I can haz dressmaking tipz pls?

Hey guise. So, there’s this thingy at the end of the year at my school called The Social. No cool title, just a great big The. I mean, you try naming it. Big Dancy Thingy Where At Least Three Girls End Up Crying In The Bathroom And Someone Spikes The Drinks? Not as catchy as The Social.

It’s like a Prom-in-training for middle schoolers. Only eighth graders, though. All the girls put on their shortest prettiest dresses and guys rent tuxedos and stuff. The whole nine yards. Only, I don’t really like to think of it as a prom-in-training, I think of it as a dancey-thingy where you just dress fancier. I look at it this way because honestly? No one will ask me to go with them. And if the stars align and the Improbability Drive is switched on and I DO manage to get a date, it will go something like this:

Me: “oh hey.”
Date: “hey. excited?”
Me: “yeeup. you?”
Date: “yeah…”
Me:
Date:
Me:
Date:
Me: “wow look at that tree. it’s quite tall.”
Date:
Me:
Date: “hey our ride’s here.”
Me: “k cool.”

So I’m just planning to grab all my single friends, hop in a van, go to the social, then McDonald’s, and then find a place to crash. And in my head, I vision all these girls showing up in their shortest prettiest dresses and the whole room stops and they all spin around to twinkly music and people faint due to the beautimousness of us. Problem is, I have no pretty dresses. I partially solved this problem by going on Etsy.com and finding a pretty dress. But it made another problem.

It’s 325 friggin’ dollars.

*sigh*

I had my heart set on that dress, yo. It’s so pretty and poofy and lovely. Here’s some pictures.

green dress green dress 2 (1) green dress 3 (1)

But then I figured, if a chick with tattoos can make this, then why can’t I? My biffle, Julia, has a sewing machine. I can find green taffeta at Walmart or something. Problem is, I have never made a garment in my life. Ever. Actually, no, I’ve made a scarf. But since making a scarf consists of cutting a strip of fabric out of a larger piece of fabric, it doesn’t really count. Besides, it fell apart after a week. I only got to wear it once. So if anyone out there has any experience at all with dressmaking and the making of dresses, could you maybe give me some tips or something? Like how do I make the skirty thingy go all POOF and the little ruffle-wrinkle-foldy things do that on the shirt part? AND HOW DO YOU MAKE A BOW FFS.

Also I plan on making it go just above my knees, not all the way to my calves.

Because if I have a pair of combat boots by May, I plan to wear them with this dress. Otherwise I’ll wear my chucks.

If this cute kitty doesn’t convince you to give me dressmaking tips then you’re a cruel heartless bastard and I never wanted your stupid tips anyways.

But srsly bro

im srs bro

pls

x Sabrina

I Can’t Sleep

Thing The Great Big Man in the Sky Screwed Up When He Made Me #1127: Out of the seven nights a week, I probably stay up for the duration of at least one of them. Why? I’m so naive. If you let me watch a single scary movie– it could be a Disney Channel Halloween special, I guarantee that I will not sleep that night. It doesn’t even have to be scary. It can be Casper the Friendly Ghost. I could be feeling absolutely fabulous right up until my head hits the pillow. Then I think about Casper, AND EVERY SINGLE SCARY STORY CRASHES DOWN ON ME. (Then I spend the night blogging about it.) I keep telling myself “omg Sabrina they’re fake” but even knowing they’re fake doesn’t help. Even if Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki and whoever played the Woman in White in the pilot ep of Supernatural were standing in my room, carrying a notarized document stating that the scary stories are not true, I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Actually, I would probably kick anyone who isn’t Jensen Ackles out and proceed to make sure he isn’t Dean Winchester.

It’s like my brain is a toddler. And myself is the mom. And sleep is the broccoli that I’m trying to force down the kid’s throat, and the kid brain kid/brain is doing everything it can to stop it. That includes thinking about the Vashta Nerada, Slenderman, and Samara from The Ring. FUCK YOU BRAIN.
And the worst part is, I can’t like, get up and do something about it. I’ve mentioned my mum a lot in here. She has a strict policy on “bedtimes” and such. Below are The Commandments:
1. Thou shalt go to bed when Mum-Queen decides for you to do so, whether it be six pm or three am.
2. Thou shalt stay in thine’s bed until morning, AKA seven am.
3. Thou shalt not read, write, draw, play Doodle Jump, practice flute, Facebook, blog, text, watch television, or eat during designated sleep hours.
4. If thou turns on the hall light then you shall be incinerated by His Holy Lightning Shooting Nipples.

So like, if I can’t sleep, then she doesn’t just wave her hand flippantly and say “eh, don’t make much noise pls.” NO. Like, if I go to the bathroom one too many times, the woman is up the stairs, pounding on the door, like “GO TO BED, YOU LITTLE BITCHLET.” And if I’m in bed with the light on, reading, she comes up like “Why are you still up, hmm?”

Me: “Because I can’t sleep.”
Mum: “You NEED to.”
Me: *is Sheldon* “If I could, I would. But I can’t, so I shan’t.”
Mum: “THAT’S NOT MY PROBLEM. You need to sit in the dark and play a game called Stareattheceilinguntilslendermanrapesandkillsyouyoufallasleep.”
Me: “NEVARR!!!”
Mum: “Then I must challenge you to… A POKEMON BATTLE!”
Me: 0_o

1.6.13

 

Me: “the fuck”

Yeaaaup. That’s usually how it goes.

Sleep is for noobs, yo.

x Sabrina

 

My thoughts on Kimye’s Baby

NOTE: Usually I don’t write about celebrities, mainly because unless they’re attractive male actors, I find the whole fact of following their lives completely ridonkulus. I just feel compelled to write about Kimye. I DO WHAT I WANT.

If you haven’t heard of Kim Kardashian and Kanye West’s baby, then you’ve either
a) been living under a rock for several weeks
b) deleted that information, as you need to keep your mind palace free of rubbish
or c) had an encounter with The Silence whilst reading that article on yahoo.com.

But here’s the rundown-

Kim and Kanye have been dating for like six months now. Apparently, Kanye fell in love with her around 2009-ish. But they have been dating for six months or more. I think. I searched “kimye dating” and it said it was longer than 72 days (lol). I looked more and it was six months. Yeah. Anywhosies, I woke up one morning at around noon as usual, and stumbled down the stairs, being pulled by outside forces to the computer to check if anything interesting was happening. I sat down and opened Chrome to my homepage, Yahoo, the motherland of all news stories and every life– you know what, let me draw it for you.

photo (14)

photo (15)

 

*clicks*

It was hard to make out the actual story through the haze of parody Twitter accounts and “omfggggg dey r in luv <3” Facebook posts, but from what I saw, Kanye announced the pregnancy in a way that was totally his style.

On stage.

During a concert.

Using the words “baby mama”.

Have you ever watched a television show or read a book and one of the characters does something embarrassing and you kind of feel the embarrassment they’re feeling (example: that one Hinny kiss when Ron walks in. I was like NNNOOOO)? And you kind of squirm uncomfortably and then pause it or close the book, go make yourself nachos and tell yourself that you’re weird, then go back to reading/watching and you can’t eat your delicious nachos because your stomach, hell, your whole body is like OMG AWKWARD…?

I squirmed whilst reading that post. Kanye, you make yourself out to be a ladies man. BABY MAMA??? ON STAGE??? So then, I watched the video clip (watch it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=l6aX1D_z5jQ) of him announcing it. And then I squirmed around whilst watching. I didn’t pause it though to make nachos, because it was really short. BABY MAMA??? ON STAGE??? WITH AUTOTUNE???

Sometimes I feel like the Earth’s Common Sense levels have decreased to almost Nothing. You know how my parents announced that I was sucking on a placenta in my mum’s womanplace? On the phone, email, or in person. D’you think my dad quit playing guitar for a moment in chapel, walked up to the mic, and said “A shoutout fo ma baby MAMAAA!!” NO! Otherwise that would explain WAY too much about my family. I can imagine, ten years from now:

Kadarshikid: “Daddy, how did you announce my birth?”
Kanye: “Well, son, your Daddy was performing songs with lyrics about exploiting women and drug abuse. But he was getting a bit bored. So he decided to announce your birth by calling your Mommy by the name of ‘Baby Mama’!”
Kardashikid: “Wow cool. I’ll definitely do that with my girlfriend someday. Knock her up after six months and then call her a baby mama.”

1.5.13

 

NO. No matter how airheaded and slutty one may be, thou shalt not call impregnated partner a “baby mama”. Do you know how derogatory that term is? When someone is pregnant, say “oh, my pregnant (spouse/girlfriend/concubine)”, not BABY MAMA. Gah.

That was my first MINDSPLOSION about the Kimye baby. Then I thought “what are they gonna name it?”. Then I made a Facebook post about it.

1.5.13.2

 

And people liked it yayyyyyy.

Although lots of people say that it’s not going to work out between Kim and Kanye, I disagree. I mean, they both have the K-thing going on. They both have egos bigger than the waist size of my old softball coach. Who knows? Maybe… Something Good Can Work.  Now that’s What You Know. And me too. But hey, we’ll see before Next Year. Someday.

*ba-dum-tsss*

*stops making lameass TDCC puns*

Anyways, sorry for Bombin Da Feedz with a bunch of gobbledegook about Kimye. I just needed to write down this stuff in my head *flails*

Oh, and my friend recommended Breaking Bad to me. I didn’t exactly know the plot. Guess who wins the Epic Fail Award for watching it with her mom??

*sighs*

Anyone have any good baby names for Kimye?

x Sabrina

 

School is stupid.

Today was the first day back to school after winter break. Grr. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate school? I haven’t? Well, it’s about time. I feel like I’m talking to a wall, but at least I’m talking. Whatever. Wall, this is why I hate my school.

1. Everyone is friggin’ retarded. I swear to God, most days I feel like shouting “Beam me up, Scotty” because EVERYONE IS STUPID. And some people really can’t help it, and they try to improve upon it. I admire them for it. They’re the nice and good stupid people. But the majority of dumb people at my school seem to LIKE being dumb. Some of them are actually really smart, but they dumb themselves down. For what reason? I have no clue. It’s like, in every class, when a teacher asks a question, I and maybe two other people are the only people to raise their hands. Last year when someone asked a question, everyone raised their hands. I guess it’s “cool” to act stupid nowadays. Ugh. I can’t stand it.

2. I’m near the bottom of the social pyramid. I really can’t say this sucks. Honestly. I’ve come to terms with myself and others and I really am happy with my friends. But, as anyone who hasn’t been living under a rock for most of their lives knows, those who are losers get bullied a bit. And my school isn’t really notorious for bullying. It’s just that me and my friends get gossiped about a LOT. A lot of times we’re openly made fun of for liking Harry Potter or something else, writing or reading a lot, or not wearing makeup or a specific namebrand. Mostly by aforementioned chavs (yay british terms).

3. My teachers kind of annoy me. Not all of my teachers are half bad. Some of them are, in fact, awesome. Example: my science teacher, Mr. Hall, is a HUGE Doctor Who fan and is also an meme-freak. He’s hilarious, and even the popular kids like him. But some… aren’t. Example: my English teacher, Ms. Yachim. Let me give you a visual. Petite. Nasally voice. In her late twenties. Been out of teaching college for an upward of five minutes. Makeup that fossils could be buried in and lash extensions that would make a camel run away. She’s not my favorite. Actually, my least favorite. Ms. Yachim reminds me of some girl who’d gossip about you in the bathrooms and spread rumors about you. I don’t know if it’s me being judgmental or if anyone else feels this vibe, but it just irks me. And her voice is very annoying.

4. Weed. Everyone who falls into the Chavs or Popular Males category thinks that weed is dabomb.com. It isn’t and I’m sick of hearing you talk about your supposed “experiences” with marijuana.

5. COLOGNESPLOSION. A lot of boys believe that they can go days without showering and just spray craploads of Axe or A & F cologne to mask it. It. Doesn’t. Work. It just gives me a headache– a little bit of scent is fine, but when the hallway smells like a college basketball team opened a Hollister, it’s too much. Some guys carry around their cologne in their backpacks. Just stop. Okay? Please.

6. It isn’t Hogwarts.

7. It isn’t Camp Half-Blood.

8. It isn’t in the TARDIS.

9. HOMEWORK. GAH.

So Wall, that is why I hate my school so much.

FUNNY PICTURE OF THE DAY:

25028_449248175123910_611702166_n

 

If you don’t Homestuck, then you’re wrong.

–S

new year’s eve and why it sucks

So sorry, Savannah (unless other people are on here. Hello, other people!!), Mummy Dearest was busy looking up obscure indieish tracks saving baby koalas watching Supernatural doing important things and couldn’t keep up with her bloggity blog thingy. But you need not worry, for it is part of Mummy Dearest’s New Year’s Resolutions to keep her bloggity blog thingy in check, yo. In fact, I have a complete list if you’d like to see them. It doesn’t matter if you want to or not, anyways, I have tied you to a chair and duct-taped your mouth shut.

DR. PROF. SABRINA’S NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS 

because even the most amazing people need to make changes -_-

1. Keep bloggity blog thing in check, yo. Post interestingable stuff on here, daily, and not be boring. *shoots smiley-faced wall* *hopes someone out there understood that reference*

2. Save money to buy iPad. Lol like that’s gonna happen, what with my extreme online shopping addiction.

3. Be social. Where are all the wild parties, the fun movie-going, the group date extravanaganzas? With the not-dorky people where you left them when you started watching Doctor Who, stupid. At least be social with the other fangirls/fanmen out there .-.

4. Be nicerererer to people who don’t deserve nicererererness. Because one day they’ll die and you’ll be like “whyyyy wasn’t I nicerererer to them???”.

5. Also keep deviantartyfarty thingy in check, yo. *shrugs*

Well, I’m going to stop referring to myself as Mummy Dearest because none of you are my children (I am simply the girl who lives in the internet and feeds off Cheetos and leftover ham and I have never nor will ever have children. Mainly because I have a disease known as Nevergonnagetlaid syndrome. But also because birthing, ick) and tell you why New Year’s Eve wasn’t awesome.

You ready?

You sure?

Totally?

I went to a lock-in at CHURCH.

CHURCH.

*facepalm*

TBH, my church really isn’t THAT bad, mainly because I have lots of funny and sweet friends in my youth group, and the kids are cute, and our youth leaders are cool and not at all oldyish or mommyish, but sometimes it’s awk. *wibbles* I don’t really think of myself as Christian anymore, I mainly just go to see my friends nowadays. So this NYE, I had a choice between a) sitting on the couch in my TMNT pyjamas playing Super Mario Bros. whilst my mom drives around getting totally wonkfaced DRINKING RESPONSIBLY, or b) running around an empty church with my friends and downing multiple cans of cheap soda.

I think you can see the clear winner here.

The night started out as it ALWAYS DOES (tis tradition). Dear Sister of Mine decided that it was crucial to veg out on the couch until exactly ten minutes before we were supposed to leave. Then she decided she wanted to go do her all out makeup/hair/clothing routine. Naturally, she demanded the front seat so she could do her makeup. I said no. She decided to bitch about it, then mum got pissed off, then she got pissed off and slammed the door to the car on my arm. Not like, ON it, I was holding it open and she forced my arm back, if you get the picture, no? They had a whole blowout argument thing, and Melanie was sobbing like a child, and I just kinda curled into a little ball of limbs and angst and put my earphones in and listened to Green Day for a bit *wibbles some more*. They argue like, nightly, and I’m sick sick sick of it. It kicked off the night appropriately.

We arrived at church, and Dear Sister of Mine remained in the vehicle to do her makeup, get reprimanded, etc. I met up with some of my buddies and the adults had us circle up for prayer time. Eh… then they went over the “schedule”. I have never been to a lock-in before, so I thought we were just gonna get hyper and crash at around four am. Nope. There was a schedule. AND WE MUST ABIDE BY SAID SCHEDULE, LEST THE LORD ZAP YOU WITH LIGHTNING SHOT FROM HIS HOLY NIPPLES. Thankfully, the schedule kind of went from Sirius Partying With Darts from 7-7:30!!!!11!!!1!!! to Let’s Lounge Around and Play Apples to Apples Whilst Watching The Avengers for the rest of the night. There was no Holy Nipple Lightning involved. Anyways, we all rallied downstairs to play Dartball. How does one play Dartball? I don’t really know. You try to hit these little triangles or circles on the board and sometimes people cheer and sometimes people groan and either way you get scared you might skewer yourself/others with a dart. It went better than I expected and I actually caused quite a bit of cheering for my team and we trash-talked the other team and yay funz. And no skewering either. WIN!

Then we went upstairs to play a game called Sardines. Basically, there’s one or two people who hide in one spot, and everyone tries to find them, and when they do, they squeeze in that spot so they’re like a little sardine sandwich. And you’re supposed to “hunt” in a dark church by yourself. But that didn’t happen. Krystal, Christall, Melanie, and Caroline traversed the hallways like a pack of chattering wildebeests, and didn’t do much looking for peoples. Nicole and Anna and I partnered up both games, and it was actually fun, even if we didn’t play right. Me and Anna went downstairs and since the Downstairs=Underground, it was totally utterly pitch black. And we weren’t allowed to use our flashlights or phones or anything. It was scary and I swear to God And His Holy Lightning Shooting Nipples I thought a demon or a windigo would pop out and make us die a horrid bloody death, but no, we survived. The second game, people were actually down there and ACK I got scared. We had to sit down there in the dark. Not fun. And it really shouldn’t be called Sardines because we didn’t all fit in one spot, we kinda sat on the couches and waited for Slenderman to kill us for people to find us.

After Sardines we played a game called Grog, where someone called the Grog takes apart a flashlight and hides the pieces in plain sight (on tables, chairs, etc.). Then everyone else has to find them, put the flashlight together, and shine it on the Grog. Like in Freeze Tag, the Grog tags people and they have to freeze in place. They also scream really loud when they get tagged. I was good at that part. Chris was the Grog and he scared the crap out of everyone by stomping down the halls like a serial killer or something. When I tried to get out of the hallway he got right in my face, so I used one of the poppers my mom sent along with me for NYE. He sputtered and I ran away. Then he RAGEQUIT because “no one took him seriously meh”. Lol cheers?

Anyways, we ended up ringing in the New Year praying to God And His Holy Lightning Shooting Nipples about what we wanted to do for the New Year’s for Him. When it was my turn I kinda mumbled some stuff about how I wanted to know if he was real or not and it sparked a whole DISCUSHUN OMGZ about how we (the “young adults”) have the Gospel hammered into our heads at a young age and if we reject that, we get so much shart for it. And it’s true. I told my mom I wasn’t that Christian and she broke out in tears. I felt really bad for doing so but she needed to know. And afterwards she started saying that I “needed help” and “we’re going to get you back on track again” and I sort of just made nodding movements and stuff but really? I don’t think anything will happen.

The night pretty much went on uneventfully, we just watched movies and ate cheetos. Half of us fell asleep.

This NYE didn’t really suck as bad as the years before, but still– not a lot of fun. Here’s the New Year’s Hall of Fame:

2012: Watched reruns of CSI: Miami. With Snuggie and a bowl of popcorn.

2010: Hung out in brother’s room playing old video games and eating pizza. Everyone else in said room was under nine.

2009: Given juice boxes by creepy old man. I haven’t seen him at our parties since.

2005: Stuck at neighbor’s house. Neighbor was old and smelled of baby powder and spaghetti sauce. Gave my siblings and I stale graham crackers whilst parents held a party at the house.

Anyways. I hate New Year’s and can’t wait to get drunk.

FUNNY PICTURE OF THE DAY:

Funny Picture of the Day

 

Who else saw Les Mis? It made ME cry. I NEVER EVER EVER cry at movies. EVER.

Peace, my nizzles.

xx Bree

If I had a llama

The following memoranda (memorandi? memorandums? holla at my Grammar Nazis? where are you guys?) shows you what I’d do if I had a llama.

Llama demigod– If I had a llama, I would ride it all the way to Camp Half-Blood instead of seeking out Grover or another satyr for help. It would show everyone what a badass I truly am. And my llama. Because llamas are badass. When I get to Camp Half-Blood I will hop of my llama and run all the way to the Hephaestus cabin, fling open the door dramatically, find Leo Valdez, and proceed to have sex with that fine piece of ass. Then people will throw money at us. When I finish de-flowering the McShizzle, I will use the money that was thrown at me to buy crack. Not for me, but for the llama. So it would forgive me for using it as transportation. Then I will marry Leo Valdez.

Circus llama– If I had a llama, I would surgically attach a white carrot to its face so it looks like a hairy unicorn. Then I will teach my hairy unicorn to do tricks, like standing on one leg, the Bat-Bogey Hex, and the Dougie. I will open a circus and people will pay to see my hairy unicorn do such tricks. I will use the money we earned to buy crack. For the llama, not me. So it doesn’t mind having a white carrot attached to his face for the rest of his life.

John Lennon llama–  If I had a llama, I would buy a pair of round glasses and make my llama wear the glasses. It would summon the spirit of John Lennon and the spirit would possess my llama. Then I would have my llama record a song, and it will go to the top of the charts because John Lennon is possessing my llama. We’ll make more money than the guy who wrote Gangnam Style. With the money we earned I will buy a Camp Half-Blood shirt for me and a Camp Half-Blood shirt for my llama. Then I will have sex with Leo Valdez.

Skrillex llama– If I had a llama, I would take it to a Skrillex concert along with a dart gun and a bunch of Glo-Sticks. I would use the dart gun to shoot Skrillex with elephant tranquilizer so he passes out. While the audience runs amok, I will bring my llama onstage and get him to press the “play” button on his laptop, and the audience will go wild. My llama would be decked out in Glo-Sticks. And everyone will talk about how we saved the day. Tom Felton would be at the concert, and he would come up to me afterwards and be like “Your llama is really awesome, and you’re incredibly sexy.” He would kiss me on the cheek and then I would just die.

Hitman llama– If I had a llama, I would bring it to the Spanish Mafia and have the llama be their hitman. They would pay my llama to kill Justin Bieber and all the members of One Direction. But PLOT TWIST! I would turn them in to the police and say that my llama’s evil twin killed the pop icons. That way we wouldn’t get in trouble. I would use the money we earned to buy Stephanie Meyer and hand her over to the police for ruining humanity’s literary awesomeness. Then I will get some sleep.

Dalai llama– If I had a llama, I would move to Tibet with my friend Anna and we would live there with my llama. We will meet the Dalai Lama, kidnap him, and wipe his memory. Then we would dress my llama in orange bath-towels. My llama would become the spiritual leader of Tibet and kick China’s sorry ass out. Then me and Anna will teach the Dalai Lama how to breakdance. Then I will have sex with Leo Valdez.

Someone needs to buy me a llama.

— Sabrina

 

I got a blog, bitches

So… hello.

Welcome to my blog.

Um.

Well you see, I have an extreme slight case of Socially Awkward-itis, and, evidently, can’t even maneuver a proper blog opening. Blech. And you would have thought that a thirteen-year-old girl who spends half of her waking life staring at a bright screen would come up with a better greeting than “Hello. Welcome to my blog.” Instead, I’m cowering behind my desktop monitor, hitting myself over the head with a pencil for not being more interesting.

Because my life really isn’t that interesting. At all. I mean, sure, there’s always a Holden/Ambara once in a while, then, oh Lawdy, SHIT IS GOING DOWN. But honestly, I got a blog because my friends told me to.

It started in Science class, when we were making Powerpoint Presentations for some water project, when we were measuring how much water we used for a week. God, I hope I will NEVER HAVE TO ENDURE THAT EVER AGAIN. Seriously. The stopwatch I had to use for my shower and stuff… I mean, if there was a stopwatch high school, my stopwatch would be sitting at the table with a nurse and a special counselor hand-feeding him applesauce and wiping the leftovers dribbling from his mouth. It is The Most Retarded Stopwatch In Existence. It’s so retarded, it has a title for it. I mean, most of my days went as followed:

1. Wake up.

2. Set stopwatch.

3. Begin brushing teeth, only to find the damn thing wasn’t timing how long I kept the water on.

4. Press reset. Reset fails. Repeat about ten billion times.

5. Give up and record two minutes on the chart.

6. Go to school. Suffer.

7. Return from school.

8. Try out the stopwatch again. Fail.

9. Sacrifice a clock to the Stopwatch Gods.

10. Positive the Stopwatch Gods are satisfied, try reasoning with the stopwatch again. Double fail.

11. Throw the fucker across the room.

12. Get some sleep.

Anyways, I showed them the list (among other things I came up with that shall be discussed later) and my good friend Savannah (who also goes by the names Agent Beagle, Dinosaur, Professor Doctor, etc.), suggested that I take up blogging. I think. She was gasping for breath that’s what she said, and my other friend, Chloe, emphatically agreed. I used to have a blog, and since it is thoroughly embarrassing to even look at it, I choose not to tell you what it’s called. Soooo I decided to give it a try once again. Yey.

And that is the story of the Conception of the Most Epic Corner of the Interwarbz.

Welcome.

— Sabrina