Rawr

HI! I haven't written in quite some time. I apologize; really! I've been off saving the world from Ebola monkeys. It's an epidemic. Try not to breathe and don't have sex in Kitum Cave.

I bought a pair of Baoding Balls about 9 months ago.



They are meant to reduce stress and all that good stuff but I haven't even tried to use them until today.

AMAZING!

I can't stop playing with them. It is the most relaxing activity done with your hands.

***Masturbation does not count.

I have become quite the proficient ball-in-hand-rolling-person. K...That's it.

Le fin,
Quinn

Ch-ch-changes

Have you ever known one of those people with impossibly high standards for their potential significant others?

I'm one of them.

I can't really explain why. I'm not much of a catch and I know that. I, however, often find myself 'crushing' on someone and then finding them repulsive a week later because I notice a small fault. It could be anything. It could be a crooked tooth, an accent, an ugly dog. Anything!

My point is that no one ever seems to be good enough for me and that is absolutely ridiculous. I know my standards are completely unreasonable - especially considering my imperfections - but I can't help it. I don't consciously make a decision to dislike them. It just happens. The question of the night is: Do I seek to find out the reasoning behind my crazy relationship bipolarism and settle for an annoying accent and ugly dog or do I continue to seek for the non-existent, perfect man?

In confusion,
Quinn

UPDATE:
I'm married. 2 years strong!

Could be

WARNING: This poem may create a sense of loathing for its author.

Untitled

People laughing
Could be sighing
Is it screaming?
It may be crying
A montage of sounds
Make it your own
Echoes in my mind
Causing tremors
Distant voices
Different choices
Roll the dice and play the game
Back two paces
What a shame
I'm done with this it's pretty lame
Called my bluff
I lost again
Fates are laughing
Could be sighing
Is it screaming?
They may be crying

Quinn

Tequila.

I've sat down about five times in the past two days or so to write something about which I've been thinking a lot lately. This, however, shall not come to pass. I can't bring myself to type out the words in the exact way I wish to express them. I guess this is the difference between an artist and everyone else. An artist can express things in the way their 'heart' feels it and I can only do it in the way my mind understands it. The problem with writing the blog I wanted to write is that it involves emotions and, well, the 'heart.'

What makes that possible? What is it in an artist that gives them the ability to form an abstract emotion, completely amorphic, into something visible/audible - and often pleasing to the senses. And for that matter, what is it about an emotion that makes it so beautiful? Even the most painful feelings are most often transcribed into an aesthetically pleasing montage of divine images.

I'm just not sure, damn it!

Sidenote:
This all brings me to another point. I know it's been tossed around quite a bit these past few years but...emos. WTF? It's one thing to want to share your inner feelings with the rest of the world but it is a completely different thing to show off the fact you are depressed. I don't care and I doubt anyone else does. Get over the cutting and get over the 'guy' liner. It's not ok and never will be. You're the type of people who see a red square on a black background and think 'oh, art.' It's not art and neither is your music. ~smiles~

Anyways...I guess what I'm trying to get to is that it would be nice to write down how I feel without it coming out as a clumsy example of grade school poetry - or as an emo piece of crap. So in closing I'll leave you with this:

The Big Pig

I saw a big pig
Who wore a wig
And did a very funny jig
After that he got a twig
And hit another little pig

By Joshua B.

That was a grade school poem, by the way. I think it's cute.

PS
If you're wondering about the title of this blog...
I'm drinking tequila.

Le fin

Ciao ciao,
Quinn

Holy classics batman!

My cousin (we shall call her Sadie) brought something up to me the other day. She asked me why I put the most well known books up front on the mantle. She thought maybe I was trying to look cool. Well she's a bitch and enjoys trying make me feel like a jack ass. This time, however, it didn't work because I really didn't even mean to do it. The books on the mantle are books I have yet to read; I have a bad habit of buying books before I'm done with the ones I already have. I organized them by size. Bottom ones are the largest. I did remember certain people I know, however. They always organized their bookshelves with the classics at eye level. WTF! Is it that important people see you have taken the time to read a classic?

'Oh, yes! I love George Eliot. Silas Marner delves into the human condition and causes one to consider existentialist philosophies.'

Ridiculous! I read the book and it hardly does that. Now don't get me wrong; I love a lot of the classics. Pride and Prejudice (my favorite), Wuthering Heights, War and Peace, Edgar Allen Poe. They're all great stories and I definitely recommend them to anyone. I, however, also enjoy books by authors such as Nora Roberts, Stephen King, Dean Koontz and even J.K. Rowling. What does that mean? Does it mean I can't join MENSA? Oh, no! The point here people is: stop caring so much about how other people view your choice in literature. Read what you enjoy and enjoy what you read. The next time I walk into someone's home and see Dante Alighieri's The Inferno on the coffee table I will burn it! I've read it and it's good and all but it's a coffee table. That means coffee and some biscotti. :)

Le fin

Ciao ciao,
Quinn

Greener grass

Is it normal for a woman to sleep with her daughter's boyfriend? Is it normal that said daughter is 14? Is it normal that said boyfriend is 33? Is it normal that both may now be pregnant with the same man's baby? Is it normal that things like this don't surprise me? Probably not. I've given up on trying to find an ounce of normalcy up in this jizoint. :) I could go on and on with the entire story but frankly it is too long and I would like to curl up with my book and then go to sleep. The entire point of telling you even this minute portion of the story is I want everyone to know YOUR FAMILY IS NOT THAT BAD! Apparently 'the grass is always greener on the other side.' Here's a tad bit o' wisdom: It only looks greener because it's not real grass. Rip up that AstroTurf and find out what's bubbling beneath the surface. Chances are it's worse than what you have. I would, right now, like to apologize profusely to the family that is worse than mine. Congrats on making it this far. I know it's not easy. That's it for now.

Night dahlins,
Quinn

PS
Tonight I'm starting 'Under the Tuscan Sun' by Frances Mayes. I know it's nothing like the movie but I'll have to drudge through the first few chapters before I can get into the flow of it. That's why you should never watch a movie before reading the book. :-P