Why You Must Take Good Facebook Photos


I can give a perfect explanation of a scenario in which it would have been much more helpful for someone else to take a decent Facebook photo (selfie, as otherwise known), for the benefit of the public.

See, there’s this boy that’s pretty cute. Like, an 8. And he’s gonna be a senior next year. He was in my Latin class last year, so my friend Matt knows who he is, but didn’t know what he looks like.

The problem is Matt has now moved to Australia. It is very hard for me to send pictures via Skype, so if there were ever something I wanted to show him, he usually looks it up himself (also for clarity). NOW, the problem at hand was that the boy in question has a Facebook account, but is in exclusively group shots where he is completely not focused on looking attractive in any form.

So when Matt found this person on Facebook, about a day later (Australia has an 11-hour time difference), he just wrote back:

“I give him a 4.”

THE IMPORTANCE OF THE PHOTOGRAPH IN A NUTSHELL!

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7/6/14


Well, taking in the new WordPress changes. I think this is going to take some getting used to.

Well, I’m rather pleased with the outcomes of my surgery. My balance seems to be quite shit, but I didn’t have high hopes for that going in. My eyesight is doing spectacular, my nystagmus seems to have completely cleared and I can see better than ever, I have an appointment with my eye doctor next week to check. I am also keeping my note for the DMV just in case, or if for some reason they go back to twitching when I’m tired and a cop notices, et cetera. Then again, there’s no cops in the greater Lorton area. Oh well. But I almost have to get a walker. I’m walking all over the place, and into people, it’s so awful. People are holding my hands so I keep on track.

But my scar is healing well, and I’m getting less self-conscious about it. I saw this boy from school the other day, and he never pointed out the twenty stitches in my neck, so I calmed down a lot after that.

And I think the new guy at the Workhouse is seriously getting his flirt on with me. Hot damn, that boy is fine. Kathleen said he asked about me a lot while I was in the hospital.

5/1/14


Our school’s doing this production of “The Producers” starting tomorrow, and I’m going to opening night with Kathleen. This really cute guy in my health class is in the play. However, and not to play of stereotypes but I feel I should put this into account, he does have a lead in a play so whether he’s totally interested in girls or my shoes may be questionable.

Just thought I’d let everyone know how my day went. Oh, and Kathleen’s friend got a Groupon for me to get a photography session, so we did that today, and they turned out pretty cute. I dressed up like an angel, because I can’t look sweet to save my life.

My friends have been….


Picking on me for two reasons for the past, like, week: a) for whatever reason, my libido has been increased a hundredfold, something about mating season and this guy in my health class that the Japanese teacher and I gossip about all day, and b) I like my coffee exclusively black, and this is quite a hot topic to everyone.

For those not able to pick up on my caffeinated euphemism, it has been frequently said that I am only attracted to black people. Whether or not this is true is neither relevant nor I guess tested, seeing as I’m sixteen, for Christ’s sake. But the Japanese teacher also finds it funny because she taught my ex-boyfriend, also African-American, and teaches my current object of affection, also African-American, and just everybody I meet finds this absolutely hysterical. My grandma thought it was funny, my mom gave me shit, my friends ARE RELENTLESS, and I don’t dare tell anyone else.

I mean, everybody just shut the fuck up.

But I think I’ve been a little close to breathing down his neck (or maybe even pants….), so I’m trying to shut my mouth. Quite literally speaking.

Like It’s So Tragic


Bi Pride

My family is very closet-homophobic. How closet? I didn’t find out until I came out.

I always kinda knew I liked girls, too, it was just a thing to me. I mean, I’m one of those people that doesn’t give a shit really what people have in their pants. It just happens. I like people, not necessarily parts. I don’t have to be a breeder, and maybe that’s the part that bugs them (especially that I may have POF).

Whatever- not here to justify myself. I think I’m fucking awesome.

My mom literally didn’t believe me for a while. Which didn’t bother me almost, because she’s kinda not the best person in the world in my book, so validating myself to her wasn’t a big thing. But then she actually started making fun of me for it, throwing out random things like, “dike” and “freak” just to piss me off. And it would always be in blatant public, and again so random that either I would be so shocked I wouldn’t know how to react, or her friends or even complete strangers wouldn’t know how to react. Humiliating bitch.

The rest of her family was weird. They almost don’t consider homosexuality a thing. They’re all dictors and nurses, so to them it’s purely hormonal. “Most likely a phase.” Seriously, one day I blew up at all of them over the holidays and screamed, “WHAT IF IT IS A FUCKING PHASE? I’M STILL STUCK WITH YOU! DO I MEAN ANY LESS? DEAL WITH IT!”

Bipolar moment maybe.

So aside from such moment, my father was rather odd about the subject. I get my lack of confrontation from him, so he avoided it. Didn’t really bother me. He kind of….respects it? Is that the right word? I guess avoiding it is better than being an ass about it, I mean. Like, I have transgender friends, and he refers to them by the right pronouns all the time and he isn’t an ass (well, he’s an ass, but in his traditional sense).

My godfather, Don, was the tiebreaker on my dad,, I’m gonna say. He’s the best. Like, if anyone should be my dad, it’s him (personally, I think he’s a little bi-curious too, but I keep my mouth shut). Almost dying a few time kinda makes you more tolerant of people I guess. YOLO. We pick out clothes together sometimes. He has really good taste in women’s clothing.

Okay, manic rant over with. Thank you.