Walt Disney had musophobia, which is the fear of mice.

Be forewarned, I have nothing to say (as usual). I just, for some absurd reason, thought it was a good idea to blog in the tub.

Now, it's not as sexy as that sounds: I'm not stupid. I'm not going to kill my laptop, nor myself.

I'm actually sitting in a dirty tub full of toys not meant for water, one ran by a five year old.

I am here to hide. In these walls of stone.

What is louder than college, you may ask? Two abnormally loud TV's, occasionally three (four if I would use mine) [we try to keep it American around here]. On different channels. One's always on the news or a horse race, maybe the occasional SNL or Cops. The other is either on a talk show, HGTV, or some Lifetime movie.

But that's not the problem. Nor is the constantly ringing self-employed business phone.

The problem is the King of the Tub.

He is loud, and he made a flour pool in the kitchen.

I hear him banging his trucks around in the living room now, through the walls with pipes, insulation, and tile. He is the terrorizing dictator of this household, and here I am, hiding in a dirty bathtub full of toys. Call it the ghetto.

Yet I'm not Anne Frank, and I don't have a tale worth telling in this electronic diary.

I'm just here, man.

<3<3<3

I don't know why I interrupted, there. I don't have a new point. I have nothing to say.

I watched the Expendables a bit ago with some good company: I've realized that action flicks are often even cornier than chick flicks.

Bodies don't work like that in those scenarios; oh, trust me. I know.

<3<3<3

You know, I really miss those pills you used to drop in a full sink that would turn into dinosaur sponges. I'm staring at some now; mom never used to get me those all the time. Kid cuisines either. Grandkids are different.

So I guess I found my topic.

Kids, man. Why do we all think we're worthy of reproducing? Who made our heads so big that we thought it'd be a good idea to have little replicas running around? I mean, when you think about it, we're either all brainwashed copies of our parents (with a little variety from society/government), or we smarted up (maybe) and became complete opposites.

Why does the semi-obvious purpose of life seem to be to reproduce?

Often times it seems the people who shouldn't are the ones who do so the most.

How many times have you been in public and thought to yourself, what a terrible parent? Ha, let me tell you, never tell your sister-in-law that (refer to Thanksgiving post).

These poor future generations.

People talk bad 'bout all these designer babies and what not...but man, aren't our own kids our little experiments? We just try out our "parenting skills" on them, make notes on how they turn out. Taste test at the end (sounds bad but) do we like them or not?

We don't need to keep putting more kids in the world. We seem to forget the ones that've already been cooked in the oven, their dough is a'risin', and no cook's a'there to watch 'em.

So let's adopt one a dem overpriced Chinese girlies and "experiment" on them.

Maybe a douchebag like myself can teach her some sense, show her the world, shining shimmering splendid--and that's the problem; we all think that. We all think we'd make a better parent than someone else.

And personally, I have little patience. And those Health class videos have scared me for good. Me no make good mom.

I think sitting in this tub is getting to me.

Why is the American dream to have a good job, spouse, kids, and house? What made that ideal? I mean, job/house=security, and family=love...but who's secure anymore, and where is the fucking love? Have you checked the divorce rates?

No one hardly loves anyone anymore.

So here we are, stuck in this autopilot, and we keep going to school and marrying and getting a job and reproducing and paying taxes and working our job and paying taxes and working our job and paying taxes and working our job and paying taxes and retiring when we're too old to do anything so we can die.

We crabs like security, brosef. [I don't want to hear it; your local paper's astrology may be shit, but the stuff itself is real, you don't even know. Not saying you can predict your future but my birth chart's been pinned to a T, and they know me better than I do. We all believe in something, right? Even if that belief is not to believe in anything.] And I hate that.

This semester, I've been trying to abandon a bit of that classic American dream. I've been trying things, living things, cutting strings, being young (you know, before I'm responsible for my little Chinese kid). It's not who I am. Better, it's not who I was. It is who I am. It may not be who I am tomorrow, though. Only time will tell that.

And it isn't amazing, honestly, letting loose.

But it's better.

I asked this once, and I'll say it again: Have you ever became (what you would consider) a worse person, and liked yourself more? 'Cause man, I have.

I'm young, and I think I'll fall right back into the pattern of that American picket fence in two and a half years if I'm not careful...so for now, I think I'm going to try and enjoy life.

They talk about those rebel kids, but unless they cross the line of another person's pursuit of happiness...there isn't anything wrong with what they do. They're testing out their shells. They're writing their stories and experience. They're seeing just how much they can take. I mean, they're living. What's the point of life but not that journey "they" keep talking about? If you're the same person along the way, what the hell kind of journey is that?

Honey, this shell's in a constant morph.

<3<3<3

Then again, this world just keeps getting more and more text, more and more information. The Library of Congress, the limits of the internet, they're all filling up. It's all because we think we all have something worth saying, especially ladies and douchebags. Ladies can't keep their traps shut, much like my nephew, and douchebags have that ego where they think everything they say means something.

We do all have something to say.

Just not everything we have to say is worth hearing, and with all of this piling up, Google keeps giving me crap results that I have to sort through 'cause some 12 year old from Nebraska decided to blog about it. Even ChaCha can't give me a decent answer with all the shit it has to browse.

So I'll stop mine now.

Saw on Facebook (^I lied, didn't I?) some kid's mouth being an asshole cause all the shit that comes out of it. Time to bleach it like Bruno, baby.