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The weirdest thing that happened to me this week:

I'm generally wary of people asking me to be their "friend" on FaceBook. I don't have many friends, and those that are on FaceBook are already on my friends list. Hence, most people wanting to add me to their ever-growing collection of names are usually minor acquaintances, that I might have had for Spanish 3 back in high school. A few months ago, one guy that tracked me down found my name in his MIDDLE SCHOOL year book. Look, Guy or whatever your name was. Nothing whatsoever happened in Middle School--NOTHING--that is, beyond the deep emotional scars that even now keep me quietly sobbing into my pillow on the particularly lonely nights. You are NOT my friend, and I know this because I HAD NO FRIENDS in middle school. I do not appreciate you, or those of your ilk reminding me of that. Please fuck off and die. K, thanx, bi.

I used different words than that in my response.

So it was with great trepidation that I opened a friend request this week from some broad called "Emily." I had no idea who she was, what the hell LSU stood for, or where Mandeville High School was. And since she listed her political views as "very conservative", I could very easily rule out her being my "friend."

So I had to do something I hate. I had to send, for the 48th goddamn time, a message to some random person to the general effect of: "Please don't take this personally, but who the hell are you?"

As it transpires, I must have known this chick when I was seven years old. I say "must have" because she knew what neighborhood I lived in back then, and my first and last name, which was enough to track me down. I don't know which is worse, that she is so obsessed with Facebook that she went through the trouble of tracking my ass down fifteen years later, or that she cared so much about me that she REMEMBERED me all this time and went through the trouble of tracking me down. She's either a nut job or I'm a horrible person. What if, at the tender age of eight, I said something deep and philosophical that inspired her throughout the years, getting her through the rough patches with her alcoholic father, or her mother's horrible brain cancer? And then I FORGOT her ass.

Whatever the case, she went through the trouble, so that was well worth allowing her into the sacred halls of my friends list. Watch and see if she ever writes me again.

LordInsidious.Livejournal.com

Mike, remember how you commissioned me over a year ago to write a short story from a supervillian's point of view? Well, I had to turn in a short story for my comedy class today, four pages or less. This is what I wrote:

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LordInsidious.Livejournal.com


Subj: Progress

V. productive day! Renovations on Dungeon C going quiet well. Workers installed laser dismemberment table today. Wanted to test on watermelon, but watermelons were out of season, so used cantaloupe. Success! Had fruit salad for lunch.

Nuclear moon laser proceeding ahead of schedule. Should be ready next month. Budgeting working on appropriate ransom amount to demand of world leaders.

New episode of Heroes tonight! ^__^

Mood: Excited.
Music: “Perfect Day” - Hoku


Subj: Stupidfriends

Talked to Sheila, new head of Superfriends Advisory committee. Says odds of them uncovering nefarious moon-vaporization plot now “likely to highly likely.” Developed plans to have entire crime-fighting organization win lavish, 3-week vacations to Maui — $50,000 not anticipated in budget. Will have to cease renovations on Dungeon C and delay project indefinitely. Stupid superpowered freaks. H8!

Have lunch meeting with the Excruciator tomorrow. Just know he is going to show off ugly baby pictures.

Mood: Disappointed
Music: “You Make Me Sick” – Pink


Subj: Lunch Date

Excruciator’s offspring photos worse than had imagined. Purple-y. Fetal-y. Bloated. Conversation consisted of endless monologues on diapers and preferred brands of formula. Found myself unable to finish organic sun dried tomato wrap. Perhaps discovered cure to obesity epidemic. Ugly baby pictures = miracle appetite suppressant? Would explore further, but findings might benefit humanity.

Saw Sheila after lunch. Went over details of Superfriends-Maui-diversion plan. Why? Why? Should not have to concern myself with matters not related to lasers, like hotel reservations. To top it off, Heroes is a rerun tonight. No justice in the world.

Mood: Depressed
Music: “Witness” - Sarah McLachlan


Subj: Explosions!

Good news! Security caught spy attempting to infiltrate secret volcano base. Found him in lava ventilation tubes on routine patrol. Hahaha. n00b. Got to use laser dismemberment table for real! Resulting explosion MUCH cooler than with cantaloupe. Joy dulled, however, by one minor problem: HOW DID HE FIND MY BASE? HOW? WHY? WHEN? WHERE? Has he told anyone? If so, who has he told? If so, where do these people live, and do they have any close personal friends that would make good hostages for elaborate and public revenge scenario? If so, how can I incorporate lasers into said scenario? Sheila swung by to discuss possibilities, even though not her job. V. peculiar.

Nuclear doomsday moon laser due to be finished next week. *does a dance*

Mood: Satisfied
Music: “It’s My Life” – Bon Jovi


Subj: FRIENDS ONLY



Comment to be added.

Mood: ANGRY
Music: “Nobody’s Fool” - Avril Lavigne


Subj: Suspicious

Figured out how spy found secret volcano base. Had to make LiveJournal “friends only.” Stupid internets.

Also, beginning to suspect Sheila has a crush on me. Keeps inventing reasons to visit. Unsure whether instincts are correct, and if so, whether to act on this. Mentioned situation to Larry in human resources, and he advised I “hit that action.” Still not certain romantic entanglements a good idea now. Might provide fatal distraction at the most vulnerable stage of my plans. Then again, she’s hot, and likely a sure thing.

What the hell.

Mood: Hopeful
Music: “Everlasting” – Kenny G


Subj: Kick-Ass Sweet Awesome PWN!

Nuclear doomsday moon laser finally finished! Laser looks like something out of old, crappy Battlestar Galatica with Lorne Greene, and not new, vastly superior Battlestar Galatica with Edward James Olmos, but otherwise could not be happier. Once plans are in place, will be able to hold world for ransom. If demands are not met, will vaporize moon, thereby removing tides and throwing global weather system into disarray. If demands are met… will probably still use anyway. Why waste perfectly good doomsday laser?

Completion of laser gave me HUGE confidence boost, so asked Sheila out for Thai food. She said yes! But she said she wanted to pick the restaurant, and would not tell me where we are going. Worried.

Also, laser will have to be tested before threatening world leaders. Alas, no spare moon to test laser on. Hmmmm.

Mood: Elated
Music: “Everyone Wants to Rule the World” – Tears for Fears


Subj: Doomsday moon laser FTL

Total disaster. No other moons to test laser on, so was forced to test it on real moon. Then stupid me scheduled date with Sheila on same night as doomsday laser test. Horrible planning on my part. Blamed secretary and strangled her to death telekinetically. Still did not feel better and had to push back laser test two hours.

Sheila took me out to Red Lobster. Did not bother to ask if I was allergic to shellfish. Stuck eating breadsticks all night. Discussed favorite movies and bands. Mentioned deep love for Bon Jovi. (When world domination plans come to fruition, he will be spared.) Sheila laughed at me. She called Bon Jovi an 80’s has-been. Was forced to telekinetically strangle her for her insolence. Date a failure.

Laser a failure. Turned it on and moon did NOT blow up. Left blackish scorch mark on Sea of Tranquility and that was it. What now? What? What? Astronomers will notice big scorch mark, and then tell Superfriends, who will come to secret base and kick ass, that’s what. So unfair. Tempted to strangle engineers telekinetically for their incompetence, but didn’t feel up to it.

Will now have to move secret volcano base to different location and booby trap the old one. New base will likely be not as cool. Will probably be in a cave or rat-infested castle.

Also, Tivo mysteriously did NOT record new episode of Heroes. Will never find out if Hiro saves New York.

Will never find true love. Will never have nice things. Will never take over world. :-(

Mood: Crushed
Music: “Foolish Games” – Jewel


Subj: Real Estate

Housing market is total crap. Could not even find cave. Had to rent out office in industrial park under name of LunarTech Inc.

Mood: Inconsolable
Music: “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” – Green Day


Subj: I am a Genius!

I am a genius! Thought of way to salvage moon laser debacle. Laser does not blow up the moon, but does make v. good engraving device. Have decided to sell off idea to highest bidder and engrave the winning corporate logo on lunar surface. Best, most visible billboard space on Earth is on the Moon. Will make millions… billions. Maybe more. Besides, gazillionare business entrupieteers (sp????) get much ladies, or so I have heard.

Giving serious thought to trading in cape and menacing black ensemble in favor of business suit. Will probably go for it, as am allergic to spandex.

Mood: Creative
Music: “I Will Survive” – Dianna Ross

Spic and Span

I'm in my last semester of undergraduate work, and while many of my peers are scrambling for last-minute credit hours, fretting over job applications, or merely trying to get in as many keg parties as they can, I worry about none of this. Last semester? Bah. Been there, done that. The benefit of being a super-senior.

No, what I worry about is: how am I going to fit all my shit into a Volkswagen Beetle? I moved into my apartment almost four years ago, and since then, I have managed to accumulate, like plaque, a fantastic assortment of clothes, books, nicknacks, posters, and dust bunnies large enough to apply for American citizenship. The process was gradual, and so escaped my notice until it occurred to me that in a few short months, every single scrap of it is going to get boxed up, and shipped... somewhere. Most likely, my parent's basement. This means that my parents have a good shot at seeing the contents of those boxes.

Conclusion: Fuck.

Overdue library slips, threatening bank letters, embarrassing photographs, something goo-y that leaked inside my desk drawer, letters from that person I forgot to write back, papers with bad grades on them--all of them incriminating evidence, each one capable of revealing me to be a human being and not a Stepford daughter, and thereby leaving me open to parental nagging. They must be destroyed.

So where have I been these past few weeks? Knee-deep in old textbooks I couldn't sell back, bras of the wrong cup size, seventy-eight pounds worth of screenplays/Marti Saga, and a extravagantly heavy TV set that broke over a year ago, but I was too lazy to haul to the dumpster. All gone. My room is CLEAN, except in the sense of it being vacuumed, dusted, or purged of any actual dirt. After all, I had blog updates to write.