THIS IS VERY EFFING IMPORTANT. *MASSIVE FLAILING*

SO HI, BLOG AND .4 READERS OF BLOG.

I meant to write you an actual post, I really did, but I'm super busy and I love to procrastinate so that didn't happen. HOWEVER.

Incendia has been nominated for the Veritas Award in the angst category, and you can go vote for it at fanmortals.webs.com by clicking on the "vote" option at the top. IT WOULD BE VERY APPRECIATED AND THANK YOU IN ADVANCE.

(I'm sleep deprived, if it was not given away by the caps lock abuse.)

Mille grazie~ (LOOK FOREIGN LANGUAGES. THIS MEANS YOU SHOULD VOTE. *nods*)

. . . Yeah, sleep deprived. :/ Sorry.

--Ave, who's really really hoping you'll vote

Why Ave Should Stop Writing Posts At Two In The Morning

So for some reason I got the urge to write a blog post at 2:13 am.

I just kind of felt like updating this at two in the morning because I'm messed up in the head

Uhm.

Well. Uh. See, I'm insane, so it's almost two-thirty and I'm sitting/reclining on the gigantic pillow my favorite cousin made me two Christmases ago (love you cousin) and trying to find a reason not go to to sleep. Basically I haven't done so very much with myself recently besides sleep and "clean my room" and listen to extensive amounts of Rise Against and watch random YouTube videos and read a whole bunch of Cracked.com articles. Actually, that's basically the reason I'm writing this . . . I would call it a blog post but it's mostly just unorganized rambles, but whatever. See, I was going to go to bed at one. I was so set and determined on this, and then of course I was watching more YouTube videos and that got shot straight to hell. Now my videos aren't loading, so I'm here. So.

Basically I've spent the past two days studying the art of nerdfighting ('cause it's an art, of course; google it if you don't know it), and watching Charlieissocoollike and his friend Alex whose YouTube name escapes me at the moment. I have frequently thought of how I should write a blog post, but I'm going through a lazy period and recently had a lot of free time, which, rest assured, is rapidly dissipating so soon I'll be my normal stressed high-strung semi-insane self. One more day, then I'll be back to being insane. So yeah.

Today I took one of my dogs for a walk. This may sound normal, but she happens to think she's the greatest thing since sliced bread (Okay, someone said that to me like four days ago and I haven't been able to stop saying it since. I'm blaming Theia, think it was her.) and it's the middle of winter. Two Fridays ago it was really really nice out, at least by the standards we live by here, but now it's freezing again and it keeps snowing. Dog also refuses to walk through snow and skirts around it whenever possible. Of course, once I shove her into the snowbank she thinks it's also the greatest thing since sliced bread (SEE? I'M DOING IT AGAIN. D: ) and thus jumps in and runs in circles and generally spazzes and acts like a dog. So I alternately get dragged and have to shove a blubbery brick of fur and pure hard-headedness (I don't care if that's not a word.) down a whole bunch of sidewalks.

My dog enjoys this. For some reason.

I immediately decided that I must have exerted my energy for the day on that walk that lasted around half an hour, but no. See, for some reason my mother had to take all the good, normal dogs somewhere for the first half of the day and took my sister. Basically she left me alone with the three neediest creatures ever to set foot in my home, and I live there.

First there's hardheaded blubbery brick who thinks she's Jesus only better (I keep saying that too.) Then there's her sister--but they're not alike, no. They're basically complete opposites: Dog's Sister (necessary capitalization, most definitely) is afraid of everything.

And I mean everything.

Anything that is even in the slightest unusual or unfamiliar to her is automatically viewed as a huge threat to her well-being and peaceful existence (I'm just kidding. It's not peaceful. She is totally insane and is a dog, which translates as: She's murdered more than her fair share of woodland creatures in her time. (She also just had her second birthday, so I don't want to know the death count when she passes. :/)) and thus she has to go through what we call The Extensive Panic Maneuver. Actually no one calls it that but me in my head but this is my blog so they can go die.

It goes like this:

1--Recognize there is something that you could possibly consider a threat. Just in case, it shall be treated as one even if it is only Ave's new socks.
2--Glare at object. This stage begins roughly a fifth of a second before stage three, but steps two through six all occur in unison.
3--Tail shall begin to wag uncontrollably. Anyone hit by it should seek immediate medical attention.
4--Growl. It must be low and throaty but fail because you're entirely uncertain what it is and thus don't carry through on the growl/bark mutation that had begun.
5--Get low to ground. Somehow, in your mind, this ensures your safety in case it is scary, which it won't be because it never is.
6--Back up rapidly and hide in the nearest safe place.
7--Make someone make the scary thing go away. AKA get scolded for freaking out at nothing and then wanting to be consoled so running to someone and making them pet you.

This is what I deal with on a daily basis.

There's also other dog but she's basically like Dog. So yeah.

I was then forced to pay attention to them when I just didn't feel like it.

Anyways. What else happened to me? I should probably compile a list now because otherwise when people ask me what I did on Monday I will have nothing and look like an idiot.

To list:

Last Saturday: Uhm. I definitely slept for a long time then . . . Yeah.
Last Sunday: Slept. Went on laptop. Nothing happened.
Monday: Should have cleaned room. Did not.
Tuesday: Uhm. Made spaghetti. Ate large quantities of garlic bread. Slept. Of course. Think this was the day I got the entire works of Rise Against from Kay, it might have been Thursday. I do not know. It's almost three in the morning. So.
Wednesday: Well. Uh. Internet. Watched television. This is what I do every day.
Thursday: I ACTUALLY DID THINGS. It was someone in my family's birthday recently and that happened to be the day we had a party (Don't ask me why a Thursday. No clue.). I wrapped presents and then went out to eat with a bunch of my cousins (whom I love. In case I haven't said that enough: I. Love. My. Cousins. Lots.) Then went to Grandma's. Ate cake. It was good cake. Played Hot Potato, long story. Found out brother got accepted into his preferred college. Spent the rest of the night researching my preferred college, UoT (University of Toronto, Canada's best college).
Friday: Became insecure about UoT. Thought about how Ivy League is good. Remembered I am an overachiever and thus should learn to relax. Remembered how much I loved UoT the night before. Also remembered I have at least three years to decide this. Relaxed a bit, still feel like an underachiever. Sort of.
Saturday/today: "Cleaned." Watched Scrubs. Laptop. Read Cracked articles. Listened to Rise Against. Watched YouTube videos.

I had more things to write but I am tired and MY VIDEOS LOADED.

I'm out. Have a nice day and don't die and all that stuff. 8D

--Ave

Ave Had An Actual Post Planned, But She's Far Too Lazy To Write it Now

"Never doubt that a small group of committed people can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has."

--Margaret Mead

I don't have the words to describe how epic that quote is. I love it. New favorite quote, most definitely.

Anyways. If any of you, my dear .4 readers, has the time, you should definitely listen to this song, and then this one, because they're both totally epic and I've become obsessed with Nickelback again. And as much as I feel like sticking around and blabbing, contrary to what my brain currently thinks, it is not Friday and thus I have to do my history homework now.

(If you happen to click on those links, ignore Chad Kroeger's messed up facial expressions and the fact that his hair is creepy. Even though it is.The fact reminds that he's a totally epic singer anyways.)

So hopefully I may write an actual post on, say, Friday? I'll shoot for Friday.

--Ave, skipping off to do homework and not die. Hopefully.

PS--The links are hidden in each "this," they just don't show up until you mouse over them. Adios, amigos~

FEBRUARY! (To Begin With a Bang~)

Tonight, just as I was getting ready for bed, I allowed my thoughts to wander towards my blog. What went through my mind was somewhat like this:

"Dah-da-da-da-da . . . Must study for science test. Blog hasn't been updated in a while. Faith, know you're gonna live through the rain, lord we gotta keep the faith. And glycolysis is anaerobic. Math review due Friday. Faith, don't you let your love turn to hate. La la la la . . . Oh, crap, blog. We gotta keep the faith, ooh yeah. -random humming sounds- Blog. Right. Blog. Should update. What to write about? What's today anyways? Hm . . . OH CRAP IT'S THE FIRST OF THE MONTH. MUST POST PRIOR TO MIDNIGHT. Put pants on first, dammit. Where did you leave those socks? BLOG. WHAT TIME IS IT. MUST UPDATE BLOG. Keep the faith. BLOG."

Yes, that is a random list of things I should do with random lyrics of "Keep the Faith" in there. Aren't you proud of me?

You should be. It's two to midnight and I absolutely HATE February second with every fiber of my being, so. Be proud that I'm able to form a coherent sentence.

That was a post about how I should post. And the long, arduous process I endure every time I decide to write one of these things. Feel like a special special snowflake because of all the obvious effort I put into this.

--Ave, very, very tired

Why Ave Should Not Be Allowed to Internet Shop

I sort of figured that now would be about the time I should start bumping the below post down on the list. Should.

So. It's basically half-past midnight on Saturday morning now and I do have a whole load of what I consider to be entertaining stories to ramble about on here. We'll just go over one right now.

I think I forgot to announce it on here, but as of last Thursday my dad finally decided that he had to let me order novels from Borders online because my local branch doesn't carry the obscure books on the Tudors I so love. He was kind enough to announce to me at ten-thirty, when I was going to bed (that's right; I've been attempting to go to sleep prior to midnight lately), that there was a Borders coupon and if I wanted anything I should get it then. I immediately grabbed my computer and compiled my little list of all the things I wanted, and finally everything was good except the credit card number, which I had to fill in on the next page.

It was then that my Internet decided to commit suicide.

This actually happens a lot. See, apparently it is bad to have six computers hooked up to the same router and thus said router sporadically decides that someone isn't getting Internet anymore--it's like roulette. The best part is, it's just as terrible if two people are on as it is if five are on. This is a source of constant irritation to yours truly.

The only way to guarantee Internet access is to plant yourself in the middle of the living room floor, because we have a wire running underneath the floor from the router to the living room for such occasions. After around thirty minutes, I had finally finished the simple process we call online shopping, and then went to bed.

With Borders, though, you can't just get things shipped: if you want anything within a reasonable amount of time you pay for it, and in Ave!world a reasonable amount of time is three hours. And they can't do that. So I resigned myself to just waiting for 3-8 days--which, we all know, Borders, means six days minimum--and then getting free shipping.

Every day for the following week I came home and the first thing I did was ask, "Did they come in?" This turned out to be a source of confusion for everyone save me, seeing as they didn't really care about my books. At all. Unfortunately, that's not a punishable offense.

Except for Thursday. For some reason this week was all scrambled up in my head, and Tuesday was definitely Wednesday, Wednesday was at least a Tuesday, if not a Monday, and Thursday was totally Friday--only, they weren't. The best part was Friday was a half-day, which for some reason translates in my mind as: You don't have to do any homework. This is bad. Because then I do nothing.

So. Finally, it was like eight, and someone walked up to me with a box. I had totally forgotten about my books that day, which was probably good. While I was busy having a spaz attack, my mother informed me that they'd been there all day, but I ignored her. Spaz attacks tend to disorient you.

There are many, many ways to open a box, and they're all effective. For the most part. For some reason my brain decided that randomly hacking, stabbing, and chopping at the box would get it open not only efficiently but also in a timely manner and with no mess involved. So I did just that.

It should be easy to predict that something would go wrong. I'll just use the explanation I gave everyone on Skype:

". . . Borders finally sent my books. And I was all, "LOOK IT'S A BOX THERE ARE BOOKS IN HERE I WANT THEM." So then I attempted to rip it open. This failed. Then I decided that maybe, just maybe, randomly stabbing/cutting it with scissors would make the box open up faster. Then they slipped and I whacked myself in the head, which deterred me for about four seconds before I went back to stabbing the box. BUT I OPENED IT AND THERE ARE BOOKS AND THIS IS GOOD."

So basically I maimed myself slightly while whacking/stabbing/chopping at a cardboard box with scissors, all because there were books inside and for some reason it instantaneously became the most important thing in the world that I got those books that second.

In the end I got the box open and the throbbing red mark on my forehead was totally worth it. My parents and siblings are now busy questioning my mental stability, but whatever.

Books.

Does this prove that I spend far too much time obsessing over books? Crap.

--Ave

Apparently Ave Really Does Have Some Sort of Mental Issue . . .

So I was reading old Hyperbole and a Half posts (if you do not know HaaH, Google it) and in one Allie talks about how she took this ADHD test once. She scored positive, but she happens to actually be ADHD.

I also scored positive and I'm the laziest person ever. This slightly worries me.

Maybe it's just because I always force my brain to stop procrastinating . . .

Anyways. Apparently I type too loudly and it's 11:20. So.

--Ave

My Foot Hurts~ (AKA, another beautiful post title 8D)

Today I did nothing and it was fun. 8D

Only now I'm staring really guiltily at my science textbook and thinking how I should study . . . The only good thing is test is Wednesday and I have tomorrow and Monday, since it's a day off, to catch up and all that.

So I was watching King Arthur tonight, and then my dog decided that I was hers and no one else was allowed to touch me or be near me in any way, shape, or form. This, while quite endearing and adorable, also became annoying, because some part of her mind went, "Hey! It'd be great if I marked my territory by snuggling Ave's foot and putting excessive force on it!" So she did.

This was slightly uncomfortable at first, but I dealt with it because of how adorable she looked. My foot got used to being a pillow, until she decided that absolutely all of her weight had to be focused on her neck, which was resting on my foot. By this time said foot was all, "Ave, this hurts. Make her stop!" in a whining voice like how you talk about your siblings, then I told the foot to shut up because the dog looked absolutely adorable being fiercely protective. Foot and I became increasingly uncomfortable, to the point where my eyes were watering and I was complaining roughly every thirty seconds about how much my foot hurt. Then, dog moved her head.

Foot had roughly point four seconds of freedom in which it exclaimed, "HELL YES. FREEEEEEEEEEEEDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!" before dog put her head back down, snuggled very roughly, and left me to be miserable again.

Eventually we got to the point where I was like, "Screw her comfort. I'm MISERABLE." So then I oh-so-gently transplanted her head from my foot to the carpet, with love and kindness and all that. Then she just snuggled with the carpet and pretended I was never there. This made me feel so loved.

It was then I realized I couldn't feel my foot.

After about three minutes of holding one hand on my ankle and the other on my toes and twisting a bit, I had generally regained feeling. This was both good and bad, because while I could feel, it also meant I was in extensive pain, and then had to limp to my kitchen and get an ice pack.

Rest assured, I can now actually feel my foot.

We shall end that long, rambly, and utterly pointless story there.

--Ave