Ganguro... boy?

[Yes, the title is a Newgrounds reference]



HaHa (Hannah Arnold) makes fabulous mixes. Upon these mixes I may rediscover a treelimb I used to play on in my girlhood (ex.: Supermassive Black Hole by Muse) or upturn a rock to find tasty, squirmy little things that I proceed to download illegally using LimeWire (ex.: Jai Ho from Slumdog Millionaire).

These mixes were our background noise while we drove to and fro[-m the DC metro station], and set a placating backdrop for Hannah's questionable driving tactics. Other backdrops included the DC metro, the Japanasian Invasion of Pennsylvania Avenue (complete with whiteboys dressed in full Hello Kitty, ganguro, and harajuku get-up with hair dyed every color of the rainbow), and lovely DC with its lovely cherry blossoms.

I really adore that city, in all of its tourist-packed glory. The classical architecture, worn marble steps, cultural outpouring, and the feeling of being logistically insignificant are all positive aspects of spending time in the nation's capital. The negatives are... statistically null and therefore undeserving of face-time. I hate city driving, because I hate taking driving risks and grazing cheeks with Death. I love when other people take risks while I'm in the passenger seat... I just don't trust myself to perform evasive maneuvers. Moreover, mommies & metros mostly move me. I am so poetic.

So I've decided to quit participating in Blog Every Day April because I am a QUITTER. Ex.: I copped out of PFHS soccer tryouts on the second to last day.

But I love me anyways. Despite my incorrigible overuse of the word love. Is it possible to love too many people... too many things? All is full of love.

Hannah and Kelsey dared me to kiss a stranger in a student group while we "imbibed the ethereal visage" of the 2,000 cherry blossom trees planted along the D.C. Tidal Basin on the final day of their peak. The petals of fallen blossoms coated the water, so parts of the nearshore were pools of gyrating pink. And petals torn from the trees snowed down on passersby and peppered the cerulean sky.

But Hannah and Kelsey didn't find a boy appropriate for me to bestow my lusty lips upon, and of course I'd never work up the guts to choose my own victim, or even carry out the stunt without lots of spirited cheers and urgent coaxing. So, next time we're amongst throngs of touristy students, one of those lucky lads will fly home with stories of the mildly attractive stranger who was not wearing sunglasses and who snogged him long and sloppy. Maybe not the long part... yes, cheering is a must. I've never kissed a stranger.

D.C. can be so gorgeous. I wish us Americans were represented by our capital city, rather than by our rising obesity trend, penchant for greasy gluttony, supposed radical liberalism, and eye-popping murder rates. When the Singaporeans came to America, they expected to gorge themselves, flirt with non-conservative girls, and party. Though, I guess that's pretty accurate, huh? Americans, in general, are pleasure-seekers. But that's not a purely American trait so much as a trait characteristic of most all animals. Humans just perfected the art--and made the art into a lifestyle.

Pleasure-seeking leads to money-seeking leads to a society that worships its currency. Did you know that I love music videos?


(And Japanese Street Fashion!)

Body sushi

Quick! Blog!
ACT tomorrow!
Must sleep!

Things:
I'm going to get to horseback ride for free!! Repetitively!!!!!

Sushi is the best thing to enter my mouth. Ever.

I had to skip stretching tonight because my belly would've made me queasy during sit-and-reach. Which is a mild travesty.

... I need to get back my ableness to do the splits. DAMN YOU, EASILY PULLED GROIN MUSCLES.

I love so many people, so much.

Foalcuddles and teacup-chihuahuas

Oh my god, Becky. Look at her foal, it is SO big.

.....I like! BIG! FOALS AND I CANNOT LIE

I partook in warmth-share and foal-cuddles for a whopping 4 consecutive hours, which was magical like a unicorn's forest. He kept squishing his little nose against me and crumpling his whiskers till he sneezed. Or nuzzling his bony chin into my shoulder till I flinched, so he could punish me with an uppercut to the face. Or peeing lakes of urine that saturated the towels and dripped onto the sawdust. Or pawing the air in futility with his goat-hooves and pretending he could buck. He's a rascally spunkster, that 'un. With some delicious soft mane fuzz. All petting was performed using faces and arms of course, since latex gloves are required in the stall to minimize cross-contamination and disease.

At first, foaly and I cuddled in peace. The mare was drugged and sedated since her vag had just been flushed out to get rid of any placenta remnants -- apparently the placenta got stuck while the foal was birthed, and it finally dripped out yesterday. After our 3rd hour in the stall, she perked up a bit and slung me the type of attitude that only a hormonal, post-partum horse mom can sling, in the form of toe-stomps and aggravated nips, while we tried to get the foal to nurse-- unsuccessfully. She warmed up a smidge after I milked her (!), perhaps because she didn't have two bursting milk sacks slapping her in the gut. The milking process is an impeccable workout for the latissimus dorsi, but requires faultless aim if you don't want milk-drenched jeans.

Faultless aim is something I do not possess. Milk-drenched jeans are something I do.

The foal is a cutesome little tyke, especially when he tries to romp since his tendons are contracted, which means his toes are always pointed and he walks en pointe like tippy-toe ballerinas [advocates of feet-suicide]. He's in the neo-natal unit at the Virginia Tech Equine Medical Center, because he got stuck in his mom and had to be pulled out. So, he and Bella (his ma) are VERY lucky to be alive; stuck-foals usually die of oxygen deprivation and end up killing their mothers too. I hope the center chooses to pet-name him Rocket, since he enjoys launching himself off the mattress, only to land on the floor in a nonsensical heap of tangled limbs and startled whinnies.

I like itty fuzzy foals with velvet noses better than big ones, but this fella' was lanky and awkward and liked to gum my fingers. That's the kinda male I go for I guess. That is a lie.

The most titillating stallions are majestic, graceful and powerful, with sinewy muscles that ripple beneath their satin-silk coat. If I were a mare I would marry (be mounted by) an Arabian... (<3 ethnic studs). Arabians are so lovely, with their chiseled features, dished noses, expressive eyes, pinpricked ears, tapered nostrils, arched necks, delicate hooves. Aahh... horses. I love them like water. But my immune system apparently doesn't. My body marks equine particulate matter as a non-self pathogen and chucks out lymphocytes, antigens, and killer T cells to eliminate the immigrant substances that hopped the Joannean border. High speed chases ensue involving gunshots and immigrant abscondence into the dense overgrowth. Gunshots being a metaphor for sneezes, and dense overgrowth being a metaphor for... nosehairs? Blasted overactive immune system... I hope I got an A on my giant every-single-system in the body test today. Cause I sure as hell failed the math quiz... Yep

Okoya

I'm blogging because of: Blog Every Day April

Words of wisdom:
Jesus ve todo. No hagas cosas con los negros.

[WATCH IT]

The moral of the story is that Extra Dark Maple = WHOLESOME, ALL NATURAL GOODNESS