Evaluation of Media Management

How can this class be improved?
Well right off, I'd ditch all the ridiculous quizzes. Those forced me to memorize a bunch of junk I don't have any particular interest for, which means I remember none of it. The open book quizzes weren't much better, since I felt like every question was a trick. I don't think that's the point of a quiz. We're trying to learn stuff not get out of Wonderland. It shouldn't be tricky business. But what do I know? I've only been going to school for forever. 

What were the greatest strengths of this course?
The textbook was an excellent way to make me fall asleep/question every decision I have ever made in my life. I don't think that answers the question, but I don't care because it's a stupid question. 

What were the greatest strengths of this instructor?
He was really cooperative. He worked with me (and the other students) really well. He laughed at his own jokes though. That made me question his intentions. Not that that matters much. I just feel weird when people laugh at their own jokes when no one else laughs.

Evaluation of Criminal Profiling

How can this class be improved?
I personally didn't like that participation was required. But that's probably because I hate everyone, so don't take my word for it.

What were the greatest strengths of this course?
Well I now have the ability to profile everyone I meet. So clearly something was done right in this class. I've always been able to tell an idiot right away, but now I can tell that they're an idiot as well as diagnose the cause of them being an idiot (I'm fun at parties).

What were the greatest strengths of this instructor?
His teaching style encouraged actual learning instead of memorizing a bunch of junk just to get through a class. I learned a lot about myself and my motivation for things (usually sleep and avoiding the general public). He was extremely educated in the subject he taught, and that was obvious. Also, I could see him profiling me and the other people in the class when he spoke to us. It was great, because I knew right off that he knew that I am introverted and rude. Hats off to you Mr. Eschler. 

Evaluation of 2D Design

How can this class be improved?
I really liked this class. I will be completely honest. The teaching was excellent for a class like this. It was more about giving some direction to go in and creating something that was expressive of yourself. This was so refreshing from a lot of my other classes where the professor barks orders at you, and keeps your project to the letter rather than actually teaching us to use our brains and create something new. My one comment though for something that I didn't like; there was one weird lady with psychotic teeth that had an exorcism head that turned completely around to grin at me. That was really uncomfortable. So basically discourage weird teethed people from looking at me. 

What were the greatest strengths of this course?
Like I said, the teaching method was excellent. We were given constructive criticism, and it was presented in a way that didn't make you feel stupid or inadequate. We were given plenty of time for projects, and it wasn't overwhelming. I feel like a lot of classes like this are really easy to become overwhelming, but this one didn't. It was a lot of work, but I didn't feel like a Hebrew with a pyramid to build. 

What were the greatest strengths of this instructor?
His mustache is awesome.

The Internet Has Ruined My Future

I have a lot of homework to do this week as finals are coming up. So naturally that means I've been procrastinating and wasting a lot of time on the internet. My evening activities started with this picture:

Via Buzzfeed

That did it for me. I then spent about 30 minutes looking up the original painting to which I found more time wasting splendor. The painting is by Rembrandt, and I was browsing his other paintings to see if they were weird too. Here's what happened instead of homework.

Images via Wikipedia

My 5 Rules If You Want My Help With Your Crafties

I'm not sure why, but people often ask for my help/advice for their crafties. (Crafties-Artsy schmidt. I can't define it any clearer than that.) Let me tell you something right now. When you ask a Graphic Design major to help you, we need to set some rules. Agreed? Agreed. Anyways here are my rules for me helping you without ending up being homicidally annoyed by you.

1. Listen to my advice.
Not to sound superior or anything, but I have some pretty good advice. Because, ya know I'm only paying thousands of dollars to learn what colors look good and what fonts aren't stupid. If I tell you something about your font/colors/whatever you should probably listen. Because of the cheddar I'm tossing to help you not look like an idiot (notice how gangsta I am). If you're not gonna listen to me, fine. Don't ask for my help if you're not going to listen to me. Because then you are breaking my next rule.

2. Don't waste my time.
There is nothing more frustrating than spending hours on something for someone, only for them to tell you everything looks good and then they turn around and change everything. If you don't like something, tell me. I'm an art major. I'm really used to my stuff being critiqued. I'm extremely hard to offend, but am really easy to annoy. Keep that in mind, because I feel that is true of most designers/artists. I'm extremely busy doing nothing, so don't waste my obviously valuable time. Well, I do nothing and have panic attacks when I wake up and can't figure where or who I am(save me Lorazepam!). Really busy. 

3. Don't give me complete creative freedom.
By this I mean, don't give me some paper and say "draw something I like" without telling me what it is that you like. I'm not a mind reader. At least give me something general to work with, and I am more than willing to help you with the specifics if you're not painfully irritating. I need a direction to go in to create something for you that you will like. If it's just something I'm doing because I feel like it or it's an assignment then I am going by my preferences. I guarantee that your preferences are not the same as mine (unless you really dig cats wearing sunglasses. They think they're people!).  

4. Never ask me to replicate/use copyrighted material.
Guys. It's copyrighted for a reason. When you make something, and someone else claims that they did it, how are you not enraged? Your time and energy is put into something, but someone that likes it claims it as theirs. That is the worst. That applies to fonts, pictures, whatever. I am actually creating some fonts right now, and let me tell you something. They are hard and extremely time consuming. To use someone's font to sell something(or whatever) without giving them credit/money is crap. That's like saying, "Hey I really like this painting you did, and I'm going to take it and use it everywhere and give you zero credit without your permission." Some people are extremely kind and let you use/have their work without paying them anything or asking for credit to be given to them. Generally, I'm not one of those people. I want credit for the things I have done (except for ripping the towel rack off the wall that one time) just like everyone else. As a designer/artist I want credit for my work, so people will hire/commission me to do work for them. Because I need money for stupid things like food and medicine(I am deeply disturbed and must be medicated).

5. Don't be a jerk. 
If I'm (or someone else) doing something for you, you automatically owe them/me some respect. I could be staring at the wall and having a grand time, but I am using that time to help you. This pretty much applies to everything though. Do you really think that waitress wants to spend her time with you? Obviously not, since she's being paid, but she still has to put up with your crap. It's like that. The nicer you are, the more motivated I am to produce something of quality for you. If I like you, I will go beyond that, and I feel that is true for everyone. But if you're going to be a grouchy slut bag about it, I promise you will not get my best work. Nobody wants to feel unappreciated, and that especially applies to something that a lot of time is dedicated to. Overall, just don't be a jerk and I won't be one either.

The Time I Shot a Moth in the Face

That's right guys. It's happened again. I have shot another insect in the face. In case you didn't read about the last insect I shot in the face check that out here. Anyways, this time I was trying to go to sleep, and was incredibly comfortable. I imagine I had a big stupid grin on my face, since I was so warm and comfortable. 

Complete with bed hair.

Then I heard it. Thumping. "Oh just ignore it. You're far too comfortable to deal with this nonsense." That's what I thought. The thumping continued, and it got louder. Finally my rage limit had peaked. I flew out of my bed and searched wildly for my airsoft pistol. I finally found it under a mountain of blankets, and furiously loaded it with pellets. And then I waited. 

More bed hair.

I was sitting upright in my bed, waiting for the stupid moth to show it's ugly face. Finally it did, and I watched it fly around my room like a cat. I'm fairly certain that my eyes went very catlike during this, and I was in a sitting position just waiting to attack. 

This is also how I look at the end of every Walking Dead episode.

Finally it landed on my curtains. This was my moment. In one bound I leaped onto my desk right next to my curtains. As I was raising my airsoft gun slowly, I saw the moth slowly turning it's head with big vacant eyes to look at me. We stared at each other for a moment. 

It was awkward.

Then I shot it in the face. It fell on my desk as if it was a slow motion death scene. 

My pellets are green, FYI.

Once it landed it just laid there shaking it's fists at me. So I shot it in the face again, and it exploded in a cloud of dust. Poof. Problem solved. Needless to say, I slept very well that night. 

Selfie Anonymous: An Elaborate Prank

Story time: So I have a friend who really enjoys posting selfies of herself (and enjoys it even more now that she knows I hate it). I am friends with said girls sister, and since we are evil we started coming up with evil thoughts. The basic idea was to send an official looking email to Miss Selfie to "help her with her addiction". Anyways, my job was to throw together a logo while Miss Selfie's sister (Mickell is her name for future reference) wrote up the email. Here is the logo I came up with:

T-shirt material right there.

And here is what Mickell came up with:

Dear Jodi Hoyt, jodihoyt1, and jhoyt1,

We are informing you that your name has been submitted to us from a caring and concerned friend over your selfie addiction. Yes, you are a selfie addict. Now we realize your first reaction is to be in denial and wanting to hunt this "friend" down, but hear us out. Do you posses any of these qualities? If you can answer yes to one or more of these you are indeed a selfie addict.

 Do you:

*Have at least a 30% selfies to 70% other photos ratio on one of your social media sites?

*Be described as a "selfie whore" which is someone who posts multiple pictures of themselves, photographed by themselves, to one or more social media sites (i.e., Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, etc.) each week for the express purpose of getting others to comment on their pretty-ness?

*Be described as a "Selfie Queen" by your peers? A “Selfie Queen” is someone who takes an outrageous amount of selfies whether for Facebook, Instagram, or Snapchat.

Now we could keep going on this list but we already know you have answered yes to at least one of these. In fact, we know without a doubt that you can answer two of these with a yes, so we figured we did not need to continue the list. When your friend contacted us they said "she is a selfie queen." So we did some research into your Instagram and found that your ratio of selfie to non selfie was 49.2% to 50.8%. We didn't even count pictures that were of just you taken by someone else, which led us to believe you are indeed a "selfie whore." You are a perfect 3 for 3 on our list which makes you a selfie addict.

We are letting you know that we are here for you. You can choose to follow our 12 step program to selfie addiction recovery. The choice is yours. If you agree to our program we will be monitoring your Facebook and Instagram to see if you are indeed following our program. To start on our program all you need to simply do is reply to this email with your complete acceptance of your selfie addiction. So look at it like a selfie confession. Once again the choice is yours and we are eagerly awaiting your reply. We have faith in your good judgment and know you will make the right choice, despite your poor judgment of thinking selfies are a good thing.

Thank you,

 Selfie Anonymous

"Helping you get over you." 

Brilliance. Pure brilliance. A little while after this was sent I received this:

She then sent me pictures of the email and here is how the rest of the conversation went down:

She also knows that I hate when she
sends me the winky face emoji. 

Needless to say, I have never been happier with myself. 

Now let me introduce you to the victim:

Hobbies include: taking selfies, telling everyone how cute they are,
and drinking chocolate milk.

And my partner in crime:

Hobbies include: Picking up dead animals, shooting at pedestrians,
and watching My 600lb Life.

5 Things That Suck About Being an Artist

Ever since I was very young I have been drawing (etc) basically non stop. That's right guys. I am self taught. Self. Taught. I really enjoy drawing/painting/whatever, mainly because I find it incredibly therapeutic and keeps me from murdering everyone. But here are 5 things that suck about being an artist. 

1. Your art is judged extremely quickly. To be able to even be remotely successful you have to make your stuff catch people's attention and they have to like it within about a 3 second time frame. Then they still have to like it when they look at it more closely. If you screw up in doing that, you're not really an artist but just some idiot who threw some paint around. You know what that means? There is virtually no room for mistakes if you want people to like your crap. You can spend 3 hours on one portion of a piece trying to get an angle right or whatever, but if you are off people will notice immediately. It doesn't matter how much time you spent doing it. In my 15ish years of drawing(etc) I have learned that people don't notice your art as much if it is done correctly and is cohesive than if you have a gigantic mistake that they can't help but stare at. It's kinda like how you don't think about how your car brakes work and how nice it is to have them until they break. You don't notice something that is well designed until it is broken. That's the other challenge. Basically, you have to create things that are good enough to be noticed almost as much as people notice something terrible. 

2. People expect art to happen quickly. Some art does happen more quickly than others for sure, but in general it all takes a long time. It takes on average about a 1/60th of a second to take a photo (excluding prep and wait time. Photographers have it rough too), but to recreate that photo by hand can take dozens of hours that people will probably only look at for a few seconds. Let's test that shall we? Here is a digital painting I did of Aiden Pearce from Watch Dogs (amazing game by the way. Kudos, Ubisoft).

Complete with my snazzy logo.

How long did you look at that photo? A few seconds? Wanna guess how long it took to do? About 10 hours. But don't get me wrong, I'm not expecting you to stare at it for 10 hours. Just give us artists some credit, yeah? Also, I'm not complaining. When I do stuff like this, it doesn't seem that long. Mainly because I probably have the worst time perception of anyone anywhere. I can stare at the wall for an hour without even realizing it. Because drain bramage (refer to Kristen's apology letter found here). 

3. All of my pants are covered in paint, and it doesn't come out. People probably think I'm some sort of hobo, especially when I am wearing a matching paint splattered shirt. I usually don't go out in public when I'm like that, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. It doesn't help that my hands are covered in paint splatters too. I'm fairly certain there have been times when I had finger paint streaks across my face. Like, 100% sure. It's not my fault my face gets itchy, and I don't think things through.

4. Injuries. You wouldn't really think this, but I get cut up all the time. I have a scar on my left knuckle that has a permanent reddish color around it, so it looks like I punched someone with only one knuckle somehow. This is from trying to open a rusted shut bucket of paint. I have another scar on my left thumb where I sliced it open while making a cardboard chair for a class (which you can read about here). This is probably why I lean more towards digital art (and thus why I am pursuing a Graphic Design career). I am extremely accident prone. Once I even got a pencil stabbed into my foot (caused by bad decisions) which resulted in me having to get surgery to pull the pencil lead out. But that's a whole other story. 

5. Being an artist revolves around being criticized. You have to take criticism. The art world isn't there to make you feel good about yourself. It's there to point out your mistakes and tell you how to fix it. It's a constant process of self improvement, and it can be hard sometimes. It's not just someone saying your art sucks, but it's someone saying your art sucks and listing off reasons as to why it sucks. This is basically why I am very hard to offend. I thrive on criticism, and you have to take it and improve if you want to produce solid work. Usually it's hard because you know that what you are told sucks is true. I figure you can either slap on your sulk pants, or you can figure out what the problem is and work on it. Sometimes criticism isn't verbal, which is why I always watch the face of whoever I am showing my art to. Their very first expression when they see it is all I need. Usually when someone likes it they raise their eyebrows a bit and their mouth hangs open a little. If they don't like it, it's the opposite. Their mouth goes in a mean little line and their eyebrows go down. This isn't true for everyone, but I have noticed that it is true for most people. Eventually, you do this to yourself. Before I finalize any of my art I do not look at it for several hours. Then I look at it again, and pay attention to where my eyes go and what it is I notice first. If I don't look at what I intended to be the focal point first, then I will spend hours fixing it or even start over. First impressions are always the most important. Basically this is the reaction I aim for:

All in all though, I love the art world. Probably because of how mean everyone is to each other. I find it amusing and it gives me an excuse to be rude. There is always someone who hates your art, or maybe hates your art because they hate your guts and wish you would get smashed by a rogue piano. It really doesn't matter as long as you like what you do, and are open minded enough to accept advice for improvement. 

The Time I Was Almost Murdered by a Pumpkin

  A lot of traumatic events have happened in my life. Well I guess just the normal things. Falling down stairs, being constantly threatened by my older siblings (*cough* Kristen *cough*), discovering puberty, that sort of thing. But I remember about three years ago, around Halloween, I was traumatized nearly to death. To death. 

  Before I continue this story, I feel it is important to explain the layout of the apartment I live in where this incident occurred. When you first walk in there is tile in front of the stairs to the second floor, and also leads into the kitchen. My room is up the stairs (follow the cookie crumbs). On this particular evening, I remember that my sister had just fought my niece to sleep. Being the insatiable caffeine craving lunatic I am, I decided to venture down the stairs to grab a drink. I remember taking each step very carefully so I didn't slide down the stairs and wake up the entire apartment complex with my bottom bouncing off the stairs and my fingernails scratching for dear life into the walls. I remember the feeling of triumph as I reached the bottom of the stairs without any unfortunate accidents. I then began walking confidently to the kitchen to get my brew. That was my mistake. I should never be confident in my abilities to coordinate movements that I don't monitor closely. 

  My niece had left one of those plastic trick-or-treating pumpkins on the floor. It was purple, and had a stupid grin on the front. As I was walking to the kitchen, my foot landed squarely in the pumpkin. I was suddenly launched into the kitchen with one leg stuck in that idiot pumpkin and the other in the air. I felt my eyes turn into exclamation points. I swear that my flight into the kitchen lasted forever. It was like in cartoons where they show the characters walking in front of the same backdrop forever. All I could see was the blur of the walls to my sides and the wall in front of me becoming larger. It seems like my arms were straight up in the air too, but that could just be part of how I imagined I looked. It's probably more likely that they were swinging wildly like a rogue windmill, but I dunno. Whatever. 

  In the kitchen, we have a little futon with a bit of empty space to the right of it, and then the dryer and washing machine (separated from the kitchen with extremely obnoxious sliding doors). I landed in the space between the futon and the dryer. I tried grabbing onto anything so I wouldn't crush my face against the wall and make me look like some sort of muppet. I tried grabbing the futon, which just bent my fingers in the wrong direction and then desperately tried grabbing for the dryer with my other hand. My attempt to grab the dryer only resulted in loud metallic banging and that screechy sound you make when your hand scrapes across the surface of anything slick. It sounded like those Nazgul things in the Lord of the Rings trying to play the drums while falling down a flight of stairs with pockets full of spoons. I crunched into the wall, pumpkin first (which made even more noise), and folded up like an accordion. All of this happened in about 5 seconds, and I probably laid there for a good 10 minutes just staring at the ceiling and contemplating where my life went wrong. 

  Once my eyes were no longer exclamation points, I slowly sat up and tried to figure out how I didn't wake anyone up. I thought maybe they were awake, but were paralyzed with fear, thinking our apartment just got smashed into by a low flying airplane. I remember asking my sister about it the next morning, but she informed me (through maniacal giggles and tears) that they hadn't heard anything. Luckily for me, they had apparently gone into a coma during my fight with the pumpkin. Ever since, I can't look at that stupid pumpkin without hearing it laughing at me. I know if it had arms, it would point and laugh at me. I'm pretty sure we keep it around so that my sister can look back and forth between the pumpkin and myself and grin with all of her teeth showing and her eyes in delighted little slits. 

The Omegle Adventures Part VI

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

Stranger: hi

You: Much hi

Stranger: m

You: Very female

Stranger: m

Stranger: age

Stranger: how old

You: That's very question of you.

Stranger: 18

Stranger: wbu

You: So 21

Stranger: cool

Stranger: from

Stranger: im from UAE

Stranger: Abu Dhabi

Stranger: you?

You: Much talk. Me no listen

Stranger: you got Skype

You: So no

Stranger: kik

Stranger has disconnected.

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

Stranger: hi

You: Much hi

Stranger: 18 f

You: Wow

You: Wow

Stranger: u

You: Wow

You: Wow

You: Such female

Stranger has disconnected.

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

Stranger: m

You: F

You: On a scale of one to ten, how old are you?

Stranger: 17

Stranger: xD

You: I said on a scale of one to ten.

Stranger: idc

You: Oh you'll never get anywhere with that attitude.

Stranger: i do what i want

You: I'm sure. Since Omegle is such a 'i do what i want' type of behavior.

Stranger has disconnected.

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

Stranger: hello. 23. fmle you?

You: 21 Female

Stranger: im lounging - wht r u doin"???

You: Poking my eyes. Just to see what happens (get it?)

Stranger: you uze kik???

You: I guess that means you didn't get my joke. Would you like me to explain it to you?

Stranger: well my screename iz                        . add if u feel like it

You: It's like you're not even reading what I'm typing. My joke was hilarious. I demand that you acknowledge it.

Stranger has disconnected.

Stranger: hi

You: How old are you?

Stranger: m

You: I don't think that's how age works.

Stranger has disconnected.

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

You: Hi

Stranger: M

You: How old?

Stranger: 16

You: So how's that driving thing going? Kinda overblown if you ask me.

Stranger: You f or m

You: I believe I asked you a question.

Stranger: Good

You: You speech good.

Stranger: Yes

You: Such speech.

Stranger: Yes

Stranger: F ir m????

You: If I answer your question, you have to answer my question.

Stranger: Ok

You: I am female.

Stranger: Cool

You: It's one of my best qualities.

Stranger: What ?

Stranger: Qualities

You: Much slow.

Stranger: That cool

You: Now my question for you is do you suffer from any brain aneurisms? Anything to hinder your conversational skills?

Stranger: No why

You: Ah. That was to determine how judgmental I should be. I'm now set on 'harsh'.

Stranger: But why

You: I don't even know if I should dignify that with an answer. Let's take a look at your track record shall we? I asked how you like driving (since you are 16) and still anxiously await your answer. Then you just said words as if hoping that they would somehow make sense. Then you wanted me to explain things to you.

You: So yes, I feel harsh is a good way to go.

Stranger: Sorry😢

You: Bored now.

Stranger: No and u

You: Sigh. I was saying that I am bored. I wasn't asking you, as indicated by the presence of a period and not a question mark.

Stranger: Sorry again

Stranger: 😭😢

You: I don't know what your little squares are supposed to be.

Stranger: ?

Stranger: What are u doing

You: Nothing. You?

Stranger: Nothing here in bed

You: That's nice. Can I go now?

Stranger: Go where

You: Antarctica, obviously.

Stranger: Ok

Stranger: And from where are u

You: Utah. You?

Stranger: Texas

You: Swell

Stranger: How old are you?

You: 21

Stranger: :)

You: Well now I'm creeped out. Why are you smiling at me?

Stranger: Only i cant smile?:(

You: You can do what you want. I just want to know why you smiled at me when I told you my age.

Stranger: Just to put something i will not rape you or something like that

You: Well since this is an internet chat, I wasn't too worried about such things. Also, you have to be 18. And I also have to like you.

Stranger: Yes i am 23

You: Amazing, a minute ago you were 16. Time must fly when you're bored out of your mind.

Stranger: Yes loooool

You: Even if you are 23, you still have a problem.

Stranger: Still There ???

You: yup

Stranger: Good:)

You: For who?

Stranger: For u:p

You: Ugh. Let me put this bluntly. I strongly dislike you.

Stranger: Why

You: Well the word creepy comes to mind.

Stranger: I am not creepy

You: Because telling someone you're not going to rape them after talking to them for five minutes isn't creepy.

Stranger: For me no that not creo y have a gay told u that i will rape you and do things to you ? That creerpy i have love alot of creepy things

You: You must be upset, judging by your increased level of incoherency.

Stranger: 👍

You: And back to the squares.

Stranger has disconnected.

An Apology Letter From Kristen to Me

So apparently, Kristen (the Furbie skinning chick) is feeling guilty about my childhood trauma (Cue Cordelia Chase). 

Thanks Cordelia.

Anyways here is her list of apologies, with my remarks in italics. Enjoy.

As I’ve reflected on my life, which I often do after eating too much, I realized that I haven’t been the best big sister. To be fair, I haven’t been the worst, but still. So here is a somewhat heartfelt apology letter to my lil sis, Lindsay.

Lindsay, I apologize for the time when we were kids and I stuffed you into the garbage can and laughed about it. (I probably would have laughed too.)

I also apologize for then stuffing you in the hamper and kicking it over. Then telling mom that the devil made me do it. (Makes sense, since you are the devil.)

Please forgive me for testing your Spiderman toy’s web slinging abilities by throwing it over the neighbors fence and snapping it’s head off. (I still haven't gotten over that.)

I’m sorry for denting your head in with a golf club. And a spiky headed lion toy. (Funny...I don't remember this...)

I’m also sorry for chasing you down and trying to beat you with a hammer. I hope the fact that I was the only one that got injured is some sort of consolation. (One of the highlights of my life.)

I regret smashing our hockey sticks right in front of you. However, the terror in your eyes was quite delightful. (I was genuinely terrified.) 

I want you to know I have reformed my ways, and will never skin another one of your Furbie’s again. (Luckily I don't own many Furbie's anymore.)

I also will never force you to watch James and the Giant Peach, even though it’s hilarious how scared you get. (Worst. Movie. Ever.)

I’m sorry for always laughing at your school pictures...and your driver’s license picture where your hair makes you look like you’re wearing a Darth Vader helmet. Or a big dumb gumdrop.  I’ll try very hard not to laugh at them any more...but to be safe, I’m sorry for future laughs. (I'll laugh at yours too.)

I can’t say this won’t happen again, but I’m sorry for always pointing out the dumb things you do. Especially when you think no one saw (i.e. falling down the stairs during that cookout at Bruce and Autumn’s). (I hate that you saw me fall down the stairs.)

I’d also like to make up for the time I told you listening to Linkin Park would send you to Hell. (It probably will.)

I truly regret putting half a container of seasoning salt on your burger and not telling you so I could see your reaction…wait...Andrea did that to me. I better be getting one of these letters soon Andrea! (Awkward silence.)

I’m sorry for the telling you the cats would eat your injured foot because it smelled like raw meat after you stepped on that pencil. (I couldn't sleep that whole night. Thanks jerk.)

I’m also regretful of testing out the limits of physics with your bike instead of my own. If it helps, the way the handles dangle to the ground now is really cool looking. (It makes it really fun to ride too. I'm sure. I don't exercise anymore. Fat power!)

I beg your forgiveness for kicking you in the back while holding your arms while at work. (Why did you even do this?)

Also, forgive me for turning your spine into a Z after shoving you into the soup cans at work. (Don't worry, the physical therapy corrected that.)

I also ask for forgiveness for trying to make you kiss the floor at work. (Don't forget the ice machine. And the coolers. And the popcorn machine.)

Also, sorry for burning you with a rubber band at work. (The burn was purple you monster!)

Just forgive me for like 90% of our time spent together at Terry’s. (I've forgotten most of it, so that should be easy. Must be from the drain bramage.)

And finally, I’m very sorry for the time you came in my room and I grabbed your arm and twisted it until I’m sure the blood vessels were on the verge of bursting. Then telling you I was going to kill you. (Another sleepless night.)

I’m sure that I have much more to apologize for and will need to apologize again. Keep a list for me. (I love making lists of things to make you feel bad about yourself.)

My Adventures in Guitar Restoration

Recently I have restored an old guitar that I trashed in my youth. Apparently during the summer, I become ambitiously bored, and have to do something to make me feel good about myself. Or some such nonsense. Anyways, this guitar was in terrible condition. Like, beyond terrible condition. I have no logical explanation for how it came to be in such an atrocious state. It was covered in a thick layer of blue paint that was somehow still wet under a semi-hard shell, much like that chocolate stuff you put on ice cream that hardens when it gets cold. This is what I imagined happened:

Judging my how thick the paint was, I would assume this went on for at least 3 hours.

This made me let out a string of wicked swears (forgive me mother), and it eventually got to the point that I was so irritated that I began combined swears into nonsensical words (ie. shammit, son of a bamn, shass, dastard sitch face, etc). It was hard. No, that's an understatement. It was insanity on steroids. It made me think of dumb things in a philosophical way, such as, "if octopus' shake tentacles as a greeting like humans do with their hands, do they have a specific tentacle they do it with? If they use the wrong tentacle does the octopus get offended and beat the other one to death with deep sea debris? Do they do different tentacle shakes in other regions of the sea?". So basically it made me insane. Well, more insane than I already was. 
I started work with the fret board/ neck of the guitar since it seemed the least intimidating. That's right. There was paint on the stupid shass fret board. The first thing I had to do was scrape of the thicker patches of paint. Sooooo...pretty much the whole thing. Luckily I was able to watch Veronica Mars during this part, and didn't notice how tired my arms were from scraping until I tried to go to sleep. That was fun. After about 1.5 seasons of Veronica Mars, I got enough paint off that I could sand off the rest. The thing about fret boards though, is they have a lot of angles that you can't get with an electric sander. This sucked big time, because that meant I had to hand sand the rest. This took approximately 6 episodes of Veronica Mars (I measure time based on how many episodes/movies/songs I can fit into the said amount of time). 
After I got it all sanded, I needed to draw up some plans of the design. Once I had some sketches and such I began to carve my design into the guitar. Now, to carve it out I used a Dremel. A Dremel is basically a fine tipped drill that, well, cuts stuff. Whatever. Just look it up. Anyways here is what happened after several hours:

Keep in mind that all carvings were smoothed out, so they didn't look like a pile of broken toothpicks around the edges.

At that point, I was ready to do the front of the headstock. My design for the front was a bit more complicated. Unfortunately, I was an idiot and did not save a picture of the front before it was painted. But you get what you get folks. I do however have a picture of it before it was completely done paint wise. Is that humble enough for you? Yeah? Okay.

It gets better looking later on. Like Neville from Harry Potter.

I then had to move on to the beast of this project. The body. I was like a blue glob of sadness. Sort of like Gooey Gus from Ghostwriter, but sad rather than...whatever Gooey Gus is.

I don't even know.

Luckily I could use an electric sander for this, which probably saved me the length of time that all three Lord of the Rings are. Extended version. Extended. I also had to wear a respirator mask since I'm pretty sure that that paint was made out of the spinal fluid of extinct animals. This, combined with my glasses, made me look really attractive.

Told you.

I started with the front of the guitar and made my way around to the back. I sketched up some designs, and went back to carving. After what would probably equal 3 episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (what did I tell you about my time measurement?), the front was carved. 

Much better than spinal fluid blue paint, no?

I was also stupid in that I did not save a picture of the back of the guitar before it was painted. Hopefully you can live with this:

Once it was all carved, I began painting and detailing. After many episodes of the TV show of your choice, the paint job was done.

See above for reference to the back. Sorry chums.

Told you it would look better.

Now I needed to put on the finish. This is probably the most boring part of the entire process. I really couldn't have done anything very fun anyways, since the dozens of hours I spent carving had bruised my hand and made my elbow swell. Good times. So to apply the finish you have to put on a coat, and then wait for it to dry, which takes about as long as a Walking Dead hiatus (you monsters!). During that dull process I had to order replacement parts, as some of the original parts were missing/trashed to Oblivion. Finally the finish was on, and I could put it back together. After it was all put together, I put the strings on and was rudely slapped in the face by the E string snapping in half. Son of a bamn! 

Notice the missing E string. Oh wait no, don't. Don't notice!

But anyways. I have replaced the string (hooray for me!) and it is all finished. Finally. Of course when I put on the new string, it pricked my finger. That hurt like no other, and the pain from it makes the size of the prick mark unsatisfactory. It should at least be a noticeably painful looking puncture wound. But no. It's a speck. But anyways, the guitar is all finished, and I have peacefully returned to doing nothing.

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