Is Anyone Home?

See. I get this feeling that nobody actually reads my blog except for The Salad Bar Queen. Nobody actually cares. To prove this to the world and myself, I have put a hit counter on the side. To get this hit counter for free I had to leave the link about loans.com or something stupid. Everyone knows that people that get payday loans have to pay really high interest and it isn't a good thing. If you want you can click on it, but feel free to ignore it. It is most likely a crappy website anyway. Might even give you a virus.

Guess what! I'm totally and completely and wholly blogged out. Quick sidenote, I used to think wholly was pronounced wally and I never knew what it meant until I asked my dad one time. Turns out parents actually are good for something more than birthday presents. Even if it isn't very often. Oh and I'm getting new Xbox Live for my birthday which means I can get a new account. And Oliver is reaaaaallly jealous.

But about the blogged out part. Remember how I said one time that I was manic-depressive? No, you don't, because you don't exist, remember? Which means you never read my post, duh. But I'm definitely going through the depressive, creativity-free time period. So all of my posts are worthless garbage. It is like having writers block but not being able to take a break, because then I would fail my classes. So I have to fight through the pain or something. So really, I can understand why nobody in the entire world wants to read my blog. But PLEASE, if you actually do exist, follow my blog. This is important people. To my life. What if I end up getting so depressed that I jump off of a bridge. That would be YOUR fault. So. Follow me. Please. You don't even have to read it, none of my other followers do, but just follow me!

Happy Birthday To Me!

This is not relevant to my supposed topic but who cares? I don't care. It is my birthday and I'm excited. It isn't even that great of a birthday, 17, but it is good in one way. I get my big-kid license (what is it called? Permanent? Intermediate? I don't even know). This means that I can speed as much as I want with the only punishment being a ticket and a fine. No loss of license or probation or whatever it is they do to people that are 16 for speeding these days. Which is totally fitting because Embroz was definitely almost tailgating me today as I drove to school because he thought I was going too slow. Well too bad because it would be completely ironic and totally depressing to lose my not-so-big-kid license today, the day I can get a big kid license. So I made sure I didn't go more than 3 over the limit, just to be safe. And it was totally justified in my mind, not only because it is the law, but because I was warned recently that cops have been very active around my school because whiney babies that live around there have been complaining about speeders. My friends friend got pulled over and got a ticket for going 2 over. That is ridiculous.



This all reminds me of this one time, about a month and a half or two months after I got my first license. I was driving myself back to my house from a camping trip at Strawberry Point when I got a phone call. I had just learned how to use my cruise control (I had always thought it was broken or nonexistent so I'd never used it). I was cruising along at pretty much exactly the speed limit just to be safe. While I was on the phone I was inadvertently resting my foot on the gas pedal. I wasn't overly worried because I figured cruise control stopped you from speeding up no matter what you did. Wrong. You can speed it up with the gas pedal. Since I thought I knew that the speed wouldn't change I wasn't bothering to look at my speedometer, especially since I was on the phone. I happened to look down after a while and noticed that I was going about 90 miles an hour. The speed limit was 55. I didn't even know my car could go that fast! It is a piece of crap that can barely make it up steep hills and accellerates very slowly. Apparently my car is the little engine that could or whatever. It may huff and puff to make it up a big hill but when its straight and flat, it can really go.

And guess what! I have swine flu! No just kidding I don't. But i definitely have all of the symptoms except for the fever. So maybe I have the regular flu. But I JUST freaking had the flu like a month ago and my cough never fully went away and now here I am coughing and dying all over again. And I hate it. A lot. And I'm not even blabbering about anything important anymore so I guess it is time to put this little post out into the real world and let it fight for its life.

Funny Update

These Irish people, I tell ya. They are some funny kids. Two of them were talking about how Americans say stupid things. I'm sure Irish people say stupid things too. Goodness gracious. But it isn't funny if americans whine about irish people, its only funny if it is the other way around. One of them just kept saying pooooteeetos kind of like that except you would have to hear them to get the full effect. The other one was like lucky chams (UK people don't know how to say their r's). that wasn't as funny as the one who said potatoes over and over. I couldn't stop laughing. And I just thought you should know this, maybe you could search irish person saying potatoes on youtube.com or something. do it. kthxbai.

Hanna Floofenplogger

I have this neighbor. Me and my neighbor are friends. But on one thing we do not get along. She likes Bush. I sit here and think to myself, Bush was so dumb, he did practically nothing good. People in other countries think we're stupid, all of us, because of Bush. But Hanna likes him. Want to know why she likes him? Because her parents did. Her parents are generally smart people, so it comes as a surprise that they would think that he is smart. Nobody thinks he's smart unless they are in denial. He was alright through 9/11 but after that he just had fail after epic fail. He also cannot properly speak the english language. It is pathetic. One would expect the president of an english speaking country would be able to speak english, but apparently that was too much. And then he got reelected. But anyway, I try to avoid politics because there will always be stupid people thinking stupid things and believing in other people and their stupid things. So whatever.

But while I play xbox I tend to look for anyone, and befriend anyone, with a cool accent. Half of them are probably creepers, but it is okay, because they talk real sexy like. I have briefly mentioned the Irish people I've been playing with recently, and I played with them again some yesterday. There's this one named KGHAV and he's pretty cool. He has an Irish accent too, and he lives in Ireland. In case you couldn't figure that one out. I was discussing a few things with him. One of them was accents. I have asked people this before, but one of them was British and therefore stuck up (that actually is a pretty decent stereotype from what I've seen online anyway). He told me that people were just like "Oh, another stupid American, cool." I assumed this was because of Bush, but he might have just been acting stuck up. He is only like 14 or something. I call him Charlie because of this video.




His real name is like Marcus or something, but Charlie is wayyyy cooler. But that is again off topic. I asked gav ( I think that is his name, thats what his thing said anyway) what he thought. He was just like "ohh, I dunno" in fancy cool Irish accent. I then told him what Charlie had said and he was like "ohhh noo" laddy. I added the laddy because that is what Irish people are supposed to say. But it made me sad because I wish that people thought American accents were cool. Everyone thinks Irish, Scottish, and Britainish accents are cool, why not ours? Maybe because people over there watch the same shows as us like South Park and whatnot so they have become desensitized. I think that is the only possible explanation. It must be. But I'm sick of typing now so I'm going to leave, and you can just sit here and browse my other posts that I'm sure you haven't read, because you don't exist. Once again I tell you, you don't exist. Okay bye. Have fun, my imaginary friends.

Okay People. Really.

How hard would it be to follow my blog? Probably not very. So if you read this post and you aren't a follower. Click the follow button. It's over there <-------- somewhere on the side. Find it. Find it. There you go. Now click on it. It's that easy, like Staples, but easier. Okay. That was the whole point of this post. I want more followers. Join the swelling ranks and hop and the bandwagon. All the cool people follow my blog. Really. Look around you. ee all those people that already got on the wagon? You're all alone. Click the button. Thank you.

I'm Goin' Pro!

I have a dream to tell you about. It is like one of those dreams where you wake up crying, except I didn't wake up crying. Other than that it's just the same. Here the narrative will begin, and we will pretend everything I say is real.


I was in Tucson, Arizona, which if you will remember was where I just spent a week on vacation. Of course you remember, you remember every word I've ever written. Silly me. Anyway, I was in some theater somewhere. Then all of a sudden I was in some woman's office, I guess you could say she looked something like this









but not much. Just a general idea. Anyway she was telling me how I was going to get to play baseball for the Arizona Wildcats. I can't play baseball, I'm pretty sure the last time I tried I got hit right in the forehead with the ball in my neighbor's yard. It was painful. Scarred me mentally. Moving on. So I got to play for this professional baseball team and it was practically the most exciting thing ever and apparently I was good enough. The blonde woman told me that I would have to live in the team's secret hideout, which conveniently enough was in the top of the theater we were in. Imagine that. The theater was something like this in layout.

The wall and two doors and staircase (the dotted line) was drawn by me. Good handwriting, huh? I thought so too. I went to go up into the secret hideout's entrance, which was somewhere in the big arched staircase between the two doors. By the way, the door by my handwritten "wall" had a second door behind it, which had a creek running through it. Don't ask me why, it was a dream. So I went to go to the secret hideout and all of a sudden this guard, who looked just like this except in a cop outfit, came over. He wanted to know what I was doing, but I obviously couldn't tell him I was moving in with my new team because then the secret hideout wouldn't be a secret anymore, and that would be bad. So I just left. I reappeared in my own house, back in lovely cold Iowa, just as the phone started ringing. The house phone, mind you, not the cell phone. This is an important fact. So I answered the phone. It was some crazy person with a really weird voice, I don't remember exactly what the voice was like, but it was weird. Crazay weird. This person wanted to know if I was at home, and since I was apparently alone at the time I obviously wasn't going to tell the truth. I told them I was at work. I immediately knew they wouldn't fall for such a silly ploy because my car was in the driveway (My dream-self didn't at the time realize I was on the home phone, so I obviously was home). The person then started doing the crazy insane person laughter and hung up on me. Weird. But it was all okay because just then my dad appeared in the house. As he appeared two people, who happened to be from my baseball team, walked in from the garage carrying some random chair. My dad tried to speak to them but they were from spain and only spoke spanish, so it was up to me to converse with them. I of course did in my flawless dream spanish but right then I was up in the fancy penthouse thing that we all lived in. There was a party going on and I had invited some of my friends, Kro, Embroz, and Oliver Jorge. We were mingling with my rich friends and all of a sudden the cops broke in and deported all of my teammates. They were spanish from spain not mexico so they shouldn't have been deported at all. But I guess my friends (who spilled the beans about the secret hideout and where it was) and got themselves confused and said they were mexicans. The cops didn't care who they were as long as they were deporting someone, so they all got taken away.

Right then my alarm went off and I woke up. Remember how I said it was like those dreams where you are crying when you wake up (which I've never actually had, but my female family members have, must be a girl thing). Well when I was awake I was super sad. As if some of my best friends in the entire world had been rudely stolen from me, never to be seen again. It was also this really wistful, longing feeling. It makes no sense. I have never wanted to be a baseball player. Never. So why does this one illogical dream suddenly make me all sad when it ends? Who knows! But I do feel like maybe, just maybe, if my clock hadn't chosen right then to go off maybe I would have rescued them and we would have lived happily ever after. But no, they got deported and that was that. Gone forever.

If you (here I refer to "you" as if "you" actually exist, but nobody reads this so "you" don't exist) are a dream analyst, and you would like to comment and leave your phone number, that would be great. I will pay you. Tell me what it means.

Ohh The Bloody Wanker.

Pronounced Irish style, with no r sound on the end. This is one of my new favorite sayings. I don't even know what it means except bloody means bad. And wanker sounds bad. But who cares when it is an Irish person talking to you? Do I care? No. Do you? No. Okay. We're good. I like Irish people. I play xbox with them. And they are my friends. But this in fact has no point at all, and I will stop talking about it. It is not important.

I don't actually know if I had a point in this blog post, except that I like Irish people. I played some more Xbox with them today, and it was fun. They talk real nice like, and I played with three Irish people and a guy from the Netherlands. Sometimes, when I'm reading a book, the author will describe someone speaking as if they think about every word before saying it. I always thought that was a really dumb way of describing something. Way too much of an exaggeration. But this Netherlandian fellow actually talked like that. Really, really, slowly with a big space between each word. And he also had a voice that was incredibly deep. So it just made him sound like a giant from Harry Potter or something. I thought it was funny. I also that it was funny that I was the only American in the games we were playing. But I liked that, Americans tend to be stupid. Except you. If you are reading this you obviously display incredible levels of intelligence and sense of humor. Andd I just lost my train of thought. Thanks for reading. Bye.

She Caw Go.

Oh brief side note. The people that I work with, well at least two of them, talk like hicks. Andd it makes me laugh. Definitely heard one of them say "Done got me." What the heck. Nobody but hicks say that. Except for I guess my coworkers. But that isn't even all of the time. What do you think, was it just for me? Who knows. Doesn't matter. I'm off topic.


So today I went to Chicago. I've been to Chicago before but I was like six and all I remember is going to the -gag- American Girl Doll factory thing or whatever the heck it is. Badd memories. Oh and we tried to go to the Rainforest Cafe but it was like a 4 day wait if you wanted to eat, and we only had one day so we left. And probably got McDonalds or something super lame like that. But I'm in fact not writing about when I went there as un enano. So let's get on topic, shall we?

We went on a school trip and it cost like 80 dollars or something, which was a bit pricey, but when you have parents to pay for such things. It was worth it too. Well, worth my parents' money. But I bet if I had paid for it I would think it was worth it. It was a good time. If you're friends with me on facebook then you should look at the album. It isn't my album but I'm in it. So have a looksie.

The bus ride up there was the typical charter bus ride. We left at 5:45, which is really not a beautiful time to be awake. I prefer being asleep at that time personally. I rode with Embroz, who now follows my blog, so you can go read his and then he will love you. My friend, Kro, brought Ben And Jerry's Cinnamon Bun ice cream. We all figured, if it is cinnamon roll flavored then it surely must be breakfast food. So she brought it, and spoons, and shared. It was quite possibly the best ice cream I've ever had, and now Ben and Jerry are both my best friends. Forever. Biffles. That's us.








See this girl here? She isn't eating just Ben And Jerry's, but she has the right idea. Look at how happy she is. Isn't it cute? Sure it is. And that's basically how all of us looked while we ate it. Not the messy part though, just the way too happy. Sugar filled amazing ice cream at six in the morning. It was delicious. And fabulous. And exciting. And any other adjective that is good and such. For the rest of the ride me and Embroz pretty much just watched a movie. I think. I don't really remember all of the bus ride up there.



Then we arrived at our destination, the Art Institute of Chicago. It was alright, and pretty much not the reason I wanted to go. It was halfway the point of the whole trip because we had been studying spanish art. But all the good stuff is in The Prado in Madrid, Espana. So it was kind of a lot of not-so-famous works of art from Spanish people. It was okay. ( I saw this painting though)



Then at around noon the real fun stuff happened. We got to go to Cafe Iberico. It was amazing. The weird part is that like 4 out of 12 tapas that we got weren't even very good. A few were downright icky. Yeah, that's right, icky. One was this brushetta stuff and it would have been good except for the pancetta. Pancetta is like bacon without the smoky flavor. The piece of pancetta that I got was actually more like a chewy piece of fat. So it was really gross and I didn't eat it. There was also this bread stuff with some kind of vegetables on it, and that was probably my least favorite. The had some really good stuff, too. Like las croquetas, those were amazing. It was fried something or other kind of like a mozzarella stick except without the mozzarella, it was chicken and ham and some other type of cheese and some doughy stuff. And it was fried. And delicious. I also tried some octopus. It was prepared in this weirdest manner ever. It was like skillet fried with potatoes. So it was french fries and octopus. And you could see all the little suckers and it was gross and depressing. Gross because I'm not used to eating octopus suckers, and depressing because octopi are like the coolest animals ever. I wish I could change color like that. That would be amazing. But right now I'm just really bored of typing so I'll continue this post sometime later.

Back! So I think the octopus may have been the last thing that we ate as part of the included meal, which cost 30 freaking bucks. Ridiculous. But I think it was worth it. Except, their chocolate milk was not up to par. It was watery and weird tasting but whatever. I just drank Oliver Jorge's coke or whatever it was she had.

Then for dessert me and Oliver split a strawberry crepe. I've had crepes before but this wasn't like them at all. The ones I've had were all relatively little and filled with cream or something fluffy like that. This crepe was basically the size of a house and filled with really good vanilla ice cream. I bet the ice cream was made right there in the Cafe. And it was delicious. It was also covered in some strawberries.

I Called My Doctor

He confirmed my diagnosis of Blog Bipolar. (see previous post)

Don’t You Hate That Feeling?

What feeling, you ask? That one where you have this assignment or something hanging over your head. You know you should do it, but anything, anything, is more interesting. Staring at a wall watching paint dry, watching water boil (which, as everyone knows, is impossible. If you watch it it never boils, duh), watching your fingernails grow, all are more interesting. It makes life a bit stressful, which also apparently makes life shorter. So basically, school makes life shorter. One could argue that the quality of life is increased because now people can afford fancy gadgets and whatnot with their degree. But I don't care. I'm off on a tangent anyway. The point, as stupid and boring and nonimportant as it is may be, is that this blog has been giving me that feeling lately.

Before I went on my one week sick-fest I was blogging up a storm, and then all of a sudden, I didn't feel like it anymore. Let's blame it on the sickness shall we? I think the reason I was doing so well is because it wasn't really an assignment for me anymore. I had a few blogs more than required each week and so I didn't worry about it too much. If I didn't have anything to say, I wouldn't bother. But now that I was sick for a week and then swamped by make-up work for a week I am no longer ahead. In fact, I'm barely keeping up. I might even be behind. And that makes it hang over my head and takes all the fun out of blogging. It isn't quite as boring as watching paint dry, because I can pretend that someone actually cares about what I have to say when I talk to myself on here, but it's getting close. The most logical explanation is that I hate homework, and since I already have homework in plenty this assignment is no longer fun. I can't really think of anything else that would explain it. Or actually I can. It could be that I am bipolar (also known as manic-depressive) because they go through two phases. In the manic phase they have a whole bunch of creativity and all this energy and it's just wonderful. Apparently a lot of famous artists had this disorder and that is why they were so good but ended up going crazy in the end, like Goya, but he was also deaf and they blame his craziness on being deaf (I know the truth though, he was just bipolar). The second phase is the depressive phase and bipolar people get super depressed and have suicidal feelings and all that crappy stuff. Maybe I am Blog Bipolar. I think I must be because at the beginning of the year I could never think of anything to blog about, then I went through a blog-manic phase where I was like 8 blogs over the requirement, and now I'm in the blog-depressive phase because I can't think of anything to write about. I think I'll call my doctor up on this one and see what he thinks. Anyway. It's been fun. Lets hang out again some time.

Spencer, Shut Up.

Wondering why I put this title? Because Poopypance or whatever her blogger name is just loudly exxlaimed that to some person. The name may have been changed to protect his (or her) identity. I don't feel like having his (or her) identity stolen on my behalf. That would be rather sad. And a little bit unlikely. Basically the only reason that is my title is because I couldn't think of what to name this post about dead people, so I just chose Spencer, Shut Up. It is a good title. Adds a sense of mystery. Or something.

So the dead people, you ask? Well today I'm going to THE BEST college ever to see some dead people. Want to know the college? Now here I'm going to assume everyone as heard of it, because only people that live in the ol' CR would ever consider reading my blog. Because only people that I force to follow my blog would actually ever look at it. Pretty much. If you don't live in Cedar Rapids and you are reading this. FOLLOW MY BLOG. Unless you live in Decorah and you are my sister. Because that would be anticlimactic. But otherwise, follow it. Then I can brag to everyone that I have cool followers, and they, poor silly people that they are, do not! Anyway. Back to the college I'm going to, both to see dead people and for real college. Kirkwood! Best school EVER. I love it. It's so amazing. All the smart people from the world go there. All of them. Actually I'm not going there. For college. But I am going to go there today (if I can find it). I've never driven there except for one time, and I got lost, so I'm screwed basically. And I'm driving some kid I don't even know as well. So we're both going to get lost and then get kidnapped, and then die. That's how it always happens in the movie, and movies don't lie.

Assuming we will eventually get there, we then have to find the right building and the right room then we get to see some dead body. Sounds exciting no? And basically thats all I have to say about the dead body viewing. What a long and exciting way to get there, huh? I thought so. And you do too. No you don't, but "you" don't exist because nobody reads this. So the moral of the story is I won, and you lost, and there is nothing you can do to change that. HA!

I Have Been Silenced Long Enough

Okay. So a long time ago I decided that I would try to complain on my blog as little as possible. I mean really, nobody wants to hear some random person they don't even know complain. It's ridiculous. And stupid. But I have decided to complain in this post for two reasons. Number one, nobody I don't know reads my blog anyway (because they obviously would have followed it, since it is so amazing), so it isn't like I am complaining to random people who don't care. The people aren't random, even if they still don't care. And reason number two, everyone that reads my blog most likely lives in Iowa and share my grief towards the previously mentioned state.

Iowa is lame. The weather here from October to April tends to suck. Majorly. Some people get all fuzzy and happy inside when the trees start changing colors, but not me. First of all, green is my favorite color so why would I want it to change to red, orange, yellow, purple, or any other stupid color? That's my opinion on the dumb trees anyway. Also, everyone knows that Fall is a season of way too many clouds and the end of summer. Which means the end of warm weather. Which means the beginning of freaking cold. And after Fall comes Winter, in case you didn't know, and Winter is completely lame. It is sunny like one day out of every ten and everything is either gray, brown, or some disgusting mix of the two. Except for snow of course, which is white. Either way, there is a dismal lack of interesting colors, and even the sky is useless. Floating around up there acting completely worthless and gray. Sheesh. Not helpful. Anyway. Winter is just plain lame. There aren't enough school breaks, which doesn't help either.

The real point of this blog post is that it is now April Fifth, of the calendar year two thousand and nine (I just felt like writing it that way because it takes up more space and makes me feel like I have accomplished something, which I haven't). It is also snowing, sleeting, hailing, raining, windy, and generally looking crappy out the window. I hate it. It is April. Whatever happened to April showers bringing May flowers? I'm pretty sure snow doesn't count. Not at all. I want it to be warm and sunny and hot and delicious so I can exercise in the great outdoors. Not that I probably would be outside anyway. In general all of my time at is either spent at school, at work, doing homework, or playing video games. It is not an exciting life. I blame it all on school. School ruins everything. If only I could drop out, but I don't think med school accepts high school dropouts. Maybe I'll look into it. Or maybe I'll just be homeless and bum around in some rich city where people throw money at the homeless all the time, almost like it is a never ending parade. How does that sound? Yeah, I thought it sounded a bit implausible too, but whatever. I'll think of something sometime.