Sunday, June 22, 2014

BraveHedge, A Rendition

In the year of 1280, King Hedgehog "Longspike" attacks and conquers the most majestic garden hedge in Scotland. Fighting alongside his family in a war to defend the hedge's throne, young Huff Wallace survives the onslaught and is taken away to live with his uncle in Rome. There, Huff Wallace receives an education, and later returns home to Scotland.

 Huff quickly falls in love with his lovely childhood friend, Pointenne. The hedgehogs marry in secret, but Huff soon has to save Pointenne from being poked and sniffed by English hedge soldiers. As a result, Pointenne is captured and banished, never to place her tiny paws in a Scottish garden again. Enraged at losing his love, Huff Wallace bites two English hedge soldiers, gaining the attention of King Longspike.

Longspike commands his son, Prince Hedgeward, to stop Huff Wallace's uprising. Huff rebels against the English hedge soldiers, with a legendary army of hundreds. Through a series of battles, Huff's militia proves to be successful and noble. Growing worrisome, Longspike sends his daughter in law, Hissabella of France, to confront Huff. Lonspike hopes that Huff will harm Hissabella, tempting the French to declare war on Huff's rebellious army. However, upon meeting Huff, Hissabella becomes incredibly infatuated with him. Huff does Hissabella no harm, and Longspike prepares for a war against Huff's army.

Hissabella learns of Longspike's plans and warns Huff Wallace of the planned invasion. Longspike leads his hedge fighters into battle, and loses to Huff Wallace's might. Huff is taken to safety, and engages in a seven year war against Longspike and his hedge soldiers, with the help of Hissabella.

Huff Wallace is eventually captured by the hedge soldiers and tried for high treason. He is condemned to be publicly tortured until he submits to the king. The hedge soldiers tug on Huff's spikes and bite his little nose and paws, but Huff does not cry out. Obviously pained, Huff stands valiant in front of the crowd. The hedge magistrate offers once more for Huff to mutter "mercy", and the pain will end. Determined and empowered, Huff instead yells "FREEEEEDOM!!!" before he is ordered to be banished from Scotland.

While stumbling through the Scottish garden terrain to his isolation, Huff sees a vision of Pointenne in the distance, and is filled with an inner peace at his fate.

In Huff's memory, the rebellious are later able to rise against the English hedge troops and gain freedom for the Scotland hedgehogs, at last.

Quote from my boyfriend: "Hedgehogs never die. They live forever."


(Based on the 1995 film, Braveheart. Braveheart. Dir. Mel Gibson. Paramount Pictures, 1995.)

Monday, June 9, 2014

Don't Be Afraid Of The Dark

Upon rounding the bend in my block, I slowed my recreational jog when approached by a pink tongue and black, hopeful eyes. Panting, I yanked at my ear buds and crouched, my knee rubbing against the cement. A tiny, stray yorkshire terrier tip-toed up to me, smiling, and so very lost.
"Aww, come here, sweetie. Do you have a collar?" I asked while scooping up its small frame. We locked gazes as the puppy alarmingly looked straight into my soul. I felt something wet on my pinky finger as I realized that he had graced me with a trace of his tinkle juice. I was now his.
I continued walking around the block, holding my tiny-legged master, when I found a woman that recognized him. Regretfully, I handed over the small pup in one hand, and telepathically communicated that I would miss him and his adorable, little feet-paws. Then, off I ran to Jason Derulo's Talk Dirty To Me.

If I had gone running earlier as planned, we would not have crossed paths. I had prioritized cartoons on the couch and decided to exercise later in the day out of pathetic exhaustion. I did not sleep well last night. Or any night before that, really. 

I dread the night time like a small child, terrified of monsters, burglars, or any other types of ghoulies. I am approaching 22 years of age, and still routinely check my closet before I flick the light switch. When I first run and jump into my bed, the initial panic drips down my body. Every hair on my skin becomes aware, as my eyes dart back in forth in vain. I usually lay on my back, with my arms to my sides or my fingers intertwined and neatly folded over my upper abdomen. My toes stiffly point upward, and my brain starts to quickly think of all of the most terrifying things that I have ever seen or heard about in my entire life.

What if I turn to my closet and a static image of ghostly girl in an 1800's-styled dress is staring back at me, her head cocked to one side?

What if I stare out into the blackness of my hallway, only to see a cloaked figure pacing with a lantern?

What if I look into my mirror, and see a distorted, twitching face staring back at me?

Is that a noise at the front door? Someone is breaking in. I have to make it to the attic. (One of my escape plans. Because for some reason I feel like closing myself in my creepy attic will help during a break in)

I'm not even scared of aliens, but wouldn't it be so messed up if one from 1996 Mars Attacks! showed up at the foot of my bed right now?

The thoughts go on, I twitch and turn. If I happen to fall asleep, my persistent, miniature bladder will hastily wake me up. The challenge of walking to the bathroom at 3:00am ensues, and then I am forced to start all over again.

I am not embarrassed by my nightly panic, but obviously rather troubled. When I am asleep for an extended period of time, I have vivid dreams, and grind my teeth until my jaw squeaks in the morning. Therefore, I never feel rested, and go through many days like a cute slug with a bow. My mind is active, and my emotions wired to the quiet dark around me.

(I often wear pink triangle dresses to sleep)

I would not say that I have insomnia, or am I trying to glamorize having trouble sleeping, tweeting like:

@iluvstarbuckz Why am I still awake at 2:00am? #foreverteamnosleep


@stardancer200 Uggghhh I can never sleep anymore! Thank gawd for my boyfriend, Netflix!

***if those are your Twitter handles, I apologize. I give you permission to poke me in the eye.***

Furthermore, in an effort to think of pleasantries before bedtime, I will probably watch The Dark Crystal and the Neverending Story trilogy, while simultaneously wondering what became of my puppy companion.

Hashtag Team Luck Dragon,

Monday, June 2, 2014

A Mite-y Story *playfully nudges elbows into your ribs*

Greetings, Blogger Poopies!

The past couple of months have been seemingly imaginary, and could only possibly re-iterate the notion that my life is a full-length, cartoon feature film. I suppose that I could illustrate and attempt to justify my hiatus, and I will give you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

I have missed being a blogging hedgehog. It has felt like a little, blog-shaped piece of my heart was missing from my chest cavity. The madness started with a mere itch, southwest of my belly button. I lifted up the bottom hem of my t-shirt to see a line of five, small bumps. I scratched the bumps casually, thinking that perhaps an ant or something of the like was trapped in my clothing. Come nightfall, the bumps had increased in size, practically connecting and becoming a single, giant welt. The itching sensation had increased, and there were two more bites by my right elbow, that were equally as irritating. I sat up in my bed, staring at the bites, contemplating the cause, when a small, black dot crawled out of my skin and made its way across the mountain of bites. I, surprisingly calm, picked up the tiny creature with my pointer finger and thumb, and observed it. There were no visible legs, so I figured that it was a piece of fuzz that I imagined to have been moving.

I dumbly continued to stare at the bites, determined to prove to myself that it was indeed, a piece of lint. Soon, two others came. I panicked, snatching them up and dousing my stomach with hydrogen peroxide. I was scratching wildly now, convinced that I had been consumed by bugs, eating me from the inside out. Feeling feral and out of control, I even entertained the idea of finding a sharp knife from the downstairs kitchen and cleanly cutting the bites off. I was hysterical, and barely slept an hour a midst my twitching and pathetic internet searches on parasites.

The next day, I miserably covered myself and visited the local urgent care facility. The extremely aloof doctor informed me that I had mites, and prescribed a full body cream and steroids to help the itching and swelling of the bites. It quite simply happens like this: The mites (from animals or other living things) find your body as a host, and burrow within your skin, sucking your blood, breeding, and laying eggs. They travel throughout your body, causing the unpleasant itchiness. Mites can attach to new hosts by physical contact, or can live up to a few days on clothes, stuffed animals, or other surfaces. And for whatever reason, these little bugs found a home in me.

I engaged in a 24 hour quarantine, washing everything in my room and tying them up tightly in multiple garbage bags. Paranoid with my condition, I became a temporary hermit, living off of Jimmy Johns and fueling my BuffyVerse fandom in the most unhealthy way. Afraid to touch anyone or go anywhere, I spent the next couple of weeks as a metaphoric mite, burrowing deep into sorrow, becoming a bug with unruly, wavy hair and a skirt. Quite possibly a bow, as well.

During this time, I found that some of my peers and friends had also experienced mites, or specifically, scabies. Some of them were embarrassed by this, for the stigma that mites are dirty and gross. UM, YEAH, THEY'RE DISGUSTING. But I am an open person, and was not the least bit embarrassed by my new set of pets. These little bugs were just doin their thang, and I happened to be a a part of that..and then violently killed them with a prescription creme that annihilated them on contact. They're probably in a little mite heaven, with all of the skin they could possibly want.

It was all very dramatic and such, but eventually ended. Less than a week after the incident, I came down with a terrible sinus infection that confined me to my bed, once again. Buffy raged on, as I watched episodes by day and lured myself to sleep with fanfic ideas by night. Read on if you could care less (For example, during the final episode in season 6, what if Oz had come back to comfort and change Willow from the dark magics instead of Xander? But dear Xander does always feel sub-par, and it only seems right that he had his chance to end of the many apocalypses).

When my body had enough, my mind was forced to engage in college finals. Being an English Major, I had a multitude of papers to write, and a few written tests. I spent a couple of weeks on my work, and then boogied on down to Florida for a vacation when the school year ended.

And, well, here we are now. It's summer and I am working as a nanny. I also hope to become a dog-walker, FOR OBVIOUS REASONS. This post was more informative than anything, but hey, perhaps you learned something. I will beat my brain space until I produce more interesting ideas in the future.

Not too shabby for a Monday,