I hate sex

Well I've found that I've lost my source of distraction while studying online as no one has really updated their blogs for a while. In all fairness, I couldn't judge you as I hadn't either. So I am, now, and now I can judge you. You are all horrible horrible people who aren't preventing me from doing my work. Shame on all of you. I'm wiggling my finger at you right now... but really, get on that, I don't want to do so much studying.

But back to the point, or in this case, lets focus on my blog's title. To begin, I'm sure that I quickly captured your attention. So what's the deal? Am I just being cranky? Do I not get It? Why Carly, WHY?!? Oh, the humanity... allow me to illustrate what I mean with an example that probably only holds minimal relevance to the subject but for some reason makes sense to me:

Little Billy is crying at the front of the room, make that screaming at the top of his lungs including many pitches audible only to canines and bats. You are also in this class and the teacher is keeping everyone from going out to recess because Billy is having a temper tantrum. Everyone around you is totally engulfed in his charade and desperate cry for attention, some kids are laughing, some are yelling at him, some are talking others about it, some are picking their noses, but all of them can't help but pay attention to Billy. You however, missing a thrilling game of sand-tag or your turn on the tire swing, just want to go outside and play. You may be sitting there, dumbfounded in the glow of the computer screen, whatever are you getting at Carly? Questions race through your mind. Why is Billy crying? Did the children ever go to recess? Does Carly have a thing for little boys? Are you coming on to me? The answers are because his Mom was into the hard stuff when carrying him and he just accidentally killed the classroom hampster, no they had to wait until the next day, no what the crap is wrong with you? and um... no? why are you turned on?

Okay, so what am I trying to say? Sex is everywhere. It is on tv, movies, music, literature, advertisements, ad noseum... The problem is that because it has been a 'taboo' subject for so many a century, people crave the 'unknown' and 'mysterious'. While it may not be mysterious to many of you, think of what your Grandfolks would say if they found out what you were doing, shame on you. But everyone has different ways of dealing with it. Any English class is just 'sex-ed' through cultural readings, basically all of the 'intellectuals' are too good to read/look at porn so they call it literature, which makes it alright. The same thing happens with movies, the 'art films' are nothing but ways to see things that should make you feel guilty for watching but doesn't because you are being 'cultured'. All psychology classes are the same. Everything... gah! Maybe if it hadn't been so taboo and frowned upon for years it wouldn't be as prevalent in the culture today, and maybe, just maybe, we would have real scripted television instead of uber-dumb reality shows. Don't even get me started on soap operas. Oh and along those lines, girls are no better then boys in this respect. Look at romance novels and soap operas...

Am I against the act or that it be committed? No, I just don't want to have to become an expert on it to pass a class because the 'intellectuals' deciding what my mark will be are so sexually repressed that they need to create socially acceptable outlets in order to look at a Playboy.

Oh, and as for Billy, he's gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Just wear the stupid poppy already

Seeing as how there has been a small number of blogs created recently, I can't help but blame myself. I guess that you guys figured since I've been slacking in the online complaints department, it wasn't cool anymore and you'd better latch on to the newest trend, like pogs. Pogs is where it's at. Well I'm here to tell you no. In fact, blogging is as geeky and uncool as it's ever been, but I haven't done it lately because I haven't had time and/or I haven't been upset about much. Well today a revelation came, and one of the more serious ones. Again my inspiration arose in a Biochemistry class. Oh the fun we have...
If (as my prof described it) all of the dead from WW1 were to arise from the dead, get dressed up and organize a parade, marching in rows of ten and passing 'x' point every two seconds, how long would it take for all of them to pass said point? 46 ENTIRE DAYS! That's crazy! The easy question is how long it would take, but the question that can't be answered is why. Not why did they rise from the grave and organize the parade, but why are they all dead in the first place. Like we have firelds of golden wheat here, overseas in Europe they have fields of white crosses. And that's just one war. Recently I was sent a foreward (just because I don't respond doesn't mean I don't read them now and again) that contained the names of all the dead from this present 'war' that Bush is waging over oil. There are hundreds of names. Again, why? I know the easy reason, but can you really justify killing someone to fuel your car? (I know, there are many a time when I may seem to think that this is a good idea, but in all honesty I'll pay the extra ten cents so that a family has a father, or mother).
I days of yore people would rush at each other with horses, then came more civilized times where rulers would pit one warrior against another, rather than an army, or fate was decided by a game of chess. By logical conclusion, you would think that we would get smarter over time and eventually do away with all of the blood spilling... many people killed... fewer people killed, one person killed, none killed... and then today it's many again! How does that work? Mannned missiles became popular when it was cheaper then putting a computer in the thing. Can you imagine if someone came up to you and told you that they were going to get a piggyback from you everyday to school because it's cheaper then driving, or pulled out a fork and some hot sauce because you are cheaper to eat then buying a burger? Maybe if war was too expensive we would stop waging it over trivial matters.
No, that would never happen. Who wins in war aside from the grade school answer of 'no one'? The rich. It is no longer who needs to win, such as the invaded nation, or the stuggling poor working class, but which ever side has the most moola. Will the States ever be defeated? No. Easy answer. They've even run out of money, but still can't be stopped. Will they use this power for good in helping liberate repressed people, feeding the hungry, or putting money into finding cures for disease? No. Once again an easy answer.
Oh, and then they turn it into a day off for workers and students to 'remember' those lost. Bars take advantage of 'one more day to party' and schools, well the real reason we have this four day weekend is because it was statistically the highest number of sucides in a weekend, so they give us a break. Isn't that cute. But more money is made by the day of Rememberance.
Tomorrow do me a favor and actually take the time to remember what happened, because if we don't it'll only happen again. Don't go out to party or sleep away the day entirely. Don't go to work only happy that you're making double time, it's these luxuries that the casualties of war don't have.
Sorry that this isn't quite as amusing as my other blogs but it needed some attention. But for my next trick...

Innocence lost

Well I've reached yet another dissapointment in my life. Allow me to reflect on such dissapointments through years gone by as to set you up for the shocking revelation, um, revealed to me today. I know, revealed... revelation, SHUT UP! Okay, with that said, I shall continue on.
First we have the creepy old fat man who spies on you. His life is dedicated to sneaking into your home and watching you sleep, maybe even leaving certain 'surprises' for you, and forces you to behave a certain way. Oh, did I mention that he only does this with children? Now before you wonder when Michael Jackson gained weight, let me further describe this childhood 'hero'. He abuses animals and little people, having them work for him night after night, year after year with no pay or benefits. How can someone accomplish such atrosities? Easy. He keeps them locked away in the middle of a frozen wasteland, impossible to escape as they'd freeze before reaching help. And what do we do? We welcome him, even leave food, and celebrate this character, turning it into a multi-billion dollar franchise started by Coke and Hallmark. If you are still really dense, I'm taking about Santa, Kris Kringle, Pere Noel, the Jolly Old Elf and other such endering names. What does this have to do with anything? Well back when I was about six or so my Dad had his friend from work call our house claiming to be Santa, of course I recognized his voice and the magic was over. My six-year old dreams of getting my first monkey or flame-thrower came to a crashing halt.
Alright, thus far, pretty normal. I mean, all kids should really reach this revelation at some point, so I'm not really complaining. The next great dissapointment was with my first civic. This was, however, at least ten years before it became my civic. While shopping in Edmonton, every-so-often the wagovan would get a mind of its own and bring the family to Bullwinkles, despite my father's vain attempts to cruise over to a new development of showhomes. When I was tall enough to kind of see around the seat I found out that - gasp- he was steering the car, but only with one hand and at the bottom of the wheel that I couldn't see. Alas, that was a sad day. My childhood dreams of owning the next Herbie and fighting crime together were shattered and I realized that I would actually have to do something with my life.
Another horrific realization, although I don't really remember this one, was my apparent dream of becomming a cook. While cleaning out the basement, I found a box with a 'Carly chef' doll and tiny cooking implements, oh, and a really 'old-school' easy bake oven. My parent's went through how I had loved to cook when I was four or something, and wanted to be a cook when I grew up. Dad had built a mini kitchen for me, (FYI he also built a mini gas pump with working lighs and display, which we used a lot), in hopes I would achieve these dreams. Um, well, I think that you all know how that went. I really hate KD. GAH STUPID STRAINER WITH HOLES IN THE BOTTOM! FOUR TIMES, HOW CAN YOU RUIN KD FOUR FREAKING TIMES?!!? Now on with the show...
Today I learned how the caramilk gets into the caramilk bars. It was the most dissapointed I have been in a while. There are no gnomes, oompa loopas, magic wands, or happy theme songs, crap there isn't even any futuristic machines or cool proceedures. In fact I already knew how they were made, but my hypothesis was so crappy and unimaginative that I threw it out. I really don't know how anyone could ever be amazed or confused. In fact, it is too stupid to even explain. Just think of the most mundane and boring way and that's it, minus the pretty colors, and happiness...
Well at least I still have the magic that is bubble-wrap creation. Don't tell me how it's made, if you know, I still yould like to believe that they employ thousands of tiny orphans blowing into straws as the sheet of plastic rolls along the assembly line. That about wraps, he he, wraps, up today's thrilling episode of Carly's Life... tune in next time to see how she gets out of her next caper! Don't forget to eat your Wheaties (do they still make Wheaties? Do people still eat Wheaties?).

Holy Crappy Blog, Batman!

Alright, so just as your favorite TV show, "The Secret Lives of Homing Pigeons" was cancelled over the summer, so was my last blog, and in the middle of a two part episode no less, basically because I decided that it was a stupid idea. I mean, if no one had commented, I may have even deleted it, hoping to leave no trace of its crappiness for years to come, as one day great civilizations of the future will look back at my blogs as a source of history, means to improve life, and as a great literary work. Well, I guess that every great work needs its minor blemishes. Cindy Crawford is more beautiful because of her slight imperfection of a mole over her lip, or the Element of the Honda family, so will be my last blog the cousin no one likes to talk about at family reunions. You know the one, he owns his own business selling used cars to blind people and keeps stealing money from family members to stay in business? He got the idea when using a drive through bank machine, and now he just collects porcelain cats. It was so crappy. You know that time the teacher asked you to write about what you wanted to be when you grew up or what you did over the summer, and how she really didn't read it, because let's face it, your eight year old life was boring. The most exciting tidbit was that you ate so much chocolate that you had diarrhea for three days. That out of the way, please ignore my last thrilling episode in my blogging adventures and continue on with my new tales of mystery and intrigue...
Hmm, so many ideas, but alas, I need coffee and I refuse to leave you again with a substandard blog, and coffee is downtown, and I'm not... oooh I just got paid by someone on Friday I think, that will buy many coffees. Alright, um (civsuv) again, a note about future blogging so I don't forget, nor will I be shamed to present you with such poo again.
Sorry kiddos, no bloggin' today, but perhaps later, although I think this oughta hold you until tomorrow. (Crossing arms a la 'I dream of Jeannie' and nodding) -poof-