saintcheney: (doctor who: flawless bbs impossible plan)
Doctor Whooooo (and Sherlock!) Sims... because it's Christmas break, y'all. A TIME FOR VIDEO GAMES OF OLD. OR OF A FEW MONTHS AGO.

Also a time for crazy townies. Or neighbors. And when did NEIGHBS become a thing? People in Columbus, mostly hipster Christians, say this unironically. Party with the neighbs! I can't. Every time I see it I want to punch somebody in the face.

ANIMALS AND WEIRD PEOPLE. )
saintcheney: (Default)
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One chocolate orange, preferably dark chocolate.

I am asking for this from both my parents and my grandparents, in hopes that I can manipulate my way into a Christmas of two chocolate oranges.

What on earth would Laura Ingalls do. She wouldn't be able to cope with such luxury.
saintcheney: (Default)
Between Thanksgiving and Christmas I always feel like playing video games, I assume because of years and years of defining holiday breaks by them. Christmas was made for Guitar Hero... or vice versa. And I tried to play Guitar Hero at Aubrey's, but the disc was scratched and it wasn't the one I know and I haven't played that game in probably two years. STILL FUN. I also feel compelled to find the Nintendo 64 and play the Mario game because so many hours were spent with that game when the Nintendo 64 came out that it lives in my memory associated with near-Walt Disney World levels of bliss.

Since none of those things work or are at my house, I've been playing Sims. Which is the sort of game I always think I want to play and then quickly lose momentum after spending an hour decorating a small half bathroom. The amount of work I should be doing has combined with holiday video game playing to make it actually kind of entertaining, as well as when things happen! And by things happen I mean when people die in freak house fires.

As such. )
saintcheney: (catch me if you can: leo sunglasses)
Because I'm a creeper. And a procrastinator.

The following charming interaction just took place on ye olde OKC: Screencap. (Perfectly SFW, not that... you guys doubted).

Unfortunately I blocked him lest he get too turned on by my hard to get feminine wiles, but while all this was going on I was stalking him on the side.

His name is Christopher David Trumbull (David presumably after his father), he was born August 15, 1989, his address is 3270 Fairhill Drive, Rocky River, Ohio, 44116. Graduated from Rocky River High in 2007, attending University of Akron currently. 6'4", 280lbs, blue eyes. Facebook here. Previous charges of assault (numerous), aggravated menacing (numerous), telecommunications harassment (a bazillion), solicitation (lol forever). Driver's license #SZ623059, license plate # DYV5607, at least on the car with expired plates in January 2009. Also went 52 in a 35 mph zone. He has Verizon and most likely an LG Dare AT&T and an iPhone <4, though the Dare may have existed previously. Assuming David is his father and if I'm looking at the right David Trumbull of Rocky River, Ohio, he's been in and out of jail for drugs and drug trafficking, giving a whole new meaning to the question, "Are you on crack?"David has a Facebook here.

In conclusion, I kind of wish I hadn't blocked him. And the internet is moderately terrifying and mostly AWESOME.

Edited as I do my learnings!

I should be studying though. Real subjects.
saintcheney: (mj: billie jean hat)
I was going to have coffee for dinner, but then I was hungry for actual food. I am tired of compromise. Coffee sandwiches should be an option. They would save time.

Or at least make lunchmeat infused with caffeine. Like Pepsi Max, or caffeinated water. What are you eating for dinner? A caffeinated turkey sandwich.

That's all I want. And yet I am denied.
saintcheney: (mj: billie jean hat)
I was going to have coffee for dinner, but then I was hungry for actual food. I am tired of compromise. Coffee sandwiches should be an option. They would save time.

Or at least make lunchmeat infused with caffeine. Like Pepsi Max, or caffeinated water. What are you eating for dinner? A caffeinated turkey sandwich.

That's all I want. And yet I am denied.
saintcheney: (mj: captain eo)
http://www.formspring.me/hyattregency

ASK ME STUFF. Anything. DO IT! NOW!

It is a nice study break.
saintcheney: (mj: captain eo)
http://www.formspring.me/hyattregency

ASK ME STUFF. Anything. DO IT! NOW!

It is a nice study break.
saintcheney: (mj: grr)
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WHAT.
saintcheney: (mj: grr)
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WHAT.
saintcheney: (mj: dangerous gif)
In honor of the Writer's Block question, I'm going to post some profile highlights from the world of internet dating, which like I said, I mock as a hobby. I am a bad person and I should feel bad, whatever.

I will present these with little to no commentary, because there is nothing I can say that can enhance the following excerpts. I would only detract.

With that said...

On with the show. )
saintcheney: (mj: dangerous gif)
In honor of the Writer's Block question, I'm going to post some profile highlights from the world of internet dating, which like I said, I mock as a hobby. I am a bad person and I should feel bad, whatever.

I will present these with little to no commentary, because there is nothing I can say that can enhance the following excerpts. I would only detract.

With that said...

On with the show. )
saintcheney: (mj: spotlight)
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...Financial status is superficial? In what world is that true?

And that's about all I have to say about that. Except for snarking particular online dating profiles, which has become my new habit. It's even better than mocking 7th Heaven.
saintcheney: (mj: spotlight)
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...Financial status is superficial? In what world is that true?

And that's about all I have to say about that. Except for snarking particular online dating profiles, which has become my new habit. It's even better than mocking 7th Heaven.
saintcheney: (Default)

As initially written in an email.


Without having the book here, these are my initial memories of it – I’m currently on Chapter 23, I think. And I realize that I wasn’t thrilled with Blue Like Jazz the first time around either, but I don’t remember actively disliking it, or trudging through it like I am this book. Blue Like Jazz also had parts where while I may have been bored with what he was saying, he said things in a way that I liked. I liked the way he used words.

AMMIATY, which is the acronym I get with this book, doesn’t have that. It’s boring. I keep waiting for it to get good and it hasn’t yet. He’s also not using words well or in a way that makes me want to keep reading – he’s using them in a way that makes me feel like I’ve five. “Story” no longer feels like a real word because I swear he used in ten times within one page. It is like he is talking and talking and not saying anything. THIS IS A BAD STORY AND YOU SHOULD FEEL BAD. I think the idea is an interesting one, and the expectations I had going into this book were high, but it just feels cheap and poorly handled. It’s like he’s trying too hard. I haven’t read Rob Bell’s latest book for a similar reason – the margins are huge and the sentences are short and choppy and it’s patronizing. You’re better than that. And the more books that these people write, the less and less they have to say and the more books they write.

There was ONE sentence that I thought was beautiful – and let me point out, I am on chapter TWENTY-THREE. There has been one. It was something about his friend who had kids and Donald Miller had been daydreaming about dream!kids… although, now that I think about it, I can’t remember the sentence and if the sentence was beautiful in and of itself. I thought it was good because it made me think of ANOTHER sentence I read once that talked about the “staying-home hours of late evening” and rainstorms and fall and the thunder of non-existant children running down the stairs, and it made me feel all autumn and glowy and golden reflected in shiny dark windows (and this is from another book, but I can’t remember which or whose) and Bebo Norman music and living on Main Street in Cedarville (and speaking of sentences, this one is an example of synaesthesia gone wild) and I felt completely consumed with a wonderful sad feeling that I haven’t felt since living on Main Street in Cedarville, and it was once so much a part of me and now it’s gone and then I got sad because I missed it, because it has been a part of my life for twenty-four years, feeling golden and fall and sad and staying-home.

Improper use of nouns as adjectives, my argument against Donald Miller is invalid.

But that was the one beautiful sentence. And overall, it does feel like an ad for Blue Like Jazz, which I don’t care how you spin it, Donald Miller, it’s indulgent and tacky. And being self-deprecating about being self-deprecating doesn’t make you less self-deprecating, it makes you a fractal.

Also, the book is depressing, which is a big part of why I don’t like it. So far I am coming away with: you will not remember anything ever, and daydreaming people should be sad, YOUR LIFE IS INVALID.

Oh Donald Miller.

Posted via LiveJournal.app.

saintcheney: (Default)

As initially written in an email.


Without having the book here, these are my initial memories of it – I’m currently on Chapter 23, I think. And I realize that I wasn’t thrilled with Blue Like Jazz the first time around either, but I don’t remember actively disliking it, or trudging through it like I am this book. Blue Like Jazz also had parts where while I may have been bored with what he was saying, he said things in a way that I liked. I liked the way he used words.

AMMIATY, which is the acronym I get with this book, doesn’t have that. It’s boring. I keep waiting for it to get good and it hasn’t yet. He’s also not using words well or in a way that makes me want to keep reading – he’s using them in a way that makes me feel like I’ve five. “Story” no longer feels like a real word because I swear he used in ten times within one page. It is like he is talking and talking and not saying anything. THIS IS A BAD STORY AND YOU SHOULD FEEL BAD. I think the idea is an interesting one, and the expectations I had going into this book were high, but it just feels cheap and poorly handled. It’s like he’s trying too hard. I haven’t read Rob Bell’s latest book for a similar reason – the margins are huge and the sentences are short and choppy and it’s patronizing. You’re better than that. And the more books that these people write, the less and less they have to say and the more books they write.

There was ONE sentence that I thought was beautiful – and let me point out, I am on chapter TWENTY-THREE. There has been one. It was something about his friend who had kids and Donald Miller had been daydreaming about dream!kids… although, now that I think about it, I can’t remember the sentence and if the sentence was beautiful in and of itself. I thought it was good because it made me think of ANOTHER sentence I read once that talked about the “staying-home hours of late evening” and rainstorms and fall and the thunder of non-existant children running down the stairs, and it made me feel all autumn and glowy and golden reflected in shiny dark windows (and this is from another book, but I can’t remember which or whose) and Bebo Norman music and living on Main Street in Cedarville (and speaking of sentences, this one is an example of synaesthesia gone wild) and I felt completely consumed with a wonderful sad feeling that I haven’t felt since living on Main Street in Cedarville, and it was once so much a part of me and now it’s gone and then I got sad because I missed it, because it has been a part of my life for twenty-four years, feeling golden and fall and sad and staying-home.

Improper use of nouns as adjectives, my argument against Donald Miller is invalid.

But that was the one beautiful sentence. And overall, it does feel like an ad for Blue Like Jazz, which I don’t care how you spin it, Donald Miller, it’s indulgent and tacky. And being self-deprecating about being self-deprecating doesn’t make you less self-deprecating, it makes you a fractal.

Also, the book is depressing, which is a big part of why I don’t like it. So far I am coming away with: you will not remember anything ever, and daydreaming people should be sad, YOUR LIFE IS INVALID.

Oh Donald Miller.

Posted via LiveJournal.app.

saintcheney: (Default)
OKCupid (oh, OKCupid... the stories I could tell... and someday I will) really needs to add a "no chance in hell" button, and it would be a button that notifies the person that you clicked it.

Today I had a conversation with another person. This person asked me what I did over the weekend. This is a completely legitimate and acceptable question - the fact that I hate it because it only seems to get asked when I have done nothing over the weekend is my own issue that I need to work through. I had done nothing over the weekend, but I felt very pleased with having done nothing, since it was the first weekend in a long time that I had the chance to do nothing. My past month or so of Saturdays have been busy, and my Sundays are always the same: my mother and I go to Chipotle, some store that sells purchaseable goods, and Starbucks. So I said I did nothing, but that I had read some books.

This naturally led to the question of, "Oh, what did you read?" and I had to think long and hard and remember what I had read specifcally this weekend, because finally, after two months of not being able to settle down, I have been plowing through books very quickly. The only one I could remember reading over this weekend (and not last week, or last night) was Philip Yancey's Disappointment With God, so I said that I had read that.

This person asked if I was disappointed with God. I had realized, as I opened my mouth, that the conversation would turn there, and I was and am already so angry beyond words at this person for competely separate reasons, that I was definitley not in the mood. Dismissively, I said "no, not really", and it isn't a lie at all, because the honest answer to that question is not so far off from "no, not really." I didn't read the book out of any deep hurt or anguish over my perceptions of God. Had I been thinking more clearly I would have said something clever, like, "No more than usual" or "So are we all" or told the truth, which was that I read it because, while I am not any more disappointed with God than I have been in the past and that I have been over and through it a million times before and likely will again and this is actually an off-season for me in dealing with it, I want to read things that consistently reaffirm the only thing I have found to be constant in my life. And that is that my perceptions and assumptions about who God is are rarely correct, that he usually does not fit in my container, that "everything I thought I knew" is really usually kind of wonky, and that I want validation that I can be angry and outraged at the lie that God is in the business of making us happy, or successful, or financially secure.

I didn't say any of this, not out of wisdom, but simply because it didn't occur to me at all.

I suppose I can just be glad that I didn't answer the question with, "I read Real Sex by Lauren Winner."
saintcheney: (Default)
OKCupid (oh, OKCupid... the stories I could tell... and someday I will) really needs to add a "no chance in hell" button, and it would be a button that notifies the person that you clicked it.

Today I had a conversation with another person. This person asked me what I did over the weekend. This is a completely legitimate and acceptable question - the fact that I hate it because it only seems to get asked when I have done nothing over the weekend is my own issue that I need to work through. I had done nothing over the weekend, but I felt very pleased with having done nothing, since it was the first weekend in a long time that I had the chance to do nothing. My past month or so of Saturdays have been busy, and my Sundays are always the same: my mother and I go to Chipotle, some store that sells purchaseable goods, and Starbucks. So I said I did nothing, but that I had read some books.

This naturally led to the question of, "Oh, what did you read?" and I had to think long and hard and remember what I had read specifcally this weekend, because finally, after two months of not being able to settle down, I have been plowing through books very quickly. The only one I could remember reading over this weekend (and not last week, or last night) was Philip Yancey's Disappointment With God, so I said that I had read that.

This person asked if I was disappointed with God. I had realized, as I opened my mouth, that the conversation would turn there, and I was and am already so angry beyond words at this person for competely separate reasons, that I was definitley not in the mood. Dismissively, I said "no, not really", and it isn't a lie at all, because the honest answer to that question is not so far off from "no, not really." I didn't read the book out of any deep hurt or anguish over my perceptions of God. Had I been thinking more clearly I would have said something clever, like, "No more than usual" or "So are we all" or told the truth, which was that I read it because, while I am not any more disappointed with God than I have been in the past and that I have been over and through it a million times before and likely will again and this is actually an off-season for me in dealing with it, I want to read things that consistently reaffirm the only thing I have found to be constant in my life. And that is that my perceptions and assumptions about who God is are rarely correct, that he usually does not fit in my container, that "everything I thought I knew" is really usually kind of wonky, and that I want validation that I can be angry and outraged at the lie that God is in the business of making us happy, or successful, or financially secure.

I didn't say any of this, not out of wisdom, but simply because it didn't occur to me at all.

I suppose I can just be glad that I didn't answer the question with, "I read Real Sex by Lauren Winner."
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