A bit early to be philosophical, but it’ll do

When we reach the end of our lives, are we going to see how every little thing brought us where we are?

Yes, a string of events leads you to a certain place, but I mean more than that.

That’s right, I’m getting philosophical and it isn’t even 2:45am (nor am I twenty years old and studying Descartes [not by choice anyway, heh!]).

What I’m asking is whether every action you take is a direct correlation to where you are going to be.

Did the old woman who stopped you to compliment your dog save you from an early expiration? Were you going to be hit by a car or kidnapped had she not stopped you?

Did you catch every red light because another driver was distracted and would have prematurely merged into your lane?

How about college? Were you rejected from your top choice to save you from heartbreak? Would you have fallen in love with someone unworthy of your time and then flunked out of college due to his eventual indifference?

Maybe you didn’t get that job, because you would have settled in this town. Maybe you would have gotten married and had children and never followed your dreams.

What if things didn’t work out because they weren’t supposed to?

I like to think that there is a reason why things happen, but I’m not sure.

My favorite quote is “What’s meant for you will not pass you.”

It places a large amount of onus on the universe.

If you know me at all, though, you know that I’m one of the biggest existentialists on the planet.

You can see my dilemma.

So, on one hand, I think that your life is your own doing. You didn’t get into that college, because you didn’t put the effort into high school; you sucked on the SATs. Sure, you can say you’re glad that didn’t work out. You dodged 50k in student loans and a significant other that wouldn’t have been all that significant.

You didn’t get that job, because you didn’t learn the programs they used. It’s that plain and simple. Your personality was a bit too quiet, and it didn’t jive. You didn’t get the other job, because your heart wasn’t in it, and (deep down) you knew it.

You caught every red light, because you were already late for work, and you thought you’d catch each light; therefore, you caught every light (read The Secret).

The old lady stopped you to pet your dog. You could have ignored her, but you didn’t. Maybe you dodged a bullet, maybe you didn’t.

Oh, and why didn’t it work out? You tried, and they didn’t. The beauty (and tragedy, depending on when you ask me) of life is that you’re not the only one on the planet. Even though you wanted it to work out, you can’t force anyone else to want what you want. You can’t change people. You can’t do anything to anyone else that isn’t a willing participant. Even then, it’s still a matter of perception. (We won’t get into that topic tonight)

So, while I see the cut and dried answers, a part of me still wonders. I’m reading Breakfast with Socrates and there are a few parts of it that stick out.

This is also dependent on your views of whether or not God exists, but let’s say you do. We can agree that God exists. Then what?

“If, in the second scenario, God has failed to dot every I and cross every t, leaving us to get on with it, this might not necessarily be due to negligence. On the contrary, it might be a calculated form of care on his part, a “tough love” of the theological variety. Imagine if he had put everything in order right down to the last iota, setting out a program from the beginning of time to run in perpetuity. That would make us mere robots, reduced to dumbly acting out his project and barely meriting the “human” moniker we’ve been given.”

For a long time (and sometimes now), I preferred this program. Depending on the day, I still go, “what the heck was the point of this?” I don’t have the answers. I’m big on the undercurrents of life. I love the idea that there is something more to life than the daily hub-bub. Again, this goes against my simple existential beliefs; however, if I didn’t have the feeling that there was something else at play, I don’t think I’d have a reason to keep trucking along.

That’s not to say that I would jump off a bridge, but knowing there is something more—something just out of grasp, that keeps me going. The belief that karma exists fits into my existentialist beliefs perfectly, but it’s more than that.

I’m circling.

My question was about fate.

I need to know that things happen for a reason. If I’m to keep “what’s meant for you will not pass you” as my mantra, I need to believe it.

I need to understand why things happen or don’t happen. There are lists of things I don’t have answers to, and I’ll probably never have answers. So, fate or not?

Let’s go back to the book.

“Although her disobedience is tragic, Eve’s innocence is not all bad. Certainly that innocence leads her to make a poor choice—the very worst—but the fact that she makes a choice at all, the fact that she engages the Devil in a debate that could go either way, the fact that she acts without God breathing down her neck, all speak to her free will or, what amount to the same thing, her margin for error. It is from this margin for error that freedom springs, because you can’t be free to be right unless you can be free to be wrong. And because you can’t be free to be wrong if you’re always prepared, you shouldn’t worry about getting completely ready in the morning. Yes, the more you prepare, the more you reduce your own likelihood of error, which is good; but the more you reduce your likelihood of error, the more you roll back your freedom, which is bad. The trick is to set the tension between the two forces at an optimum, like getting a good balance of bass and treble.”

I’m entertaining myself. I don’t really have an answer, and I don’t think when I’m on my death bed, I’ll know who tagged my car when I was seventeen (you could always tell me, though) or why certain people like or dislike me (you could tell me this too).

I can say, with certainty, that if it involves another person, I have no answers.

In respects to one’s own life, though, I think that you create yourself and everything you’re surrounded by. This speaks to why I’m incredibly intolerant of many people, but that’s another topic entirely.

So, whether there’s a reason I take different ways home—a cosmic reason—or it’s just a random event, I can’t really tell. Maybe I did dodge a car accident or maybe nothing would have happened.

“What’s meant for you will not pass you.” This is assuming that something is meant for you. This is a huge assumption. Nothing is really meant for anyone, though. Maybe when you finally acquire it, you can say it in hindsight, but saying it before acquisition is a bit presumptuous.

I get it, though. It’s adding a human element to the universe. I think that’s why I like it.

My best friend, Emily, explains it better than I ever could, “It doesn’t mean that you sit idly without effort, letting everything slip through your fingers. I have always taken it as: if you try with everything you’ve got and it still doesn’t happen, it’s not for you…I agree with this, but I do occasionally think some people let good things slip through the cracks for reasons unknown, but this is just saying when it’s right that doesn’t happen.”

Working hard for what you want, but understanding that not everything will work out no matter how hard you try. This clashes with existentialism, because you can do anything you put your mind to. I think, though, that everything regarding other people clashes with existentialism. People are that random variable. You plop them into the formula and anything can happen.

Which is why I love and hate people.

Whether things happen for a (end-all) reason or not, I’ll accept that I don’t know. That’s always been my 11:11 wish, though. The cat’s out of the bag.

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Why I Write (in case I’m lucky [?] enough to forget)

My imagination is my greatest asset and (sadly) flaw.

I’m sure most people can say that, but this is for me, and most people can take a hike.

See, real life is fairly interesting. Most of the people I’ve met, however, failed to meet my expectations in some way or other. Did I fail to meet theirs? Without a doubt, I’m sure. Oh I probably wasn’t funny enough, or I was too detached, not affectionate enough, too independent, too bossy, too opinionated, too competitive, too overbearing, too passive aggressive, too much of a homebody, too quiet, too loud, too much (the list goes on and on).

I, too, could make a list, though (boy, I could write books—oh wait).

Anyway, this isn’t about that.

This is about why I write.

I pride myself on being well-versed, but that is hardly ever the case. Ask me something—anything. I won’t reply right away. I’m careful in choosing my words. When you say something, you can’t unsay it. You can’t take back the things you say. It’s not like in a courtroom, “the jury will disregard that.”

So, when I finally do say something, I have extensively thought about it. I’ve put myself in the recipient’s shoes. I’ve decided that this must be said; not saying what I mean would go against all that I stand for (justice, honesty, you know—the things that everyone should stand for).

Sometimes I don’t say anything. This is usually the case if I lack respect for the other party (95% of the time–people sure love to dig their holes).

I digress.

I write, and my characters are flawed. I think they’re more of a reflection of me than I care to admit (even parts of the unkind ones). We can all be unkind, and I’ll be the first to confess that I have been unkind. I’ve always felt justified, though and getting me to apologize is a feat, for sure (again, once you’ve been in my head, listened to my arguments and rebuttals, maybe then I can apologize if I missed something [I probably didn't, but try me]).

Again, I’m straying.

I write, because I can’t read the minds of others. I write, because I need clear endings and beginnings. In stories, you can give people a motive. You can believe one thing for as long as you’d like, and then you can snatch it away, “a-ha! That character’s intentions are what! I should’ve seen that!”

In writing, you can empathize with the worst antagonist. You can sympathize with the someone you’d probably never feel sorry for in real life. You can give people second chances. You can give them third chances. You can love people in spite of their flaws, because they prove themselves worthy. They don’t do it blatantly, either. It’s just in their genetic makeup (or the way I orchestrate it). You want to love them. You want to give them a hug and say, “it’s going to be okay.”

You don’t get that in real life. People don’t tell you why they’re the way they are. People don’t explain to you why they say or don’t say what they have or haven’t said.

Even when you see someone’s true colors, you still won’t understand. They’re probably not their real colors (horror of horrors!).

Let me repeat: You will never understand some (many) things.

I understand unhappy endings. I understand sappy beginnings. I understand and empathize with some people (I try my best with what I’m given. Sometimes I get a uni bomber, though). I understand fleeting moments, and I also understand some scientific stuff too (how intelligent do I sound right there?). I may not agree with a majority of things, but I still get it. It’s taken me an unbelievably long time to accept the things I can’t control (truth be told: I’m still struggling with this on occasion).

It’s people I don’t always understand. I don’t understand motivations. I don’t understand intentions. I don’t understand murky. I don’t understand gray areas. I don’t understand fuzzy. I don’t understand a lot.

I will always need answers. I need clear cut, direct answers. I need black or white. I need reasons. Since I was fifteen or sixteen and just beginning to understand that I didn’t understand, I struggled with the human mind. Countless nights were spent staring at the sky and thinking, “what the heck?” (Actually, I was probably a blubbering adolescent, but you get the picture.) I may have gotten older (a bit wiser), but I’m still in the dark.

For every action there is a reaction. I must be primitive in my approach to life, but I say what I mean and mean what I say. I’m articulate for a reason. I would never want someone to say, “well, you know, that one time, you used the words kind of, which implies not totally.”

Of course, I’m a black and white kind of girl, so kind of isn’t really in my vocabulary.

My characters have substance. My characters have back stories. My characters have motivations. My characters are passionate. My characters are you (what my imagination comes up with).

The people I don’t understand.

I write for me, to better understand you.

I write, because I need answers.

Because I’ll never get many of them, I create them.

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Nineteen

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I always read quotes on tumblr that I really like. Most of them are usually mottos on how you should live your life or how people wished they lived their lives.

Here’s a list of things for me, from me.

1. Don’t knock the beach until you’ve slept in the sun. (This also translates to: do what makes you happiest. For me, being in the sun with my SPF 100 makes me happiest.)

2. Drink enough water to pee ten times a day; it gives you a reason to excuse yourself from company you’re tired of (plus some general exploration).

3. Own up to your actions. If you’re a bad person, you should try to work on it.

4. Try not to be too judgmental; everyone has something that eats them alive—try to be a little easier on them (or maybe some people are just useless—I’m still figuring this one out).

5. Listen to your gut (or heart, whatever).

6. Listen to good music.

7. Make a playlist of songs that make you happiest; put it on often.

8. Adopt a pet. They will love you. You will love them. There’s nothing greater than a little creature that eats up all of your affection and looks up to you (you’d be surprised). Also, people with pets are, on average, 70% happier than non-pet owners.

9. Make time for the people you care about.

10. Exercise because it’s good for you (but give yourself a break when you’re genuinely worn out).

11. Make a list of things you’d like to do/have before you’re 30 (or 25 or any upcoming age). Work toward achieving them (really work toward it).

12. Read nonfiction and then read fiction and then nonfiction. Just remember, life is two things: stranger than fiction and sometimes more or less depressing than it, as well (but you can pick your story, so be sure to make it a good one).

13. Wake your pets when they have nightmares; you’d want someone to wake you, too.

14.  Realize you’re only on the planet for 100 years (I’m being generous). Make them count.

15. Be decisive.

16. Be genuine. If you’re a phony and it comes out, you’ll lose respect. If people just don’t like you for you, it really doesn’t matter.

17. Try to write your days down. Someday, you might want to reread them (or laugh at them). Or, if you’re lucky, you’ll meet me (or Emily) and we’ll read them (because we’re curious [re: stalker] cats).

18. Have a little (lot) faith

19. Drink plenty of water

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The Cure!

Is it possible that I’ve found a cure for shin splints?

Only time will tell, but I’ve found a fix that have worked for several people. I’ve only been using it for a week, but I haven’t had any shin pain since. For those of you who don’t personally know me: I’m not a doctor.

If you have them, the first thing you need to do is stop running. I know it sucks. I also know that you I never want to run nearly as bad as when I’m not supposed to be running. You know the whole want-what-you-can’t-have thing. That’s me in a nutshell.

A few sources say that running a little bit every day can soothe your shin splints, but I really can’t say that running while injured has ever done me an ounce of good. Believe me, I’ve pushed myself to the limits–thinking that I could just extend my limits (and one day be limitless har har har), but that only caused more injury.  READ: sidelined for four months.

If you can’t walk without pain, do not run at all. Do RICE: rest, ice, compression, elevation.

I’m mainly talking to the people who are beginning to feel pain in their calves/shins or have reached a mild form of shin splints. I’m also not a doctor so don’t take my word as end-all-be-all. After all, would you take the words of a stranger as gospel? I hope not.

Here are a few things I do and explanations as to why:

WHEN YOU WAKE UP AND/OR GO TO BED:

  • Sit on the floor with your legs outstretched in front of you. Bring your toes in toward your body (not with your hands) as far as you can. Basically, you’re dorsiflexing as far as you can. Hold this stretch for five minutes. You’ll start to feel your shins hurt early on, but it’ll get intense at around 2.5 minutes. Be sure to hold it anyway. Hold it until 5 minutes is through. If your toes (not your shins!) start to feel cramped, try to wiggle them. The feeling won’t stay forever, so try to rough it out if you can. Your shins will thank you for it. I do this one in bed when I wake up and before I go to bed. I know, it says do it once a day, but I try to do it twice.

The reason behind this stretch (according to the video) is your calves are extremely strong when compared to the weak muscles surrounding your shin. Do I know if this is entirely true? No idea, don’t care—it works for me. Ever since I started doing this, my shin pain has diminished (but I guess the following few pointers could be the culprits, as well. You decide)

PRE-RUN

  • Warm your shins with a warm pack. Keep the packs on for about 5 – 10 minutes. After your shins are warm (or if you’re impatient like me, do it while you warm them), place an elastic exercise band around the ball of your left foot. Pull both ends as hard as you can toward you (it’ll pull your foot toward you), and then push (using your ankle and ball of foot) out (plantarflex) as far as you can. Do this 30-40 times on both legs.

This is done to warm you up for running. You don’t want to do long static exercises, because they’ll do more damage than good (so say most websites and my sports doctor).

POST-RUN

  • Use the edge of a step or a curb to stand on your tippy-toes and then push down past the step until you feel a stretch. You don’t want to feel any pain, but you want to feel that you are stretching.

This is your basic wall stretch, but I never feel a stretch with those.

  • Redo the elastic band stretch again. 30-40 times on each foot.
  • This one is my absolute favorite: when you’re finished with all of the above, grab some lotion/Vaseline. Sit with your legs stretched out in front of you. Feel where your tibia is. Do NOT rub or press on that. Instead, on the outer edger of the tibia is connective tissue. Take a small amount or Vaseline or lotion (equivalent to the size of a dime) and use two fingers to dab it in one straight line next to the tibia (only on the outside, though). Then, take the other foot (the one without lotion) and use your heel to lightly press down on the outside of your tibia. Start just below the knee and extend until near the ankle. Repeat this with each time increasing your pressure. Eventually, you might feel discomfort. If so, first, make sure that you aren’t pressing on the bone. If you’re not, continue and hold the pressure at any painful point. So, if ¾ of the way down your leg, you feel pain, hold the pressure with your heel right there. Don’t press harder, but hold your pressure. Sometimes concentrated pressure can get rid of a kink.

The reason behind this massage is for two things. One is to break up that connective tissue from being too tense and relax it. You will feel your shin splints literally disappear after doing this. Before I begin my massage, I always take the calf of one of my legs and place it on top of my knee. I’ll gently press down to determine how bad my shins hurt. If it’s intense, I’ll massage for about 15-20 minutes. If it isn’t that bad (lately), I’ll do about 10-15. The second reasoning for the massage is to lymph drain/release. There’s excess fluid in there that’s causing inflammation and pain. You could also take an ibuprofen, but you’re a badass, and you’d rather handle it yourself.

  • After ALL of these are done, the final step is icing. I put ice on my shins (in the form of frozen food) while I’m eating dinner. So that means I keep the ice on my shins for roughly 8-10 minutes. I try to stretch my eating out, but most times I eat like a starved beast so my legs get less ice than they probably need.

In all seriousness, do not do any of this if your shins are extremely pained, are bruised, swollen, or you have stress fractures. You will know (deep down) whether these are okay for you if the pain you feel from doing them is about a 1 or 2 on a scale of one to ten. The only one that should have any pain (aside from the first one—which is a BAMF) is the massage after you’ve applied more pressure.

Other than that, don’t do anything if it hurts and wait until you’re better. Also, see a doctor to be sure you don’t have stress fractures or…compartment syndrome.

As for now, I’m still running on grass and dirt. I’ll let you know when/if/how I get back into running on pavement again (siiiigh hopefully soon. Please, calves).

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The Happiest 5k You Never Ran

Does being showered with dye while you’re running a 5k sound fun to you?

It did to me at some point.

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A few months ago, Steven got us tickets to The Color Run. I must admit that I didn’t thoroughly research this, but merely saw photos and decided that someday I would like to do this. (If you know me at all, you’d know there are tons of things that I’d someday like to do, but probably won’t.)

Today was the big day. It was so big that I actually forgot about it and almost missed it, due to scheduling issues in visiting family. As it turned out, I was able to change my flight and be home just in time to pick up my bib and get a good night’s rest.

Steven and I woke up at 5 and 5:15 respectively. Last night, I asked how many tickets were sold to the 5k and I was told 21,000. She said to get there early and carpool. We were dressed and ready at 5:30-40ish and he picked me up at 5:55.

On the road, Steven decided to take the Ben Franklin. The bridge was closed from 6:30 – 8:30 in the morning. We had time, right?

Right.

On our way, we’re happy. We are convinced we’ll have parking spots and we’ll actually meet other runners. As we continue on with our blissful smirks (about having been so responsible and having left early), we see a sign that says two lanes will close. Okay, two lanes isn’t bad. It’s 6:10am. It’s a Sunday.

I won’t bore you with the story. There was a wall of traffic. We decided to take the exit before Rutgers, double back and take the Walt Whitman. Unfortunately, we were unsure where the bridge was, so we had go somewhat lost in Camden. I pointed us to the direction of Rutgers and then my GPS revived and we were directed to the other bridge.

We bypassed all of the cars.

It was glorious.

Of course, I probably wouldn’t be writing about this if it was so great. Once on 76, we hit another wall of traffic. We couldn’t get around it. There was another exit we could’ve taken, but I was afraid we’d get lost in East Jabumble (like the Camden detour) and decided to tough it out.

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For two hours.

Yes, this 20 minute drive turned into two hours (and counting!).

20130714_071210We tried to be happy.

Onward.

Around 7:55 or so, Steven’s car said “Hot coolant” or something. Seeing as we were stuck in bumper to bumper traffic, he turned the car off and waited a few minutes. He did this three times and the message disappeared. Once again, traffic has moved an inch.

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20130714_075717Finally, around 8:15 or so, a state trooper comes hauling ass (at about 10mph) and suddenly, traffic starts to speed up (at around 5 mph). That’s when we realized that out wonderful exit (which was the cause of our trouble) was blocked by the trooper.

20130714_072622 20130714_072618Our relief came in the traffic moving; however, it was short-lived in that every douche bag in Philly, Delaware, and New Jersey decided to cut everyone off and go to the next exit. Yeah, if you’re reading this and were actually in the right lane and then got into the left only to screw everyone in the right lane, you are a douche bag.

Steven was furious at the cars trying to screw everyone else over that he actually lost it and began to hulk out.

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We got into a heated debate about taking a different exit. I was quite irritable (I’m sure) in that I was convinced that I could have gotten us there much quicker. I went through a series of phases (extremely angry, comedic, angry, furious, sleepy). At one point, we manically started laughing about how intelligent we are: waking up at 5am to run and have paint thrown in our faces. So masochistic, in fact, that we were willing to wait three hours for it.

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I won’t drag this out any longer. We arrived at 8:47.

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People were actually covered in dye and leaving. We park in a random lot and start our walk to the race. We never saw the starting line, but it LOOKED like a starting line. We began our run and were sprayed by less-than-enthusiastic people with dye in their hands.

I think I heard a pseudo, “Woo!” during my jog through. Most people stopped to be further lathered in the color.

We reached the second point and were covered in blue. The girl that actually sprayed me, lifted her arms, made eye contact and shot it all over my face.

Thank you.

After that, we reached the finish line. Now, I’m no fool, but that was one short 5k.

No, see, we didn’t start the race at the beginning. It appears (now that I see the map), that we started at the last half mile (ish). Yes, and there was a party going on. People were covered in dye in a pit of other color-runners. There was a DJ of sorts and a couple of dye packs thrown. It was okay and in retrospect, the better part of The Color Run.

I think they were giving out free popsicles and Kind Bars.

We decided that we wanted to run the whole thing, so we began our search for the starting line. Steven asked one of the women in charge and she goes “oh, honey, we’re not starting it anymore.”

Yes, we figured that out—what, with being three hours late and all.

He asked where it began and she pointed him in the direction. We found the beginning and there were a few stragglers on the trail. The security was taking down the cones and no one was really sure where they were going.

We found our way back to the car. As I look at the map, I realize I never saw the rest of the trail.

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Okay, my thoughts on The Color Run:

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First, if you’re selling 21,000 tickets, you should also have people directing traffic. I know for a fact that at least a hundred (definitely plenty more) “Color Runners” never made it to the run in time (and were three hours late—if not later).

Second, have a few waves of runners. People of The Color Run, having a 7am start and a 7:45 start does nothing if you’re stuck on 76 for three hours and you left at 6am. I’m just sayin’.

Third, schedule your waves, please. If you know (and you do) that there will be 21,000 extra cars on the road, schedule when a couple thousand of us can actually get there. I don’t want to sit in traffic. It’s not fair to anyone.

Fourth, perhaps make it easily accessible by public transport.

Fifth, I would like to take a moment to thank the good drivers. Thank you for being upstanding citizens and following traffic. To the people that cannot drive safely (I’m talking to you Girl with the Pink Sports Bra and your posse of 2 minions), just go home. Don’t even bother coming. Why cut everyone off in traffic and drive like a mad-woman, get to the race and lay on the pavement to sprinkle color on yourself. Seriously? What.

Overall, the people that organized this (I use that word loosely) are incompetent. Secondly, they are for-profit. I (like many) misunderstood that it was a nonprofit. On its website, it says that they donated $600,000 to different charities all over.

That’s a lot, right?

Not when you consider that tickets are over $40 per person and they sold 21,000 tickets in ONE city. That’s over $900,000.

I’m glad they managed to send over 600k (2/3 of ONE city) to ALL of the charities.

Let this be a lesson to me: read.

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June 30, 2013: The Day The Conspiracy Was (Partially) Unveiled.

Some days are notorious for being strange days. Friday the thirteenth, Y2k, National Catfish Day, False Confession Day to name a few.

Today, however, started like the rest of the days of June: extremely hot and humid, only to be accompanied by scattered thunderstorms in the afternoon. To the average Joe, today was the last day of June.

No big deal.

Except it wasn’t just the last day of June.

No, I stumbled upon a conspiracy. I know what you’re thinking—trying not to pull the blanket further up to your chin. You’re thinking, “what—everyone has a conspiracy theory they secretly believe. 9/11, anyone?”

Sure, except this conspiracy was recorded.

Yes, that’s right. I have physical proof—documentation, if you will.

And you will.

The follow images may be disturbing to some viewers. Proceed with utmost caution:

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You’re thinking, “the people of Wal-Mart aren’t of the highest caliber. So, they left their carts? Who cares?”

I would agree with you if it weren’t for my next piece of evidence.

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This was in a produce shop. I doubt this place even has security cameras.

My theory is as follows:

Someone (or something [extraterrestrials?]) pumped a chemical into the air that caused everyone to leave their carts (their food supplies). People were wandering out of the store empty-handed, wondering why they entered to begin with.

I’m sure you’re wondering why I wasn’t affected.

I was affected.

It didn’t occur to me until I was an aisle away from my cart. I should mention that it wasn’t even me that noticed. Steven stopped me, “yo, are you seriously abandoning the cart?”

And what about my purchased items: Reese’s pieces, chocolate soymilk, and a snickers bar.

I’m just saying that there was something in the air today, and I don’t think it was just the everyday pollution.

Look at the photos again; I implore you. They’re disturbing at best.

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On Pit Bulls and Adoption

Let’s get something straight: Pit Bulls are not bad dogs.

At the shelter today, it was predominantly inhabited by Pits. Almost 100% of the kennels were filled with Pit Bulls. All of the dogs were between 10 months old and six years old. A couple of the dogs had bloody noses or lacked vocal chords to bark; however, the majority of them were happy to see us and happy to enjoy the sun.

So, how did this many Pit Bulls get into one shelter?

Perhaps it’s because humans have this pathetic ability to only spread negativity and awful news. Or maybe because they also lack the ability to enjoy their own life and instead want to discuss a dog fight or recent attack.

Fortunately, if you’re intelligent and actually use your brain, you can see that Pit Bulls (and all other dogs) are not inherently more dangerous than any other dog. Regrettably, most people are sheep.

Yes, sadly, there are a bunch of Should-Have-Been-Aborted scumbags on this planet (way more than I’d care to admit) who like to breed dogs for fighting purposes. I could go on and on about how I’d love to personally rip their skin off and tear them limb from limb (this is the PG version), but I don’t want to talk about these cretins. Instead, I want to focus on the poor dogs that die or are euthanized. These dogs have feelings. These dogs could be loveable. Haven’t you ever seen a giant dog think he’s a lap dog? All dogs can be your best friend. Just because a few Should-Have-Been-Aborted idiots decided to fight Pit Bulls, doesn’t mean it has to completely ruin their credibility.

Hypothetically, these morons could have gotten off on watching a couple of Xoloitzcuintle dogs fight to the death. Then everyone would be afraid of Mexican Hairless Dogs; the shelters would be filled with these poor beasts. It’s like Pavlov (sort of). You’re conditioned to think that something is going to happen, but it’s twisted because that thing (the viciousness/aggressiveness) is not always there. Therefore, you’re sitting around shunning these poor babies from society, because of the ill-informed rumors.

Here and here a few links on the validity of Pit Bulls and their so-called aggression.

Next, I’d like to discuss the responsibility that comes with adopting a dog (because that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? A puppy won’t shoot from your loins any time soon). You will have to housebreak them, train them, love them, feed them, and—most importantly—care for them. If you can’t dedicate the time to do those things (and genuinely do them), then you don’t deserve a dog. That’s right: you don’t deserve a dog. Buy a plant. They’re relatively easy to care for. Get a cactus.

While we’re on the subject of adopting dogs, you should actually adopt a dog. If you buy a dog, you are an irresponsible person. There are thousands of dogs (and cats!) in shelters. If you don’t like the selection at your local shelter (you know, if you’re still too stupid and can’t see yourself falling in love with a Pit Bull), there are adoption websites, too. Get this: you can narrow your search down by age and breed. Sure, you’ll have to pay a higher fee, but you’re adopting. You are saving a life. You are not paying your scumbag neighbor $200 for their puppy, because they were too lazy and irresponsible to get their dog fixed.

Which brings me to: Getting Your Dog Fixed. There is absolutely NO reason that your pet should be waddling around getting a hard-on for other pets. You wear condoms, right? You take your birth control? You don’t want thousands of mini yous (or do you, you narcissist?) running around, so why would you want your dog to? It’s unfair and cruel. Get them fixed or don’t have a dog. If you can’t afford it, then you shouldn’t have a dog. All shelters want their pets fixed. Can you see where this is going, Einstein? Get your dog from a shelter, have them fixed, and stop being irresponsible.

Once, I had this real charmer of a friend. Too irresponsible to get her dogs fixed, she got her dog pregnant and decided to sell the puppies. Sure, they were cute. Who doesn’t think puppies are cute? Unlike babies, even the not-so-cute puppies are mildly adorable (babies, however, can be a lost cause; I’ve seen it firsthand). She wanted $200-300 for each puppy. Of course, as with all scumbags, eventually the tide wasn’t in her favor. Nope, one or two puppies died and another had breathing difficulties. I don’t remember how many this fool actually sold, but I do know that their illnesses were due to her own (and her parents’) ignorance.

Unless you’re a breeder, stop pimping out your dog.

If you do pimp out your dog, I hope someone pimps out your firstborn.

The point is: you should be rescuing a dog’s life, not endangering future puppies. By not adopting a dog or by spreading rumors about so-and-so having his face mauled by a Pit Bull, you’re only making this serious problem worse. Unless you’re showing your dog every year at the AKC competitions, you don’t need a designer dog. I don’t care how much money you make. You’re an idiot.

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