I Just Found THE MOST Awesome Hideout!

People, it's me, Random Awesome!

I'm way too excited to bandy words right now, so I'm just going to say -

I've always loved wandering the back alleys around my neighbourhood. Not at night, of course - but in the evening, when everyone's at the park, I slip to the alleys and spend a happy half hour there. When I was small, I liked looking for treasure: tinfoil, red glass, the occasional penny, you know. Now I'm bigger, well, I STILL like looking for treasure, but of a different sort. You know. Soccer balls people have kicked over ages ago and were too scared to reclaim. That kind of thing.

The alleys can be a little creepy, I'll admit, but I'm smart. I keep the dried leaves behind me at all times. If someone's coming, then I'll be able to hear them.

Besides, there are always some maids taking in the washing or stacking up the dishes, and we wave hello. Friendly alleys.

Not to mention stray cats.

I should probably mention Mango here, seeing as he was with me when I discovered the awesome hideout.

Mango is the most hideous cat in all existence. Typical that he chose to team up with me. Birds of a feather flock together, which would imply that I am hideous too. Great.

Ginger, lean, scarred pelt, one fang sticking out, wonky ear, one eye, crooked tail, rasping meow, tendency to bite. I don't have a picture of him - the camera would explode if I pointed it in his direction - so I'll post some other pics of other cats.

I found him ages ago, and one scratch of his ears and a tin of tuna later, we were great friends. He's my alley-wandering companion. I originally called him Mangy, but it seemed kinda mean, so I replaced the y with an o, and it seemed much better. It fits, too - his fur is yellowy-orange.

Whenever I am walking backstreet, Mango, who somehow seems to know where am and what I have in my pocket, appears and yowls loudly for food.

I give it to him.

Love.

So yesterday, I was just wandering around, kicking a pebble, when I noticed two things.

The first was that I was behind the empty house in the neighbourhood.

The second was that although the little back gate had a lock, it wasn't LOCKED, if you know what I mean. It was just hanging there.

So what else was I supposed to do?

I opened the gate and sneaked in.

Whoa.

It was awesome. A whole HOUSE, just for me... and Mango, I guess.

Brilliant as it was - a hideout! - it was kinda creepy too. I mean, great, empty, echoing rooms, covered in dust.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't that fussed about ghosts. As far as I knew, my neighbourhood was relatively new, and nobody had DIED in this house. So, it couldn't be haunted.

But as I stood there, watching the dust motes in the light, I sarted to get a little freaked out.

I mean, sure, there might be no HUMAN ghosts. But I was sure there were plenty of ants that had died here.

A horde of zombie ants nipping my ankles was too unbearable to contemplate.

Plus, they wouldn't die if I stepped on them, now, would they?

So I hightailed out of there as fast as I could, making a promise to come back and conquer my fear of zombie ants.

A perfectly reasonable fear.

But I'm not going to let my fear conquer me. I mean, a whole HOUSE is sitting there, just waiting for me to go in and use it as a hideout.

I'll come back tomorrow, armed with socks and a bottle of insect repellent.

Tuning in later, (unless I die first, of course)

Random Awesome

"Marisa, NO!"

"Marisa, no. You can't do this."

"Ray? G-get out. You can't be here. I have a wedding to attend. GET OUT!"

"You can't marry Josh."

"And why not? Whatever I might have felt for you, Ray, it's over. I love Josh now."

"You don't understand. You can't marry Josh because -"

"BECAUSE WHAT?"

"Because... he's your brother."

WTFOMG!!!

That last part was, of course, me.

Ah, soap operas. I love them so much. You name it; EastEnders, Coronation Street, Neighbors, Home and Away, Days of Our Lives - I love them.

Sometimes I wish life was like a soap opera. Sure, your Aunt May might have amnesia, your husband might be cheating on you, and your son might have died at birth, but -

After fifty minutes and a load of ads, your Aunt May's miraculously cured, your husband and his other woman have died in a freak car accident, and your son is actually alive and was instead taken away at birth. Then you, your son, and your Aunt May stroll out the doors into the sunshine to the signature soap opera jingle.

All you have to do in between the ads is look shocked and say a load of cheesy things.

I could totally rock at soap operas, but I don't think I could be all weepy and clap my hands to my mouth and say, "NO!" every five minutes.

If I could create a soap opera, I'd probably rip off EastEnders and call it WestStarters or something. Or maybe Abdication Lane, though it doesn't quite have the same ring as Coronation Street, does it?

Still, I reckon life in a soap opera would be awesome. You don't ever see kids in soap operas getting zits of having to do homework.

You don't see them eating chocolate either.

Oh.

Ah.

Leaving you to think abut this more deeply,

Random Awesome

I Feel Unloved

Hey, people, it's Random Awesome here,

Like, seriously, who ELSE would it be?

I'm going to take a break from flipping back to the past and will instead concentrate on the present. I am no more loved than I was five years ago when I first met Larry, unfortunately.

My mum is busy, my dad's not here, and my sisters ignore me, and I them. That part, I don't really mind.

I AM rather needled about the fact that my cat doesn't love me, though.

How do I know that?

Well, I did a little experiment today, and the results were SO negative.

You know those shows on Animal Planet, like those crime shows, where these people have been attacked and are lying on the floor, injured and dying? And then their pets go and find help for them, like they just KNOW?

So today I enacted my death scene. I staggered into the room, groaning and crying aloud, keeping one eye on my cat, who was snoozing. He opened one eye, then shut it.

So I fell to the floor, saying over and over again, "HELP. I am dying. If only SOMEONE would come and get help. SOMEONE I looked after since they were a kitten."

To add to the "deathiness" (is that even a word?) I even smeared ketchup over my arms. Then I ever so slightly nudged Ben with my toe, groaning as I did so.

He opened his eyes, jumped to the floor beside me and sniffed me, looking genuinely interested, and for a moment I was hopeful.

Then he licked the ketchup off my arms and went back to sleep.

You'd think someone who'd scratched his ears, rubbed his tummy, fed him, and played Roll Over with him would be deserving of more than a little attention.

But no.

I'm going to go now and go see someone who loves me just as much as I love it.

Chocolate, here I come....

My Heartscratch, Part 3 and the Last Part: The Reason Why I Have This Flippin' Heartscratch in The First Place and Wow This Title is LONG

Hello!

I know you're probably dying to hear what else is going on in my incredibly sad life (someone at back says, "Snore") so I'll just get straight to the point, shall I?

No, Larry and I had no great big bust-up somewhere, no yelling or throwing of custard cream pies (puh-leeze! I'd like to think I'm more mature than that. ANY mature person will tell you to throw APPLE pies, people!)

In fact, to this day, we're still friends, and hopefully always will be.

I actually don't think Larry and I could ever be together, and really, I'm not willing to risk our friendship on something like that, but you never know, right? We could've, if it wasn't for her...

The third person, of course. Actually, the fourth and fifth person, too, because Larry, much as I trust and like him, I have to admit...

He's a bit of a womaniser.

And who does he come running to when he wants advice on how to break up with his latest girl?

Yours truly, of course.

I'm like his unpaid psychologist, or something. WAY unpaid, and I really hate having to watch him break the hearts of the girls he dates and then watch him go for another one.

That's the real reason I'm staying away from him, really.

Better to be an unpaid psychologist than some name in his BlackBerry. Not that he has a BlackBerry. We're only fourteen. But still.

But really? It's OK. That's why it's a heartscratch, and not a heartbreak. It's not like I spend all my time thinking about him. I'm more mature than that. It's why I throw apple pies, instead of custard cream.

And truthfully, Arthur Pendragon helps too. *winks*

Just, once in a while, I wonder what might have been...


And that's the story of my heartscratch. I hope you guys are all crying your hearts out, promising to send me bars of chocolate and flowers every day to mend my scratched heart.

If not, then I am DISGUSTED, people! I sit here at my computer, wiping away the occasional tear, and you guys are lounging about, reading my words and eating chips.

If you comment, I'll forgive you all.

Bye, and mucho cheesy grins,

A heartscratched and expecting a tonne of chocolate to land on her doorstep,

Random Awesome

My Heartscratch, Part 2: Beanies, The Chocolate Test, and The Whispered ,"Hey".

Really, I think my titles are giving too much away. Or do they just give the right mixture of suspense?

Nah. I just think they're REAL long.

If you'll remember (Jeezum guys, the post is just down there) I stopped where Larry and I became friends. What else is there to write about?

Of course, how we made the leap from (cheesily grinning) friends to something a little more.

Back in the time machine, then!

After a while, we became friends. It started out as a few jokes ("How the legs doing?" "Oh, they're fine. When someone's not trying to make me doing something.") and maybe our love of beanie hats helped, too.

Little things like that made us grow closer. We shared the same interests; TV shows, food, sense of humour. You know. Friends.

Voodoo dolls. Chocolate. Green Day.

Like I said, little things.

I don't know quite WHY I realized I trusted him more than a normal friend.

But I do remember WHEN I realized it.

The first was the Chocolate Test.

In my thirteen and a bit years on Earth, I have only ever shared my chocolate with four people. (Excluding my family, of course, seeing as they're some Great Law that you must share your chocolate with your family. Weird, I know.)

Three of them were my best friends, Marsh, Nuzzie and Naddo. (Pronounced like how you would say "saddo", by the way, not NA-ddo).

The fourth was Larry.

Every day at lunch, I would bring a chocolate bar.

Every day at lunch, he would ask for it.

And I would retaliate with a lecture on how girls had PMS, and guys didn't, and how it was WOMEN who went through childbirth, while guys sat back and merely said lazily, "Push!" and how maybe guys liked to be egotistical and masochistic, but girls needed their galfriends and a bar of chocolate.

(Such lectures always proved useless, as they always ended up like this:

Him: So... can I have the chocolate?

Me: NO! DON'T YOU EVER LISTEN?)

But one day he asked for it, and without hesitating, I broke off a part and handed it to him.

I spent the rest of the day wondering if I had accidentally consumed cocaine. But I knew deep down I hadn't. I trusted him more now, that was all.

The other thing that made me realize it was the whispered, "Hey".

It was a Wednesday morning, and I had come in late due to a dentist's appointment. When I came in, I expected at least SOME people to say hello.

Hardly anyone glanced up.

Only my best friends, and Larry. As I walked past him, he managed a whispered, "Hey," to me. I couldn't reply; the Maths teacher was already glaring at me for daring to interrupt her OH SO IMPORTANT LECTURE ON FRACTIONS, but I did nod.

It was just a "Hey," another on our list of "Hi's," and "Wassups?". Just an average greeting.
So why did I feel so... weird?

Again, I will make you all hate me for ending here. I've dicovered I really like cliffhangers.

Must be all the soap operas I've been watching.

So I'll continue this.... Whenever I feel like it.

Later,
R.A.

My Heartscratch, Part 1: A Failed Spell and A Cheesy Grin

Wow, doesn't my title sound mysterious?

Um. Hi.

No blog would be complete without angst and grief. Just like my life wouldn't be complete without chocolate.

Seeing as today's Valentine's Day, and I'm feeling more than a little maudlin, I'm gonna make you all cry for me as I regale you with the tale of my heartbreak. Evil, aren't I?

Actually, to be honest, it's more of a heartscratch, than heartbreak.

A heartscratch ranks lower than hearbreak and heartache, but is marginally worse than a heartscrape.

For more info on the various things a heart can go through, please, contact me.

Only you can't, 'cause you have no idea who I am. Muahahahaha!

So, let's see. To protect this guy's identity ( and to spare me from being teased for the REST OF MY LIFE) I'm gonna call him Larry.

This part will consist of how I first met Larry.

Again, let's climb into my spaceship and warp-speed back into the past.

Yeah, I'm a trekkie. Spock lives forever! Whoo!



The Past, because the Past is always in Italic. Got it?

So.... Let's see. I think I first met him when I was nine, so that was five years ago.

Before we go any further, can I just say that I'm a charmer.

I pride myself on being able to ask anything of anyone, and then they'll do it. A tilt of my head, a cheesy grin, a flutter of my eyelashes - hey presto, they'll do it.

I used to think it was because I was charismatic, charming, and more than a little sly.

Instead, when I finally asked people WHY exactly they did it, they mumbled something about me being so small (hey, I'm four foot something. Not THAT small, people!) and how they didn't want to disappoint me. Some nonsense of how they were scared I'd start crying if they didn't do it.

Hmm.

That's still another form of slyness, right? Heh heh.

Whatever the reason, they did it.

Five years ago, I noticed a new kid sitting at the lunch table. Taller than me, but scrawny (hey, it was true, then. Even if he insists that he's bulked up now. Sorry, don't see it.)

I was eager to try out my charming spell on a new person, and I was thirsty. Plus he looked like a pushover.

So I leaned over, tilted my head, grinned at him, and said, "Hey, you. New kid. Do you mind going to the counter and buying me a soda? Here's the cash. It's just that, I'm in the middle of the table, and you're at the end. Please?"

From experience, I knew new kids were the easiest. Eager to help, to fit in.

So imagine my surprise when the new kid - Larry, of course. Only that wasn't his real name. Duh - grinned even bigger back at me and said, "Sorry, no can do."

I dropped the charm. "HUH? WHY NOT?"

"Well," Larry said apologetically, "Whenever anyone asks me to do anything, my legs freeze up. Nightmare. They just swell like balloons."

Being the gullible nine-year old I was, I stared at him, dumbstruck.

He grinned at me, a great, cheesy grin that flashed all his teeth and made me instinctively grin back too, he looked so darn cheesy.

Between the "leg disorder" and the cheesy grin, I knew I had found myself a friend.

I DIDN'T know he would be more than that.

Oooh... Cliffhanger!

Sorry, guys, I have to go. I'll continue this as soon as I can.

Later,
Random Awesome

A Pair of Fuchsia, Rhinestone-Studded Butterfly Sunglasses

Random Awesome, signing in!

Last week, I walked around the mall wearing my sunglasses - bright pink, glowing with fake rhinestones and in the shape of great curling butterfly wings - waiting for someone to go, "WOW!" at me and demand to know where I got them.

(The Party Shop, duh - where else could you get such awesome stuff?)

No one did.

A lot of people laughed.

Hmm.

I guess I'm the only one here who has a great love for all things cheesy.

Glitzy, tacky, kitsch, cheesy - you name it, I'm bound to love it.

While we're on the subject, let's go through a list of the cheesy things I love, 'cause I'm just funny that way.

Cheesy Things I Love

• Cheesy, tacky, over-the-top costumes. Where most people are all, "WHOA! Overload!" I'm like, "Yeah! Bring it!"
• Nachos? Geddit? because they're... cheesy?
• Cheesy jokes like the nachos one above.
• Actually, that joke was stupid. Not cheesy.
  
• Anyway.
  
• Cheesy pickup lines. I mean, "I may not be Luna, but I sure Lovegood?" Wow, that cracks me up.
• Cheesy grins, the peace sign.
  
• Those jam-it-together lines. Like, "What do you get when you put Study and Dying together? STUDYING!" Rawr rawr rawr.
• 70's boy bands, with their cheesy, synchronised dance moves they do. HAHAHA!
• Dame Edna.
  
• And the king of all cheesy things: Who here has watched Cloudy with A Chance of Meatballs? Flint shows Sam this Internet video with a little DJ kitten, tiny paws mixing CDs, squeaking "Fight the Power!" MY GOD IT IS SO CUTE.

Now that I've done this, and if you've read my other posts, let's see if you know me well enough for a little quiz.

Say some guy comes up to me in the mall. Remember, I'm wearing my awesome ten-buck sunglasses. He's trying to prove to his friends that he's cool. So he goes up to me and says, "Hey, Halloween was last month, dorkus!"

Based on my love for cheesy things, which do you think would be the answer I would most likely retort?

A) "Then why are you dressed like King Kong?"

B) "You want a piece of me? I'm gonna take you down ______ *insert swear words here*"


Done? And the answer is....

For those of you who picked A), then yes, I probably would say that.

But the REAL answer is..... *drum roll*

C) "This is the afterparty!"

AHAHA! Cheesiness. I love it so much.

Later people,
Random Awesome

Benjamin Franklin and How I Got Him

Hello!

As you can probably tell, I'm in a much better mood than I was last time. In a good enough mood, in fact, to bore you all silly with the story of how I got my cat, Benjamin Franklin.

Hey, I am fully aware that his name might sound a bit... pretentious, but he's still my cat, so back off. No, this does not mean I idolize Ben F. I mean, I reckon that any guy who's got his face on a hundred dollar bill HAS to be pretty cool, but my world revolves around smaller things.

In fact, I probably idolize the maker of Maltesers more than I do old Ben.

So.... Let's once again copy the idea of Dr. Who and go back in time. Only this time, it's only about 2, 3 years back....

My previous cat Lois (Yes, there was a Clark too) had died a few weeks ago, and I missed having a cat around the house, missed hearing a rumbling purr, missed feeling the warm weight of a cat next to your feet at night.

I missed her so much, I actually conveniently forgot that Lois actually hated me and my guts. She scratched us if we touched her, hissed if we approached her food bowl and glared at me if I so much as glanced at her.

Grief can do strange things to a person.

So can chocolate.

I should really stop dropping little chocolate hints throughout my posts.

So this time, I was determined to get a nice cat.

We drove over to PAWS (Protection for Animals blahblah) and looked at the kittens, despite the fact that the cats were cheaper. There were so many.

There was a gray one, a black one, a white one.

There were these really cute black-and-white brothers, all snuggled up together. I figured we were getting them.

But then I saw.... him.

A small, scrawny ginger kitten with a dirty nose, poking his paw through the wire mesh.

Despite the fact that I was sick of ginger cats (orange was the ruling colour for the strays around our neighbourhood, it seemed) I fell in love with him at once.

So we got him, and another silver tom which we named Lance.

(Lance, sadly, doesn't come into this story. He died not long after we brought him home. A moment of silence, please.)

So anyway, we originally wanted to name him THE MOST PRETENTIOUS, POSH NAME IN THE WORLD.....

Orlando.

But then we took one look at him, decided Orlando wasn't right for him. So we landed him with an even MORE pretentious name. Benjamin Franklin.

A good wash later, and a scrubbing on his nose, his fur was soft and shiny, and his nose was surprisingly pink. Of course, we had to feed him up a little; his ribs were poking through his pelt, and his face wasn't chubby like kittens' should be.

Now, 2, 3 years later, he's overweight.

He's not like Lois at all; in fact, he's really warm and affectionate (I would go so far as to call him needy) and sleeps on my bed, licks my toes and curls up on my lap, which is actually kinda irritating. When you're a 30 kilo girl needing to go to the toilet with a 5, 6 kilo cat on your lap, well, it's a bit hard. You know, considering the fact that that same 30 kilo girl has no muscles WHATSOEVER.

Ah, the joys of owning a cat.

At night, he either sleeps on my feet (thereby cutting off all blood ciculation) or on my chest (thereby crushing my ribs).

I know it might sound like Ben is a savage killing machine, but I love him.

The reason?

He's the only one I can talk to. My parents are constantly busy. My best friend has moved away, and my other best friend has left the school, which is almost as bad. My new friends at school aren't close enough (sorry, guys, but it's true.)

And, well, my sisters aren't people. I'm pretty sure my friend (let's call him Mir A) will relate.

So anything, from whether I should buy Twix or Mars bars, to what the hell is a chlamydomonas (turns out it's a multicellular organism... I think.. or is it unicellular?), to a sarcastic comment on American Idol, to rants on how Dobby from Harry Potter should never have died, I tell Ben.

It's a sad life, but it's mine.

And that's the story of how I got Benjamin Franklin, and our relationship.

Well, that's all for now, guys. I hope you haven't fallen asleep, or even DIED on me.

'Death by Boring Blog' would sound lame in your obituaries.

And I really don't need the paperwork.

Later!
Random Awesome