The Loki Situation (part 2)

Hey guys, so I have something I’m writing but I need to talk to a couple of crucial people (that it’s about) before it goes live.  So in the mean time, you get another Loki post!

Picking up from where we left off, here we go:

(210) I just blogged about you.  #iregretnothing

(503) Are we hashtagging things now? #thisdoesnothing.

(210) Occasional habit. #anditseemstobugtheshitoutofpeople

 (503) I do not trust twitter.  Those birds are too friendly with pop’s ravens.

(210) Understandable, but I have no problems with Huginn or Muninn, thus, Twitter doesn’t bother me.

 (503) You know, they like to watch people… in the shower.

(210) I would imagine watching me in the shower would be amusing for them, what with the bad karaoke.  But modesty has never burdened me, so I’m not sure what the problem is…

 (503) Oh my.  Thor is using milking to crush walnuts.

(210) Mjolnir?

 (503) … Moline

(503) Autocorrect.  Mjolnir.

(503) Anyway, he’s crushing walnuts.  What he doesn’t know is I’ve put an illusion on a couple of the ball bearings used in the helicarrier’s fans.  The illusion of course, makes them look like walnuts.

(210) Hehehe, I wish I could see the look on his face when they refuse to crush!

 (503) You could say this plan is… All Nutty!

(210) *puts sunglasses on* AWWWWWW YEEEAAAAAHHHH!

 (503) Hmmmm, I have the strangest desire to put on sunglasses at the moment.

(210) Are you expecting Thor’s frustration to involve pyrotechnics?

(503) Well, let’s just say that if the kitchen slaves wish to make pasta, they could use this table to drain the noodles.

(210) Nice.  I’m not usually one for brute strength, but that’s kind of impressive.

 (503) I am annoyed.

(210) And I’m annoyed!  Together, we’re a pair-annoyed! (paranoid, get it?)

Side note, does anyone get this joke?  If not, Get Educated

(210) Why are you annoyed?

(503) You ever try to invite trickster gods over for a get together? Coyote says he’ll come, but then flakes; he thinks it’s the utmost in trickery.  Ha freaking ha.  Not like you haven’t used that one you four legged cur.

(210) Come on, now, Coyote’s a friend of mine.  He’s wily but he’s not terribly bright.  Be charitable when assessing his “tricks”…

(210) And in his defense, he’s kind of forgetful.

(503) Spider shows up early but ends up telling the same freaking stories all night.  Seriously, if I have to hear about how he stole the tiger’s genitals one more time, I’m going to make sure Ms Romanov is in attendance.  Little known fact, for a woman named The Black Widow, she is certainly quick to squash anything with eight legs.

(210) That’s not all that surprising. And yeah, only met Anansi once, but that was enough for me.  That tiger story wasn’t even really funny the first time.

(210) You know what sucks?  FT Hood, TX sucks.

(503) You know, I was vaguely aware of that.  Would it be suitable as a penal colony for a future ruler?

(210) Absolutely.  Although, FT Bliss would be slightly more demoralizing.

(210) I got a lecture from Directory Fury today about how we “should not engage in casual conversation with known supervillains, even if it *is* Thor’s brother.”

(210) Tasha gave me a very “I’m so disappointed” look.  Stark laughed his ass off and asked for your phone number.  I haven’t given it to him, yet…

(210) You know, I figure eventually, I’ll annoy you enough or bore you enough that you’ll tell me your terran alias…

(210) 48 hours now.  Darling Loki, I’m beginning to think you tire of our game.  Are you offended I called you a supervillain? Because you should know I don’t care what that pedantic Cyclops says.  I do what I want.  Villain or not, you’re terribly amusing and I’m having fun.

(503) Just distracted with my latest plan.

(210) Anything worth sharing?  Or should I just watch for fireworks and/or headlines?

(503) I’m going to turn Midguard’s children against your heroes.  Children will fall upon them in heaps of teeth and biting.

(210) And while Tasha might fight back, the rest of them will be paralyzed at the idea of hiding kids.  I like it.

(503) They won’t be able to set food within 200 meters of a school or daycare.

(210) Hehehe, Play it right and you might actually be able to get them listed as registered sex offenders for the duration of their lives.

(503) I will share in due time.


The Loki Situation

So, last week I got a new phone.  I put it out on Facebook that I had a new phone but the number was the same and most of my contacts had transferred.  Then, I made the mistake of saying “if you want me to have your phone number, text me and tell me who you are.”  I should have maybe remembered that most of my friends are smart asses, just like me.

This is the conversation that ensued.  Unknown number is in italics, my responses are not.  Unknown number from (503) area code, mine is (210).

(503) Greetings Mortal.

(210) Loki?

(503) I am no being of tricks and deceptions—of course if I was I wouldn’t say that.


(210) So… You’re either a) an extinct dinosaur that may or may not have ever existed in the archetypal form associated with it’s name, b) an over and oft misused meme, or c) a t-shirt.  Although, I suppose you could also be a clothing manufacturer or seller…

(503) You got it in one.  This is Loki.

(503) Did you like my joke? Telling you this wasn’t me when it was?  I like to think I put the “lol” in “Lolki”

(503) It sounds better in proper Asgardian.

(210) Luckily you’ve got the Allspeak.

(210) Oh my, have I lost the attention of my favorite Aesir trickster?  I’ll have to do something drastic to regain it.

(503) No, I just get crappy reception.

(503) You want to see my baby pictures?


(210) OMG, you’re ADORABLE!

(503) Did it go through? Pity AT&T if it did not. 

(503) I really am.  It’s a shame mother always loved Baldir more. 

(210) It really is.  I can’t imagine Odin was terribly happy you showed a talent for magic at such a young age.

(503) And why would I give up world domination for a new freaking iPhone?

(503) He wasn’t too thrilled when I gave birth to a six-legged horse, either. 

(210) And yet, he had no problem gaining a new war mount.  Hypocrite.

(503) Eh, no sense in obsessing. Let’s talk about what I can do for you.

(210) And what, dear Aesir, can you do for me?

(503) You know the old spice guy?  I can give you him on a plate, gutted like a turkey, or in bed, tied up, also like a turkey.

(210) I’d rather have Chris Evans…

(503) I think he’s got someone else tied up in his bunk, if you know what I mean.

(210) Yeah, I’ve heard that rumor.  How about Tom Hiddleston?

(503) This guy? 


(210) Yep, that’s Tom.  He’s pretty much the definition of sex.

(503) That whole, food of the gods thing? It was not intended to refer to fried mushrooms and tater tots.


(503) No app for the picture of my app(etizer).  Ha, classic “Lolki”

(210) Is this what we’re doing now? Sending hipster photos of our meals?  Sigyn will be so disappointed, she had assured me you knew how to show a girl a good time…


(503) And by the way, so you’ve heard the rumors about Cap’s “incredible” hulk of a lover?

(210) Actually, I heard that he and Stark had a thing.  I heard Banner’s with the Hawk.  But then, the Hawk is kind of a slut…

(503) It really must be instagrammed to be proper hipster photos.  I was just trying to make conversation, not change our discourse entirely to photos. 

(210) Fair enough, what shall we discuss, my trickster?

(503) Hmmm it seems there is a “groupon” for eyebrow and underarm hair waxing.  Perhaps I could pick one up for you? I’d like you to look your best for Mr. Hiddleston 

(210) I don’t need to conform to sexist definitions to be beautiful, nor to look my best.  Hiddleston would love me regardless.

(503) He may love you, doesn’t mean he’ll want to stick it in you.

(503) Unrelated; knock, knock.

(210) Who’s there?

(210) And are you implying that I’m not beautiful and perfect?  Loki, I’m hurt.

 (503) Thor

(210) Thor who?


(210) Hahaha, while I realize that’s the punchline, it’s a good question.  Big, blond and dumb is never appealing.

(503) I was implying no such thing; hair arm pits just aren’t my thing.  I fi wanted to curl up something hairy smells salty, I’d spoon with Baldir’s pantaloon,  (I don’t want to, BTW, so I can assume neither does Mr. Hiddleston 

(210) Fair enough, but rest assured, I am perfectly capable of maintaining my personal hygiene without professional help

(503) Don’t like big and blond? I take it you were more of a fan of Brad or Frankenfurter?

(210) I’m a regular Frankie fan…

(503) You know the best part of the Shield helix attire?

(210) It leaves very little to the imagination?

(503) Helicarrier?

(503) (autocorrect, you have beaten the trickster God this time, but I will have vengeance)

(503) Hello Carrier?

(210) What’s the best part about the S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier?

(503) Taco-Tuesdays.

(210) Are you sure you’re Loki?  You’re starting to sound like Wilson…

(503) Well, technically, the best part is flushing whole rolls of paper towels down al the toilets but the hulk’s.  People get really conflicted if they want to use the bathroom after “The irritable-blwel-syndrome” Hulk.

(210) Jesus, that’s a terrifying image…

(503) Who’s this Wilson you speak of?

(210) Wade’s a trip, weird guy, friends with Parker? Obsessed with junk food? Moonlights as a mercenary? Talks incessantly? You’ve really never met him?

(503) Banner: “don’t make me gassy; you wouldn’t like me when I’m gassy”

(210) Good lord.  Yeah, terrifying.  Those poor S.H.I.E.L.D. agents…


(503) Yeah, we’ve met.

(210) I take it he’s not your favorite?

(503) Another amusing story about the helicarrier’s d-fac: I convinced my idiot brother that “monkey-pull=apart-bread” is named after what the most fearsome animal in Midguard, the monkey, does to any human it sees.  I’m sure you saw the news coverage of Thor’s trip to the zoo with those make-a-wish children.

(210) I had a feeling you had a hand in that disaster.  Impressive work, darling.

(503) Yes, next week they are serving “chocolate volcano cake”.  Oh, I have plans…

(210) You’ll have to send me pictures.  I thoroughly enjoy lauging at your idiot brother.

(503) One of those geeky types put forward as an advantage of android vs. iPhone is that android is more customizable.  I just set Dr. Banner’s ringtone to the ten minute version of the “nyan-cat” song, and set his phone to require a password to answer/silence the call.  Obviously, I changed the password.  Now, to post his number to craigslist as a sexy single lady looking for “fun”.  I think I will include a picture of Ms. Romanov.

(210) Well, as annoyed as Banner will be, Tasha is the scarier part of that equation.  See if there’s any way to make the trail lead back to Stark.  I would love to see Stark get his ass handed to him by Tasha.  I would make popcorn.

(503) Oh, my dear, you follow my plan well.  They have recently been in a bit of a debate regarding the merits of the two.  Stark has been ging on about the possibility of a “malware” attack of androids on Banner’s phone.  Of course, I do not know who Malware is, or what his androids would do to Banner’s phone.  I know that Banner has accused Stark of holding this opinion due on amount of money Stark makes off apples.

(210) Stark just doesn’t like his “friends” playing with toys he didn’t design.  And he’s enough of a prat to throw a fit about “inferior” tech being allowed near him.

(210) I like how the internet seems to have decided that Loki and by extension, Tom Hiddleston, are the gods of Tumblr.

(503) You mean “you and Tom Hiddleston”.  After all, I don’t refer to you in the third person when I’m speaking directly to you.

(210) So true.  My apologies.

(210) You’ll be happy to know, though, that I officially saved your number under “Loki”.

Side note, I did, in fact, actually program this unknown number into my phone under the heading “Loki”.  I was considering “Loki Odinson” just to piss him off, but decided against it at the last minute.

(503) “Lord and Master, High-King Loki” would be preferable, but just Loki is fine for now. 

(210) Oh, honey.  You’re going to have to work much harder for me to call you lord, master, or high-king of anything.

(503) Yes, I acknowledge that my plans have this far not succeeded; however, that will be remedied.

(210) Right.  Good luck with that.  😛

“Goddamn, aren’t you something else?”


I could offer a thousand apologies for my lack of communication over the last couple of months, but honestly, I don’t really have one.  I could blame it on a sudden, sever depressive episode and explain that I neglected my coursework as well as my blog (I withdrew from my classes in a fit of existentialism.  I start anew on Monday) and while it may be true, to use it as an excuse or a reason feels fake.  I don’t want to apologize to you because I’m not entirely sure what I did was wrong.

But this is not what I wanted to talk to you about.  I want to talk about Love.  Yep, Capital-L-Love.  And death, but that’ll come later.

I believe that Love separates us from the “lesser” beasts.  I don’t mean to imply that I think animals other than humans are incapable of feeling love because that’s not true.  I know without a doubt in my soul that every living being is capable of feeling some kind of love.  I think that love separates us because of how we feel love and what expectations we place on it.

Every single human being that has ever lived and all those who will ever live yearn for a love story.  And that’s the beautiful thing about love; we all yearn for an epic love story and we will all have the chance to live a love story.  It may not be the love story you were looking for, yearning for, wanting, but it is a love story none the less. Perhaps you’ll find a man who makes you feel like a beautiful and precious thing, to be loved and protected.  Perhaps you’ll find a woman who makes you feel like the tragic hero of your own life.  Perhaps you’ll find that job, you know the one, the one that you spend every waking moment thinking about (in some form); the one you wake up excited to go to each day.  You know that type of excitement, the terrible excitement that makes you feel like you’re going to explode and collapse, all at the same time.  Maybe you’ll find your love story in rescuing puppies, or building great things to further society.  Maybe you’ll find it in the mundane; coffee, grass, sunlight.  Every single one of us finds something, someone, some thing to be irrevocably in love with.  Most people, in my experience, don’t recognize their tragic and beautiful love stories until it’s too late.

Which brings me to the subject of death.  I sit here, dear reader, in a Captain America t-shirt to talk to you about death.  My reasoning for both my outfit and my telling you about it is twofold; Captain America is the bravest, steadiest person I could think of (real or fictional) and last week I re-read the Civil War series in which (Spoiler Alert) Captain America dies.  Let me repeat that, the steady, brave, uncompromising and seemingly invincible Captain America dies.  Departs from the land of light and life.  Shuffles loose this mortal coil.  He does not go quietly into the night, he dies in blood and noise.  (And it destroys Tony Stark.  Because Death has less effect on the dead than it does on those left behind.  But that’s neither here nor there, not what I want to talk about.)

I don’t fear death in a traditional sense.  I mean, everyone fears death, at least a little, but I more fear the thought of oblivion than I fear the thought of death.  I don’t fear the idea of being forgotten, because it’s inevitable.  I don’t fear that I won’t have made my mark on this world, I have.  I have left irreparable scars on the lives and hearts of those who love me.  I don’t fear the day when those I’ve loved and known are gone and there is no one left to remember me.  I fear oblivion in my loss of self.  I don’t profess to know or believe anything beyond the immediate.  I don’t know if there is a heaven or hell or afterlife or reincarnation.  And it’s the not knowing that terrifies me.  I can handle heaven.  I can handle hell.  I can handle the idea of a thousand lives collapsing on a single soul.  I can handle any of that.  It’s the idea that there is no afterlife, that we simply stop being, as if we never were, that terrifies me.  It’s the same reason I’m scared to death of Alzheimer’s and Senile Dementia.  Because everything that makes me me, that differentiates me from any of the other 7 billion souls on this planet, is suddenly gone.  All of my personality, my memory, the things that make me a unique and beautiful snowflake.  In theory, it would be locked inside, but if I’m unable to access it, what does it matter?  In that moment, I cease to be.  Until the next lucid moment, when I come back to myself.

That, dear reader, is what terrifies me.

I recently read a book by a man named John Green called The Fault in Our Stars.  Simply put, it’s a love story about teenagers with cancer.  It’s horribly depressing, existentially provoking and one of the most beautiful and near-perfect things I’ve ever read.  I don’t want to talk much about it, because I’ll probably ruin it for you.  But please, track this book down and read it.  And cry.  And seek out your own love story.  Some infinities are bigger than others; seek out what makes you feel infinite and hold on as long as you can.

Funny How a Melody Sounds Like a Memory…

I really don’t want this blog to turn into “1001 stories about how Kalypso’s fucked up in the head”, but I have to tell you all about something that happened over the weekend.

My sister, C, and her husband are currently stationed at Fort Hood.  Which is awesome, because they’re only two hours north of us and I can go see my monkeys any time I want.  So, I went up there on Saturday, spent the night and went to go to a concert with C, her husband B, and Monkey 1 and Monkey 2 (G and T, respectively), on Sunday.  Now, the kids at 6 and 7, but they had a blast.  It was a really good show, too, Man Made Machine, Halestorm, Staind and Godsmack.  And I was having a blast through the first two sets.

So, to give you a little bit of background, I’ve lived in Germany twice, from 2003-2007 and 2008-2011.  When I was there the first time, a LOT of shit went down.  I spent 2 years taking care of war-wounded soldiers coming out of Iraq and Afghanistan, I got married, I lost three babies, I got divorced.  I tried to kill myself a couple of times.  I got thrown in the mental ward for “observation”.  I know I’ve mentioned my official PTSD diagnosis before.  It was a rough couple of years.  I was also listening to a LOT of rock at the time.  C and B were stationed there too, we were always hanging out and C was always listening to Staind.

Fuck.  I’m still not telling this story right.  I’m sorry, guys, I suck at this.  I should mention, before I go any further, that music has saved my life.  When I was a teenager, I fell hard and heavy into love with Punk Rock.  It was proof to me that I wasn’t the only one who felt so out of place, felt so uncomfortable in my own damn skin.  It was proof to me that if I could just hold on, I would find the place where I fit in, where I wasn’t a freak or a loser.  I would find the place where I felt OK, felt like a real person, instead of feeling like I was trying to puppet a life that didn’t belong to me.

And I did, I turned 16, got my driver’s license and learned how to mosh.  I found a whole society of people who loved me, accepted me.  A whole society of people who welcomed me.  Who were just as fucked up as I was, struggling with a lot of the same shit.  And for the first time in 10 years, I was able to breath again.  I felt normal, whole, unbroken.  

So needless to say, I tend to form really, really strong emotional connections with music.  Songs can reduce me to tears, make me feel like superman, remind me that life is beautiful and precious.  And sometimes, they can kill me.

So, back to where we started.  I went to this show on Sunday night with C, B and the kids.  And when Staind came on, I was OK for about 3 minutes.  Then the lighting technician decided that a solid minute of strobe lights pointed RIGHT AT THE AUDIENCE was a good idea.  And I started to hyperventilate.  And all of the shit I used to feel every single day came flooding back in.  Worthless, broken, useless.  It didn’t help that it was HOT inside that arena.  And I started to panic.  Once it started, I felt like the room was getting smaller and smaller and so I ran.

I ran up the aisle, out the door, through the lobby and into the fresh air.  By the time C caught up with me I was crying and hyperventilating and shaking.  My nails left bruises on my palms from the firsts I didn’t know I was making.  I sat outside with my head between my knees, intending to stay there until I could breath again.

and that’s when the cops showed up.

Random Sheriff’s Deputy: Is she OK?  Ma’am, if something happened, we need to know.

C: No, nothing happened, she’s fine, she’s just having a panic attack.  She doesn’t do well with crowds or flashing lights.

Random Sheriff’s Deputy:  Are you sure nothing happened?

Me: (from between my knees)  No, I’m fine, I just needed to get out of there for a minute.  I’ll be OK, I promise.

Random Sheriff’s Deputy: Ma’am, are you sure?  You were really red and really crying when you came running past us.

Me: (peeking up from between my knees) No, really, I’m OK.  Well, I’ll be OK.  I just need a minute.

C: She’s got traumatic brain injury.

Me: (Looking at C, thinking “REALLY?”)

Random Sheriff’s Deputy:  Oh.  Are you prior service?*

Me: Yeah.

Random Sheriff’s Deputy: Oh, me too.  I totally know how it goes.  I don’t do well with crowds either, any more.  That’s why I’m up here in the lobby instead of down on the floor “working”** and watching the show.

Me & C:  Um.  OK.

Random Sheriff’s Deputy: Well, you ladies have a nice night.

Me & C: … (look at each other and shrug)

Me: Let’s smoke a cigarette and then go back in.

C: Sounds good, sissy.

It was a little surreal, to say the least.  But I calmed down and then we went back in.  Monkey 2 sat on my lap for the rest of the show and holding on to him kept me calm enough to enjoy the rest of the concert.

* For those of you who don’t know, “prior service” means “having formerly serviced in the armed forces.  It’s a slightly less nerdy way of asking of someone’s a veteran.

**Yeah, he actually made finger quotes.


You know, I don’t want to end this post like that.  I want to talk about why I’m OK with what happened.  When I was in Germany the first time and I was severely depressed and not handling things, I was also numb.  I’ve had a 15 year addiction to self mutilation (I’m a cutter) and I got really, really bad in Germany.  That’s the reason I was thrown into the psych ward.  But I loved cutting.  I still do, I miss it more than I can say.  I miss the sting, the blood, the pain.  And at that time in my life, I needed the pain.  Because at least I was feeling something.  It beat going through life on autopilot.  It was better than feeling fake.  Completely unaffected and unable to process anything.  Like it wasn’t happening to me.  Or I was watching from outside my own body.  The pain brought me back to center.

I haven’t cut in almost 6 years.  The last time I cut myself was the first time C ever found out about it.  And she told me “I can’t have my boys around that kind of shit.  You have to choose, cutting or your nephews.”  And I didn’t even have to think about it.  I still miss it, I do, but I know I’ll never cut again.  Those boys mean too much to me to risk losing them.

The reason that I’m OK with having a panic attack once or twice a year is that I’m at least FEELING.  It sucks when it’s happening, but I’ve got good friends and good family and an amazing husband who all know that my anxiety is usually situational.  They all know that as long as I can GTFO for a few minutes I’ll probably be OK.  And at least I don’t have to drive a knife into my leg to calm myself down anymore.

*sigh* It never fails

Every Damn Time I get my shit together to go out to Viking Archery and get my arrows fixed, I immediately break another one the next day.

Maybe I should start at the beginning…

So, are you familiar with the term Robin-Hooding?  If you’re not, let me enlighten you:  Robin Hooding is when you place two arrows to close together on a target that you cause damage to one or both.  The most classic illustration of this is when you split one arrow with the second.  Well, on Tuesday, I Robin Hooded my first arrow.  But here’s the thing, I use aluminum arrows.  And instead of splitting, they break at the point of impact:

Son of a BITCH! I know they're only about $6 a piece, but I'm an unemployed college student. I don't have any money. 😦

So Tuesday’s pretty uneventful, but today I got my shit together and made a run out to Viking Archery.  It’s 3o miles from my house to the shop (one way) and getting out of San Antonio is a huge pain in my ass no matter what time of day it is. Don’t get me wrong, I love going out there because the shop is worth the drive, but it’s still a huge inconvenience.  So I drive out there, I chat with the boys who work up there, they cut down my one arrow (they were cut long to being with, 27″ instead of 25″), I replace all the field points on my full quiver and I come home.  I get home around 3pm and immediately go out to the garage and shoot for about an hour.  And in the beginning, it’s all going really well.  While my accuracy still leaves something to be desired, my consistency is improving by leaps and bounds.

Three right in a row, second quiver I shot.

Bam! Said the lady.

But then the unfortunate happened.  I fucked up two arrows in a ROW.

And these weren’t clean, pretty breaks like the first time.  These are ugly and mean.


One of the arrows is OK, it can be cut down an used again; the break occurred right down at the end of the shaft, where the insert (that holds the field point) ends.  I’ve lost maybe in inch of the shaft, which was cut 2″ longer than my draw length anyway.

See, that's not so bad!

The other?  The other is well and truly fucked.  I’ve lost about 4 inches of shaft and now it’s too short for my draw length.

*Sigh* Really?

And yes, I do realize that this is the only situation in which I could say “I’ve lost 4 inches of shaft” with a straight face.

And honestly, it’s really not that big of a deal, I mean, I can buy a whole new quiver (12 arrows) for about $75 after tax.  But that’s not really the point.  The point is, this is why we can’t have nice things.

They say that geek’s becoming chic…

Well, since i can’t concentrate on my homework that’s due in 2 1/2 hours, I figured I’d write a little.  Since I can’t get this out of my head by continually thinking about it, so maybe if I put it down on digital paper, I can get rid of it and complete my schoolwork.

See, the problem is that Geek & Sundry, Felicia Day‘s YouTube channel, released a new video a couple of weeks ago.  It’s a music video from her work with The Guild. For the uninitiated, The Guild is a webseries that Day writes, produces and stars in, loosely based on her obsession with World of Warcraft.  The song (and the video) is called (I’m the one that’s) Cool and it’s effing FANTASTIC.

Watch the video, I’ll post lyrics after the jump.

Oh, no. Don’t pretend I didn’t see
You roll your eyes at my gaming tee
Don’t know if you can read or if you’ve seen
The sweet piece in this week’s Wired magazine
The latest trend has hit its peak
They say that geek’s becomin’ chic
So now you’re out of style as you can be
And I’m in vogue, so you can bite me

To all the ass-hat jocks who beat me up in school
Now I’m the one that’s cool
I’m the one that’s cool
To all the prom queen bitches thinking they still rule
Now I’m the one that’s cool
I’m the one that’s cool

Try to cop my style but I’m the real thing
While you played sports, I played Magic the Gathering
Never earned your part of nerd society
My Aquaman pajamas prove my pedigree
Watched my Next Gen every night
Wore a headgear to fix my overbite
Your black-rimmed glasses are prescription free, where as me
I literally can’t see my hand in front of my face

To all the asshat jocks who beat me up in school
Now I’m the one that’s cool
I’m the one that’s cool
To all the prom queen bitches thinking they still rule
Now I’m the one that’s cool
I’m the one that’s cool
And to my eighth-grade crush who pushed me in the pool
Now I’m the one that’s cool
I’m the one that’s cool
You may be tan and fit and rich but you’re a tool
And I’m the one that’s cool
I’m the one that’s cool

Role reversal must be a total drag
But there’s no point, no point for me to humblebrag
I appreciate you for being cruel
I’m burning bright thanks to your rejection fuel
Got my in-jokes you won’t get
Like Honey Badger, Troll Face and Nyan Cat
So now your ballin’ parties seem so dumb
You can Evite me, and I’ll say yes, but I won’t really come

Got my comics
Got my games
All the things you thought were lame
Got my cosplay
Fanfic too
Got you pegged


I’m the one that’s Cool x4

Now, I’ve talked a bit about high school before, but I’m gonna do it again.  I Love This Song.  I LOVE THIS SONG.  I love this song for many, many reasons.  I tried to explain to Husband why I love this song so much and he just didn’t get it.  But then, if you ask him about high school, all he has to say is “I was a ghost in high school, I was invisible”.  Well, I, for one, am incredibly jealous of that ability.  I am not a … well, I’m not invisible.  For all of my faults, all of my inherent shyness, I am a person that gets noticed.  These days, it’s because I’m covered in tattoos and piercings.  Or because I’m smart.  Or because I’m outspoken and opinionated.  Whatever.

In high school, however, it was a different story.  I’m not going to rehash my history getting gay bashed, but I do want to talk about the intense bullying I experienced because of being a huge nerd.  I’ve never hidden the fact that I’m a huge geek; I was raised on Monty Python, Star Wars, Star Trek, Fantasy novels, Sci-fi, dungeons and dragons.  And it SUCKS being told that you’re a freak, a loser, less than nothing because of the things that you like.  Even at 28 I experience the same type of discrimination and bullying.  I’ve had other “adults” (and I use that term very loosely for people who engage in such immature acts) say things to me like “Why do you play RPGs? That’s for losers.” “Why do you watch Doctor Who? Jersey Shore is so much better. Doctor Who is weird, like you.”

And as weird as it is, I still let it affect me, sometimes.  I’m much better at laughing it off now, I generally only end up in tears when someone I love makes hateful, hurtful comments.  Acquaintances and strangers are generally either ignored or educated.  And I’ve noticed that a lot of the time, these people don’t realize that what they’re doing is bullying.  They think that expressing their opinions in hurtful ways is perfectly OK.  Now, I’m not sitting here trying to advocate suppressing people’s opinions, but there’s got to be an appropriate way to express those opinions without being hurtful.

Anyway, I’ve digressed.  What I really wanted to talk about on this post is the lyrics of (I’m the one that’s) Cool.  “To all the ass-hat jocks who beat me up in school” “To all the Prom Queen bitches, thinkin’ they’re still cool” “To my 8th grade crush, who pushed me in the pool” “You may be tan and fit and rich, but you’re a tool” “Now, I’m the one that’s cool” “Role reversal must be a total drag” “I appreciate you for being cruel, I’m burning bright thanks to your rejection fuel”.

 This song is a survivor’s anthem. This song is all about how all of that shit truly just makes you stronger, makes you better.  It sucks ass when you have to go through it, but it makes you so much more in the long run.

This song means so much to me.  I cried the first time I watched the video.  It was a small grain of proof I’ve needed so desperately my entire life.  Until about 5 years ago, I always felt uncomfortable in my own skin.  Always felt uncomfortable, like I didn’t belong, in the societies I was trying to live in.  Always felt like there was something inherently wrong with me because I didn’t fit in.  And this song is one small glimpse that I’m not the only person who felt like that.  I’m not the only person who had to wait until their mid 20’s to hit their stride, to feel like a normal, functioning human being.  It’s a glimpse that maybe I wasn’t broken, all those years, after all.

And sometimes, I need that glimpse more than I need the next breath of air.

Oh, Silly Boy…

Emailed a friend a couple of days ago saying something along the lines of “Hey I have a favor to ask of you, but I want to ask you in person.”

Then had this conversation with him via messenger:

Him: What was the favor you wanted to ask? I’m curious.

Me: I have to interview someone for my final project for psychology. I’m gonna be in Phoenix for the first 2 weeks of May, I was hoping you would let me interview you then.

Him: Oh is that all? I figured you were going to ask me to be a sperm donor or something. heh. Yes, I’ll happily submit to a psychological evaluation, but I should probably warn you about the last person who tried to interview me.

Me: Hahahahaaha! no, silly. You’re the last person I would ask for sperm. If you and I bred, those kids would take over the world.  Why, what happened to the last person that tried to interview you?

Him: Yeah. We’ve read Beowulf. We know how it would go.

Me: exactly.

Him: Oh, nothing. I was just trying to sound ominous.

I love my friends.