Blog Crasher

Today in my teenage angst, I'm a blog crasher. Listen all about it right here. 
Thanks for all the love, folks. 
I'm taking a vacay this weekend so look forward to lots of funny happenings. 

Long-lasting.

Today in my teenage angst, I facebook creeped. Not an unusual activity for me. I like especially to creep on people I don't know. I click through all their profile pictures. I read what people are writing on their walls. Sometimes I look at their info to see if I can creep at any further lengths, but that step is fairly rare. 


Today I went to write on a friend's wall, not intending to creep, and noticed that he is in a relationship with the same girl he's been in a relationship with since the middle of High School. I found this incredibly odd. I clicked over to her page and creeped away. Once I left her page and continued leaving my intended note. 


Once I left facebook all together it occurred to me that it was more odd that I would assume the termination of a relationship before I would assume its tenacity. There's no stunning conclusion to this folly of thought beyond the fact that I've clearly been around a lot of ending relationships. I intend to interrogate him, the next time we drink a scotch together, to discover the secret (good or bad) to dating the same person for six years. This is in hopes that I might apply it to my next blessed relationship, whenever that may occur. 

Pleased as Punch.

Hey Followers! I seem to have gained seven followers since Wednesday (thanks to Suzy - I love that I don't have to bother directing you there because you all clearly came from there) and I am beyond grateful! How wonderful that twenty four random people seem interested in what I might have to say! Wow there are a lot of exclamatory sentences here. 


Well, I sit here listening to the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack (movie version) and Past the Point of No Return seems rather fitting as I am truly there. 24 followers is much too great a number to worry about letting down by blogging lamely or too sparsely. So. The pressure's on. 


Anyway, thanks again for your kind words. You're all loved for loving me. Just kidding. Little Roxy moment there. Ten points if you got that reference. 

Visiting Vlog.

Today in my teenage angst I am visiting. I love when people use the word 'visit' as a synonym of 'chat' or 'talk'. My mom might say of her and her friend, "Oh we had a nice time visiting." I think its ridiculous. This might not make any sense, but it seriously makes me laugh every time. Also, my head tends to bobble when I mockingly say 'visit.' Along the same line, the word chat when used in any context other than on-line, kills me. Who are we to 'chat??? I'm sorry. I have hang-ups with the english language. 


ANYWAY! Take this time to hop on over to suzykrauseandtheskyscrapers.blogspot.com and you'll see ME! Suzy invited me to present a vlog on her site on what might become 'Hannah comes to visit Wednesday!'. We'll see if that actually goes ahead. 


So that is that my friends! I'm so excited. What a good Wednesday.  

Back to Black

Penny.

Today my teenage angst, follows me to my cat's eighteenth birthday. 

Penny came to us as a three month old kitten on the (Canadian) Thanksgiving weekend of my sixth year. Though we had had cats before, Penny was the first that I was old enough to know as my pet. That weekend, I was pleased as pie that she was coming to stay. She got her fill of loving from Beth and I over the weekend and cried her little kitten head off when we went back to school on Tuesday. She grew and had her own kittens; all of which we gave terrible names. Then she got in a fight with some dogs and they broke her leg. That's when she became sensitive. She didn't like her grand kittens and she didn't like me. I have scar on my cheekbone and another under my right eyebrow from claw bearing swipes she's taken at my face. 

She did like my dad though. He was her favorite and he still is. She follows him around the house, she depends on him for feeding. She knows that if she accidentally goes to the bathroom in the house that he'll be there to clean up after her. She is the one that prevented my parents from ever truly experiencing empty nest syndrome. 

She's lived with us in four different houses and we expect this will be her last. We've been preparing for her passing for years but then comes another August and here she still is. In January, I took her to the vet for an old age check up (really just to find out how quickly she was dying. She isn't, apparently.) and since then she's taken an odd liking to me. I appreciate this late in life friendship. 

Today, my teenage angst finds me on my cat's eighteenth birthday. The length of our lives spent with this cat has caused us to create a non-existent, but none-the-less hilarious personality for her. Everything she does is noteworthy. And for all her old age maladies, she is indeed our family and worth more than a lot of other things in life. Strange as it may seem, I praise the Lord for her.

I am sporting a beyond fabulous side-pony.

Not that I dislike my side-pony - I might even find the courage to wear it out someday - but what brought us to the conclusion that this was really where-it-was-at for hair? 

Hang-ups.

Today in my teenage angst, I pitied my germophobic sister. I always say I have no qualms and this applies most directly to germs. I'm not afraid to pick up my food off of the floor when I've dropped it. I'm not afraid to use the public toilet. I'm not afraid to turn off the faucet with my hands. And I honestly don't understand those who are. I found a 5 pack of toilet seat covers in the travel section of Superstore and immediately grabbed them for my sister. She lived in the states for a while and toilet seat covers are apparently in abundance there. Not so in Canada. This was a useful find. 


While I might not understand the specific fear of germs, I can understand the anxiety that seemingly unimportant things can produce. Everyone has a hang-up, you see, and these hang-ups can stem from anything. Work, stress, that one story you heard about a kid who ate a corn nut off the sidewalk and died, etc. The Diagnostics Statistical Manual of Mental disorders is a four inch thick textbook that gives every hang-up imaginable a medical name so people will legitimize your issue and your insurance will cover your counselling. The main problem with the DSM is that it gives people a place to hang their mental hat so that they don't feel guilty about not being able to function properly. It does not, however lead people to seek solutions for their issues. It has also led to the over-medication of America, but that's another problem for another time. 


For those of us who don't read the DSM though, hang-ups are just hang-ups. Phobias are just phobias. And everybody's got one. Just because we don't understand other people's hang-ups doesn't mean they aren't real. Let's do unto others and leave the hang-ups alone. 


Oh! and click here to read a story from the biggest germaphobe I know.