things that make me happy

I now have a Twilight Sparkle on my desk at work.

Yeah, I’m kind of a brony. And by kind-of, I mean, I adore the show. It’s cute, it’s fun, it’s quick and entertaining. I love all of the characters and most of the episodes. My roommates and I collect the blind-box My Little Pony figurines and it’s becoming a serious problem. This is the first repeat I’ve gotten since December (we normally trade our repeats so everyone has an even collection) and she’s perfect for manning my desk when I’m not around.

I made a pinata.

I MADE THAT! If you’re not from Portland, or don’t know, it’s modeled after a quintessential Portland landmark:

While it’s not exact, the pinata turned out better than I expected, and was a huge hit at the surprise party I helped throw last weekend.
The hardest part was probably cutting the thick, heavy-duty cardboard into the shape of my state.

I’m going to have to make a smaller one, just for myself. I love Portland paraphernalia, and I love stags and pinatas.
It’s a perfect mix of some of my favorite things!
It’s also an excuse to cut more letters out of that fantastic gold paper. I don’t even mind getting covered in glitter because of it!

Frumples has a twitter account.

We’ve discussed Frumples, the dog who hates me, in the past. And I’m pleased to announce that my roommates and I are serious crazy people and also love his little hateful heart so much we made him a twitter.

Follow at your own doggy, hate-inducing risk.

brittneighblackback

bang bang

I’m a little jealous of lifestyle bloggers who have a live-in photographer.

Or those who somehow manage to take adorable cute full body photos of themselves every week, guaranteed. In the meantime, I take stereotypical selfies.

I’m growing out my bangs. Dudes don’t really get this concept. Do they? Do you? The battle of letting your hair grow long and short and cutting and trimming is a never ending saga for most of us. It’s a huge part of the feminine personality. Looks are pretty important, I guess!


See also: I’m trying out purple eyeshadow today and you totally can’t tell.

But yeah, I’m growing out my bangs. Deciding to Grow Them Out is a pretty big decision. Over the past two weeks I have alternated between staring at my forehead, staring at the ratio between my eyebrows and hairline as if I could alter it somehow, and sweeping my hair back and forth in various lengths to determine how I would look with, without, with shorter or longer or spikier bangs. It’s also prompted me to vicariously look through pages and pages of google image searches trying to decide if I like the haircut or the color of the hair. It’s rough!

Life is so hard, you guys. Especially when your hair is always in your face.

R.I.P.

Growing up I was so terrified of ghosts and skeletons that I would stop sleeping around Halloween and just hide under my covers in sheer terror at the thought of a skull-faced monster leering at me.

I’m a little bit better about it now.

I’ve embraced the fashion of bones and skeletons, and don’t hide under my covers anymore… unless I accidentally get sucked into a ghost hunter show while home alone and then have to frantically call up a bunch of friends to have them convince me that I’m not going to be… I don’t know, touched by a ghost or something? I don’t even get why I’m so terrified of the idea of a malignant spirit, but there you go! WHO SAYS I CAN’T BE IRRATIONAL.

On the subject of ghosts, though.

I really really really really really really hope I get to haunt someone. And that it’s just like being alive, only that you’re invisible.

Things I will do when I am a ghost:

  1. Steal all of your shoelaces.
  2. Go “WoooOOOoooooOOOOoooooooo!!!” a lot.
  3. Do loads of laundry when people aren’t home.
  4. Get the owners of my house to rely on me to do their laundry.
  5. Produce a red sock and dye all of their whites pink. (but only ONCE IN A WHILE)
  6. Make faces of dead Presidents appear in shower curtains, bathroom tiles, and pieces of toast.
  7. Rearrange vases, figurines, and photographs innapropriately.
  8. Produce ugly knick-knacks and leave them around the house for the owners to find.
  9. Make the walls shake when the owners get rid of my ugly knick-knacks.
  10. Write nonsensical phrases in the fog on the bathroom mirror. (“O’Doyle RULES!” / “Did you know that turkeys sleep in trees?”)
  11. Meow, periodically.
  12. Convince other ghosts to show up and inaccurately re-enact historical moments in the house, as if they occurred there.

I MEAN, THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS.

well rounded

I don’t understand why when I blog here I feel like I have to have a different voice than I used to when I would blog on LiveJournal. The difference here is that on LJ I didn’t care about anything, and here I think I’d like to come across as a demure, sweet, well-spoken and well-rounded individual, when the reality is that I’m not.

Oh, I can be demure, if I so choose. And sure, I have my moments of sweetness. And every so often, I can state something so awesomely your mouth will drop open in awe.

As for being well-rounded, well, we can’t all be perfect.

This weekend my friends and I went out to the local arcade and played games for a few hours. I am slowly figuring out how to play pinball. (HOW ON EARTH HAVE I NEVER PLAYED THIS BEFORE 2 MONTHS AGO) I’m still not very good at it, but um, it is awesome. I ratted my hair into a giant mess of an attempt at a faux-hawk and wore spiky earrings. I proved that I could still score a 226 perfect chain in Dance Dance Revolution and felt like a super huge nerd for being able to do so.

I’ve learned in the last few months that I’m not really a gamer. Sure, I like the idea of games, and I think that games are really awesome! But I’m terrible at them. I have a hard time being a good sport at something I don’t really understand or have the reflexes for. I’m getting better, but still, games like Pac Man, or even the original Mario are pretty impossible for me to enjoy. I can still have a great time, though, and I had a lot of fun watching my friend Mike play the original TRON game (and put his name in the top 10 scores list!).

I think that I want to get better at pinball. How does one get better at pinball? All I know is that I’m going to have to invest a lot of quarters.

Frumples, the dog who hates me

This is Frumples, the dog who hates me.

Isn’t he adorable? Frumples is the most hilarious dog because he can’t help but be a terribly adorable miniature American Eskimo on the outside. On the inside he has the soul of a black eyeliner-wearing, gothic poetry loving, hateful teenager.


Crawling in my skiiiin, These wooounds they willll not healllll

You see, I am 100% a dog person. I have loved dogs my entire life. I’ve always been that person who wants to steal your dog for a day and play fetch at the park. At times it seems like I measure times in my life by the dogs I’ve known. I can’t help it, when I see their faces and their big eyes I just want to smoosh their faces and hug their furry necks.

Eskimos are kind of known for having a very small pack. That means that while they generally love about 2-3 people with their whole being, they aren’t very fond of the rest of the world.

Not only do I have to deal with Frumples’s genetic disposition, but we also have the fact that a) he’s a rescue dog, so he’s extra shy around new people, and b) that I inadvertently tripped his mother once or something I don’t know, he hates me extra hard.


As soon as we’re done here, I’m going back to my bed and re-reading The Phantom of the Opera.

Every time I come in the door he barks like a maniac: “OH NO NOT YOU AGAIN”. After about three and a half hours of being home he MIGHT come near me and give me a reluctant sniff.

If I call him over, he’ll step a foot in my direction, and then about face and hide underneath my roommate’s bed.

While he willingly does tricks and takes treats from my roommates, generally speaking, if I’m holding the cookie, he decides he didn’t want one after all, and then goes and hides underneath my roommate’s bed.

My favorite moments are when my roommates get him riled up and racing around my apartment. He will race from person to person and do a little dance of excitement, huffing and yipping all the while. It is adorable and hilarious. The best part is that when I try to join in, and he screeches to a halt, glares at me, and then trots off to hide under my roommate’s bed.


Must… bite… egg…

My life has become a never-ending series of attempts to get this dog to love me. Peanut butter and cookies aren’t working, as are walks. If I put the leash on him (if I can get close enough), he proceeds to wind himself under chairs and tables so he’s trapped inside.

Thankfully my roommates realize that this is all due to his temperament, and no actions of mine.

I’m convinced that SOMEDAY I will get him to love me.
In the meantime, I get my revenge by having my roommates bribe him with treats, and taking photos of him.


I hate everything, but most of all… you.