outermost (the post about aliens and ice and smoke)

Greetings! Welcome to my blog! Welcome to Internet Land! Where all of your dreams will come true, all of your time will be wasted, and all of your naked photos will be hacked and sent around the world and maybe even into space. Aliens might see your boobs! But then again, aliens have probably already seen it all. X-ray vision and whatnot. What? Is this not a good beginning to a blog entry? Well, pish posh. Whatever. I've forgotten how to blog. Is blogging passé? Should I be Snapchatting and/or Skyping instead? I think I should probably be sending out smoke signals for the extraterrestrial creatures up there in the celestial skies and tell them to stop being perverts. Maybe I should also chew on some ice.

Yes, I've been chewing on a lot of ice lately. This could mean one of about a dozen things. I could be sexually frustrated (HELL-O!), anemic (OH CRAP), dehydrated (WHO ISN'T?!), or anxious (DUH). I guess those are just four things, not a dozen. Look, I never said I was good at math. But guess what? I'll say it now: I am terribly wonderful at math. Not even joking for one damn second. I was the top student in my COLLEGE math classes! I even went on a date or two with my math professor AFTER I was out of his class! I know that last thing has nothing to do with my math skills, but it does have something to do with my dating skills, which I do not possess. I possess little to no skills in the world of dating. But man oh man, I am more than capable of plotting ordered pairs on a coordinate plane. Sexy? Uh, yeah. I don't blame you if you want to chew on a bucket of ice after reading about my mathematical skills. I don't blame you, but I won't kiss you. Yet.

Hmmm. So I guess my blog has abruptly shifted from being a place where I write vague and poetic musings to a forum for my descent into madness. Let it be! And so it shall be! And I will lose followers by the post, but I will gain lost time. Weird how you can gain while you lose, huh? Weird how time is just a construct and numbers are erotic and I am neurotic and aliens are paying attention to my smoke signals. It is strange, though, because I do not know how to start a fire. How can I send the message without a flame? Apparently I am. Apparently someone out there is reading this. Apparently madness is still expressed in a sane way through the tidiness of words and (mostly) complete sentences.

So will you, aliens of the Internet (whom I love), continue to read my smoke signals? I can almost promise you that I have more coherent things to express. I will have to express those things at a later time, however. I have to go to recess! Seriously. I get paid to play with 5-year-olds. If there's one thing I've learned from working with children, it is that they too are aliens. Aren't we all? But heaven help me if they ever read my smoke signals. Pssh. Like those goofballs can even read anything beyond the word "cat." Give me a break. (And give me a chance?) (Also, while you are giving me a chance, will you also give me a very large container of chewable ice? Thanks, you adorable space inhabitant you.)