Lawn-mowing and Modems

I had classes yesterday, but wimped out after math, skipping my art class to go home early. I didn’t feel too great, and I was certainly tired. (I hate dozing off in math class, I’m sure it irritates poor Moez, but I just can’t help it. x,x ) After walking through the bridge-tube connecting the 3rd floor of one of the school buildings with the parking garage, and descending to the first floor of the garage in search of my car, I hear this shout: “HEY! You’re a retard! Hoo-hah-hah-hah!”
I turn, shocked, to make sure they’re talking to *me*, and it’s my younger brother. 9,9 Silly doofus. I walked over, shouting back how I was gonna kick his ass. He shushed me though, as he was on his cell with his girlfriend.
Anyways, got home and lazed online a bit. Dad got some gasoline for the mower, and had me go out and do my part of the lawn. (We have a big lawn. One acre. I think mowing it is a waste of time, effort, and money, but I never win that argument.) So I go out, bringing along my cheap 20-buck wakizashi-sized blade, and proceed to mow the lawn in the gathering darkness, taking slices at the brush and twigs that encroach on my lawn-orbit. (I mow a part of the lawn larger than a basketball court, starting at the edges and spiraling inward.) I shouted and railed at the storm for no real reason, making references like ‘Foliage Foes’ as I hacked and swung. Drops of cool rain started pattering on me as I rode the lawnmower around and around…reminding me how much I love autumn. Some of the best times of my life were in the fall…some of the moments I truly felt like I was part of a group…accepted, liked, appreciated, *Fitting In*.
Two such experiences I can cite.

One Silly meme, one introspection, and one centipede-attack.

Well, I said in a friends that I would, so here it is. 9,9 In other news, a centipede attacked me in bed last night, and was vanquished after much thrashing and girlish “EEEEEEEEEK”ing. (Well, truly it was more like one “Waaaugh! Ugh!”)

I’m…annoyed with myself. I’ve been reading someone elses LJ who’s just about my age…and in many respects, he’s accomplished so much more than I have. Out on his own, and all… It makes me feel I’ve wasted too much time sitting around and MUCKing/IMing/forum-posting etc. I need to work more to do substantial, worth-y things. Not that having fun with online friends isn’t a good thing… I just need to balance it to a sane amount.


() Go out with me?
() Give me your number?
() Have sex with me?
() Let me kiss you?
() Watch a movie with me…even a really sappy one?
() Let me take you out to dinner?
() Drive me somewhere/anywhere?
() Take a shower with me?
() Be my GF/BF?
() Have a fling with me?
() Listen to me if I called you crying even if you were out with all of your friends?
() Buy me a drink if i didnt have money?
() Take me home for the night?
() Would you let me sleep in your bed?
() Sing car karaoke with me?
() Sit in the doctors office with me because I didnt want to go alone?
() Re-post this for me to answer your questions?
() Let me give you a piggyback ride?
() Come pick me up at 3 am because my car ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere?

What’s been up.

Hokay. School started up again. I’m taking, (in chronological order) Acting for the Non-Major,
Intermediate Algebra, Drawing 1 (Charcoal/chalk), and Intro to Photoshop (a SATURDAY class. At 9:00 a.m.!)

The Math class is of course, the problem in this mess. It requires the use of Mathpro5.com, an online math helper
application. Unfortunately, its Java-loaded problem sets fail to load on my computers at home. So far, tech support and my prof are mystified and keep shrugging. Meh!

I got to attend the Harveysburg OH Ren-faire last Sunday with Loial, a local fur. It was *great*, and all you Ohiofurs should go! I bought a blue leather pauldron, a scabbard-holster, hematite rings… Neat junk. Food was good, the entertainment was better, the artisans were incredible. The weekend after this coming one is the Highlands week, and you know there’ll be Haggis/Caber tossing!

Story Idea! Hidden to avoid long-post-quailing.