I do declare!

As you may know, I am quite a fan of Jane Austen's works. I am currently working my way through Northanger Abbey, which happens to be, to my delight, absolutely hilarious.

One thing I have to say, though: why do people consider Austen's works to be romantic works, rather than comedies? If you've ever read Jane Austen, you'd know exactly what I'm talking about, unless of course, the not-so-subtle humor was lost on you. Even Pride and Prejudice, her earliest work, is chock-full of characters she seems to love to make fun of. Her comments on Fordyce's Sermons (thank you, Miss Mary Bennet), Miss Bingley's whims and inconsistencies, and Mr. Hurst says a grand total of five to ten words in the entirety of the novel (more like three), and yet he manages to be one of the funniest characters, all have me laughing more than sighing over the romanticisms of Mr. Darcy.

Jane Austen is a lot better at writing humor than writing romance, to say the least.

In any case... whenever a teacher or friend of mine says, "those silly romantic novels, by whats-her-face... Austen!" I long to tell them "they aren't silly romantic novels, they're works of social commentary and comedic genius, and you'd know if you had ever opened one of them to read".

At least, that's what I get out of them. I mean to say, if one is going to wish for a bodice ripper and read Jane Austen, they might as well try reading Finnegan's Wake and expect sensible advice on lawn-mowing.

On another note, as I was telling Jared (G.), bodice rippers are just as entertaining, especially when you picture a short, portly gay man as the author of said bodice rippers. Or perhaps, picture Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow to be the heroine wearing the bodice... that ought to do.

I hate feeling emo.

A stream-of-consciousness poem by yours truly. I swear, I'm posting this then going to sleep, because, well, it's easier not to think that way.

I once wrote a poem about you, and
it was rather crap.
That's just as well, because
the way I treated you, too
was rather crap.

You once wrote a poem about me
and I never got to hear it.
Everything you say, to me
makes me the bumbling fool--
The gentleman falls for the shrew
Who was, incidentally, too
far gone to hear the wonder
that is you.

And every day I live I die alone;
That's just as well, because
I'm rather used to it now.
Until, of course, you look
at me and then
beyond, without a second glance.
But I do remember, now,
that I've earned this.

-----------------------

ZOMG SPIDER!!

So I just totally had a coronary over a huge fucking spider that was racing across my bedroom wall. My mom came to the rescue with the vacuum cleaner... apparently I make the most entertaining noises when I'm petrified with spider-induced terror. What I thought was funny, though, was that my mom was talking to my grandpa on the phone the entire time: "NO dad I am NOT going to buy her a damn shotgun.... ...I'm too tired to deal with this crazy bullshit, good night dad... yes I am hanging up on you... what? ...no, it's not dead yet...."
Suffice to say I would have been laughing, if I wasn't wheezing, squealing and frantically rubbing at little ghostly itches on my skin (phantom spiders, I'm sure), in pure horror.

Yes, I am aware that it is now hypocritical for me to tease my sister about her fear of spiders. But I really do think it was funnier to find her screaming bloody murder, butt nekkid, and standing on the bathroom counter, shrieking about a huge spider on the floor... MY spider was about, oh, five times as big. And hairy. With little brown, hairy mantibles that were scissoring rapidly as it came towards me...

I think, out of the three of us (me, the spider, and the cat, being the innocent bystander), my cat was the most frightened. She went and hid in the closet.

Pussy?!

Today was typical, at least for the first day back from spring break. The only thing of interest was that street-side shops selling jewelry and such had been set up on little tables. Yes yes, I splurged on the inexpensive Indian jewelry, but not too much. Right.

Anyways, my favorite booth was next to a (ridiculously overpriced) jewelry booth, and there I bought 20 sticks of incense for, oh, one dollar. The inner pagan in me was positively having convulsions of joy over the Frankincense, Patchouli, Myrrh, Sandalwood, Wisteria, Black Lover and Spiritual Love that I failed to notice the funniest thing that I have seen in at least a month.

As I was perusing through the (huge) stacks of incense, I found the greatest incense scent ever. Really, this is a sure thing; Sex on the Beach doesn't even hold a candle to the large, caps sign labeling some pink, musky scented sticks as "PUSSY".

Of course I had to smell it. I mean... does it really smell like, well, pussy? No, not really. Unless your vagina smells like a damned rose, I sincerely doubt it. And if it does, well, ew?

I really think that I would have been insulted if I had discovered "PUSSY" incense years ago. But you know what? After hearing Mr. Asakawa's deliberately pronounced way of pausing before saying the word vagina, well, it's just too funny.

But you know what (or rather, who) I thought of immediately? Yes, Matt L., you. Only you. Oh, how you used to yell "VAGINA!!!" in the corridors of Jr. High as I passed by... or was that High School?
Another thing, just for you, Matt: this incident was better than the dream I had about shagging some guy who had a spoon for a penis, and oh yes I remember being Harry Potter during said shagging.... and also, not as good as the dream about my mom watching over congress arguing over ass wax. What the devil is ass wax?

But seriously, guys. Pussy?! You should smell it. I bought some. :D

I am a bit odd, aren't I?

If they told you I'm mad, then they lied. I'm odd, but it isn't compulsive. I'm the triolet, bursting with pride; If they told you I'm mad, then they lied. No, it isn't obsessive. Now hide All the spoons or I might get convulsive. If they told you I'm mad then they lied. I'm odd, but it isn't compulsive. http://quiz.ravenblack.net/poeticform.pl">What Poetry Form Are You?

OR

I, as a clerihew, Tend to be merry; too Merry, it might, perhaps, by some, be claimed; But I'm sure that these people are wrong, and need to be grievously maimed. http://quiz.ravenblack.net/poeticform.pl">What Poetry Form Are You?

YES, I LOVE IT. :d