
6. How are you so funny?
7. Is it genetic?
8. Can I be that funny?
9. Why not?
10. Are you human?
11. Prove it.
12. Can you dance?
13. Are you any good at it?
14. Prove it.
15. You know I was only kidding about the marrying thing right? I mean, unless you want to. In which case I was totally serious. But you probably don't. So yeah. Just kidding. Haha. *shifty eyes*
16. Have you ever visited Smeyer's (Stephenie Meyer, to the uninitiated) website?
17. What did you think of it?
18. What did you think of her?
19. Are you superstitious?
20. Do you use Chrome, Explorer, Firefox, Safari, or some other random thing no one's ever heard of?
25. Can I have a hundred Dan Points please? People say if you aim for a hundred, you'll get 90, so I'll be expecting 90 Dan Points by tomorrow. Thanks and toodles!


I repeat once again, I take no accountability for this. And yes, I know I don't know how to count, but I ran out of questions, and "25 Things I'd Like to Ask Dan Bergstein" just has a better ring to it than "20 and 1 questions I'd Like to Ask to Dan Bergstein".

~ The Invisible Blog Ghost

UPDATE: Answers!!!

‎1. Will you marry me? Nope. I went into the future and saw that you married a very nice, very Dan-like person who wears wonderful clothes, so you have much to look forward to.

2. What if I gave you a jet pack? You don't have a jet pack. ...Stop telling lies.

3. Many jetpacks? Now you're just being mean!

4. Why not? Because.

5. It's because I'm a girl, isn't it? I knew it! You sexist pig! You disappoint me Dan.
No. It's not that. Girls are great and are significantly better then guys.

6. How are you so funny?
I won a radio contest.

7. Is it genetic? No. Radio contest. (Do try to keep up.)

8. Can I be that funny? Only if you're the ninth caller.

9. Why not? Do you think elephants think we look strange, just as we think elephants look strange?

10. Are you human? According to my Blimp License.

11. Prove it. I'm sending you a picture of my Blimp License.

12. Can you dance? Sorta.

13. Are you any good at it? Nope.

14. Prove it. Nope.

15. You know I was only kidding about the marrying thing right? I mean, unless you want to. In which case I was totally serious. But you probably don't. So yeah. Just kidding. Haha. *shifty eyes* I ate pretzels for dinner last night.

16. Have you ever visited Smeyer's (Stephenie Meyer, to the uninitiated) website? Once. It was bad.

17. What did you think of it? It was great.

18. What did you think of her? She is a lazy dumb fart.

19. Are you superstitious? I'm average-stitious.

20. Do you use Chrome, Explorer, Firefox, Safari, or some other random thing no one's ever heard of? I use Firefox and Chrome.

25. Can I have a hundred Dan Points please? People say if you aim for a hundred, you'll get 90, so I'll be expecting 90 Dan Points by tomorrow. Thanks and toodles! You can have 102 Dan Points.

Writer's block sucks.

Yes it does. And it always strikes at the worst possible moment, when you are desperate to write (and, conveniently, avoid having to do other, less fun, things). You do everything, open up your blog, and boom, you're blank. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Not a single idea. Even Google wasn't helpful! All it gave me was this-http://www.chrisbrogan.com/100-blog-topics-i-hope-you-write/, and the first topic ("How I Use Facebook"), just got me depressed again. Thanks Google. Thanks a lot. Its not enough that I can't turn my head without seeing something that reminds me of facebook, now you have to shove it in my face. I never realized the genius of Zuckerberg, until I tried to get away from it, to break free of his honey trap, and realized just how badly I was caught. 'Share', 'like', even 'tag'-words you hear every day, common words, but now, they all point to just one thing. *sigh* Two more days, and I'll be cured of my longing, and all my posts hopefully won't end up being about my yearning for FB.

~Sam

I like Friday. The *wince* song.

Which, in this world, is just another way of saying that I've gone over the bend (I wonder why they call it that. Crazy people take bends, and normal people do what? Keep driving straight, right off the road? Seems a bit odd to me. Then again, I'm the crazy one in this situation, so I suppose it doesn't really matter what I feel).

So yeah. I like Friday. The song, if you can call it that, not the day (because no sane person will say they 'like' Fridays. Love, maybe, absolutely adore to the point of obsession and yearn for all week long, possibly, but not like. No one likes Fridays.)

Not the Rebecca Black version though, obviously, I'm not that mad (yet). The Glee (gleeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!) version. You know, the one with the human voice? The male version. The nice version. The one where that guy sings it without electronic help, and with proper expressions and stuff. The one that actually captures, to whatever extent it can be captured, the actual essence of Fridays. The good one.

~Sam. 

I love you, like I hate you.

        Withdrawal. My fingers itch, my heart beats faster. I am so close, yet I force myself to abstain.
    Force myself NOT to type facebook.com in the browser, to go somewhere else instead, distract myself with other sites, to not fall into temptation. I must resist the irresistible. I thought it would be easier, thought I’d be able to control myself, but apparently the grip facebook has on my life is stronger than I gave it credit for. For those of you who are confused, let me explain-I, finally noticing exactly how addicted I am getting to facebook, have decided to temporarily deactivate, to switch off, to get my life, my time back.  And it was hard, believe you me, it was hard. To let go, to click that final button, to end it all, even temporarily. To go through the day telling people who wanted to post links on my wall, wanted me to check their status or pictures, that I couldn’t do that, that I had *gasp* deactivated. That I had let go, if only to prove that I could.





~Sam