Handsome "average Joe" is down on his luck and needs money for his mother's operation. He kidnaps a wealthy heiress for the ransom. Holed up in his dank, one bedroom apartment they learn they're not so different...and a little about love.

There, I wrote a script for a Lifetime movie. Now where can I pick up my check?

I will never, ever be cool.

If you watch the news, you know that what’s hot right now is a drug that simultaneously kills brain cells, rots your teeth, gives you wrinkles, makes you crazy, and gets you pregnant. And all your of 12 year old children are huffing it behind the jungle gym.

If you read fashion magazines, you know that what’s hot right now is eating nothing but kale until you are skinny enough to fit into that itchy, wool shawl that makes you look 30 pounds heavier anyway.

If you have ever talked to me for more than 5 minutes, you know that I have no idea what is cool.

The whole “liking something because other people don’t” fixation makes little to no sense to me. Does this mean I shouldn’t be caught dead eating Twizzlers anymore? Or that if I’m seen wearing pants I’ll become a social pariah? I’m not sure if anyone has noticed, but Twizzlers and wearing pants are pretty popular.

I have never been able to keep up with trends. It’s not that I’m some elitist that refuses to take part, it’s just I never really “get it” until it’s too late. I started listening to bands that would be considered emo years after all the scene kids abandoned their black hair dye and jelly bracelets. I only realized how much I liked PBR once the hipsters decided it was too mainstream. All of my friends are posting Facebook statuses in the vein of “Ugh, I’m so tired of dubstep” while I’m left exclaiming “Hey, this Vaski guy is pretty neat!”

It seems like you can only like something if everyone else hates it. This is something I have trouble with, as I have the tendency to like things. Horrible, I know.

If I had to guess what is in right now or what may become the new “it” thing in the future, this is what I would guess:

Oil paintings depicting hardcore bestiality

Poison-laced harmonicas

Dildos made of repurposed vinyl records

Polka

Those sneakers that light up when you walk

Diets consisting only of foods that have been genetically modified

Body hair (this one is actually wishful thinking, I hate shaving)

Dudes in dresses (also wishful thinking, I dig thighs)

I’m kind of just taking a stab in the dark with this list. Maybe stabbing people in the dark is cool, too. You never know. I really hope that at least one of these things become hip. Then, when an old gentleman asks me what’s all the rage with the whippersnappers these days I can respond with confidence and the hope he has delicious caramel candies in his pocket that he will reward me with for being such a nice young lady. Little does he know what a terrible, uncool person I am…haha, gotcha, gramps!

I know I’ll never be chic or contemporary. This is something I was forced to come to terms with in my angsty teenage years. When I was 14, I tried really hard to be a metalhead. I refused to listen to anything that didn’t have a “kick-ass breakdown”. I wore heavy black eyeliner that would streak down my face when I sweat and pants with an unreasonable amount of zippers and chains. I started saying things like “Fuckin’ A” and “Man, you just don’t get it.” At family barbeques, I’d sit inside so that I could keep my complexion a nice pasty white. I put this incredible amount of pressure on myself to fit into this mold and when I finally felt like I had fully embodied this subculture, everyone in my high school was listening to Taking Back Sunday and “skunking” their hair. Now that I am older and (slightly) wiser I have to admit: I never really liked death metal all that much. There are a few bands I love to this day and I’m a big fan of those who are on the border between hard rock and straight metal…but for the most part, death metal kind of just gives me a headache.

After realizing I liked wearing clothes that weren’t strictly black, I drifted into this odd 80s obsessed phase. I began wearing brightly colored plastic hair accessories and a single dangling earring. I can’t even begin to describe how much animal print was incorporated into my wardrobe. At the peak of this atrocity, I chopped all my hair off and dyed it red in an effort to look like Molly Ringwald. After that, I slowly morphed into a sort of modern day hippie, going as far as scribbling peace signs and Fleetwood Mac lyrics on my jeans with permanent markers. I even started going barefoot everywhere, school included. That one stopped abruptly when I saw someone spitting on the hallway floor (besides, I was tired of getting my toes stepped on). When the allure of being a wannabe hippie faded, I thought I was punk for awhile. I replaced pants with plaid skirts and ripped stockings, I knew all the words to my Ramones greatest hits album, I had a ridiculously short, hot pink mohawk, and I briefly dated a shaggy-haired skateboarder who was in this like, super awesome band that you should totally check out on myspace! I thought I was really, really cool. I was a trend-setter! But I just looked like kind of an idiot.

Not only was keeping up with these self-imposed stereotypes tiring, but it eventually dawned on me that none of these things were ever fashionable with my age group and most people just thought I was strange and probably a little creepy. These days my interests reflect what I actually like, not just an urge to rebel against the mainstream or alternatively to fit in with such. On occasion I attempt to look like a normal member of society (to make shoplifting easier, of course). I do the majority of my shopping at thrift stores so I’m always getting “last season’s” clothes. I didn’t grasp what the cool thing (or uncool thing, if you’re a hipster) to do was when I was younger and I certainly don’t now. Trying to do so just seems futile with my low attention span. I still love John Hughes movies, The Ramones, walking around barefoot and I think that I will always have an affinity for both animal prints and knee-high combat boots. Both my mother and my boyfriend think said boots are ridiculous but whatever, they just don’t get it, man!

Point is; I like way too much weird shit to ever commit to a style or fad. Hopefully being a self-loathing, sarcastic bitch will become the new hot thing but until then I guess I’ll just keep being myself and not worry about it.

I'M FEELING SUPER MANIC AND THEREFORE FEEL THE NEED TO WRITE IN CAPS LOCK. IT'S NOT THAT OBNOXIOUS, RIGHT?

I'm beginning to think it's impossible for me to write creatively when I've actually slept. Mike sent me a link to the National Novel Writing Month site and I'm feeling crazy inspired. By crazy inspired I mean very inspired. And also crazy. It takes place in November but I've got free time now so Ima just roll wit' it.

AWAKE FOREVER.

P.S. Happy birthday, Sabrina. You are incredible and I love you dearly!

My brand of crazy.

In my first entry of this piece of crap, I went into detail about how my disorder came to surface. However, I never explicitly said what disorder I have.

When I was around 15, I was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder. When I tell people this, they often jump to the conclusion that I am schizophrenic...and in a way they are correct in that assumption. Most people have never even heard of this disorder, I know I didn't until I had been diagnosed.

I tend to believe in things like fate and burning sage to heal ailments. One of my most commonly used phrases is "I lost my train of thought." I'm nowhere near introverted, so I kind of dodged a bullet there, but I do have the tendency to become extremely paranoid about others' intentions (something that is very much associated with my disorder). I think that everyone whose ever met me can agree I fit into the last one.

Most of my symptoms aren't bad at all. I've found a nice balance between batshit crazy and having a social life. The general public still thinks I'm weird but these days more and more people seem to think I'm "quirky" or "eccentric"...and that's pretty cool. Having schizotypal disorder sometimes means the concept of matching clothes is lost on me, but dressing vaguely punk or hipsterish means people don't really notice or alternatively comment on how "fun" I always look.

I've embraced a lot of the facets of my disorder in the past couple years. Doing so reminds me that people don't necessarily think the way I do and I need to look at things from different angles if I want to truly understand and connect with them. I actually, for the most part, love having this disorder. It's kind of become my excuse to "not give a fuck" and I'm over 9000 times happier.

The only part I really, absolutely cannot stand is having an "episode". Maybe someone says something a little off-kilter, maybe someone does something strange, maybe I simply have a random thought...whatever the case, there are a few things that can trigger said episodes. What typically happens is I withdraw from the normal world because I am convinced it's not real and neither am I. I'll run on auto-pilot if I'm in a situation where I really can't escape but most of the time I'll just spend a lot of time alone trying to snap myself back to reality.

 It is the worst thing I have ever felt. You're not angry, sad, hungry, happy, anything like that. You're just scared. Scared and numb. On some occasions I'll become convinced I'm really a ghost haunting my own memories. The last big episode I had lasted about a week, I was literally afraid it was going to last forever. It was one of the only times I've seriously contemplated killing myself.

It should be noted that I rarely have significant episodes like that. I've never needed medication and if I force myself to talk about it when I feel a trigger it gives me perspective and I can easily calm down. It's really only bad during times of stress/depression and as I left my home, loved ones, and general "safety net" behind only 2 months ago, one could imagine how that may have held a large impact on my emotional stability. But hey, I pushed through it with the mindset that things would get better. And they did. I may have embraced some of these "quirks" but my disorder does not define me. I don't let anyone or anything hinder my potential as a human being, this is no different.