Socially Awkward

Sometimes I feel silly about having a blog that no one reads, but other times I'm glad no one reads it. I'm especially glad that no one I know reads anything I write. Otherwise they would know I'm not who they think I am, I'm not all of these people I pretend to be. They would know that the me that they know is only a facade. They would think I was strange, I'm sure of it. I feel like I'm constantly having to dumb myself down in order to make friends.

Oh I certainly hope I don't sound like an angsty teenager, complaining about how no one understands or accepts them. It's not that the people who surround me wouldn't accept me, I don't know that. I'm just too afraid to give them the chance too.

I don't like people all that much.

Peters Pocket Watch

"Hi, I'm ____"

"I'm Persephanie"

"pretty name"

"it is a pretty name, too bad it's not mine."

I've had this conversation more than once.

Today I was day dreaming about a man named Peter. He looks like the lead singer of OK Go, and occasionally wears argyle sweater vests. I don't actually like sweater vests, but they look good on Peter. He enjoys poetry and collects pocket watches. He also owns a record player, and may or may not be a musician. Peter and I are perfect for each other. Unfortunately, he is only a figment of my imaginative mind.

Japanesey

After being in Japan for so long, I was almost startled to see all these giant monster trucks nearly plowing me over. Everything and everyone in Japan is so miniature. Cars, ceilings, tables, even escalators. Being the hefty 118 lbs, 5 feet 6 inches that I am, you can only imagine I felt like a giant. A very large majority of Japanese people were no taller than 5 feet. Walking through the streets of Tokyo I felt like Godzilla. A business man on the metro sneakily took a photo of me with his camera phone. I caught him, so it probably wasn't as sneaky as he might've hoped. I think it was because I was American, and there aren't many Americans in Japan. Also, their english is a bit skewed, and it's hilarious.

Thug Lovin' and Sarah Palin

I'm living in NC with my sister and brother in law for the time being. I went to the bookstore today, only to find that the best sellers rack was less than satisfactory. My options were-Sarah Palins autobiography, Best War Comics, A book dedicated to Glee, and a couple of Nicolas Sparks books. I think I almost cried. In said bookstore I also found several African American romance novels, one of which was called (and I kid you not), "Thug Lovin' ". Picking up these ridiculous books, I proceeded to snicker periodically in the romance section. Everyone probably thought I was a pervert. I'm really curious to know who buys romance novels, especially ones called "Thug Lovin' ".

"Wee-wee'd up"

George Michael

I'm so tired of all these men, these sex crazed robots. I feel like a dog in heat, constantly trying to shake them off my leg. They're mutts, dirty, horny, good for nothing mutts. Now I'm not necessarily saying all men are this way, but a good majority fit under this category. I feel like I'm giving off some sort of "DO ME" scent. Unlike the once popular George Michael song, "I Want Your Sex", I DO NOT WANT YOUR SEX. Now quit trying to get into my trousers and get off my leg!

Chrysanthemum

I like going places alone, doing things on my own. I like the idea of blending in with the scenery, and being just another piece of furniture in the eyes of passerbys. I float through their mind for a split second, then nothing. I'm forgotten. But I love that. I love that the image of me sitting, writing, is inside the head of a stranger, even if just for a second. And I wonder if they wonder what I'm writing. Well, this is it, this is what I'm writing.

My Name is Emilee Ann, and my favorite word is chrysanthemum

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