Welcome.

Have you ever wondered where that word came from, aside from a medieval version of willed comer? (No comments, kiddos.) All those placemats? (By the way, autocorrect wanted me to say "placentas.") Is it like, "well, come on in old boy!"?

Well, come on in to the Internet's brightest, finest, freshest, au courant blog not on the market. That's right--I just popped this byte of cyberspace's cherry. Glad the gang could join in. 

Blogged, I have before. (And only recently have I finally experienced Star Wars, stormtroopers.) If you've followed me here, which you haven't, you'll know I tend to go off on side tangents: note that [brackets] and (parentheses) are red flags for said digression. I'm starting a new one because I finally have a title for the project I've been thinking about for a while--that is, obnoxiously, egotistically turning my life into collection of various kinds of media online. Though you should know this is more for me than you; I am in hypochondriactic belief that my 2.5-months-from-twenty year old body has Alzheimer's (and I don't take that disease lightly, mind you).

You, hopefully, can see the adroit title of this blog above. If you like it, I totally thought of it myself. If you think it's the dumbest shit ever, ma meilleur amie from college actually thought of it. I'll break the rules of creative writing and go extra-expository on you, giving you unnecessary auxiliary information: the reasoning for the pun of the title relates to the fact that I have been ad nauseum told that I look like the lead from My Life as Liz, an awkward show on MTV. 

My intentions, by the way, of these abhorrent, italicized "a" words (along with an occasionally French term you'll soon enough know the point of) is a mockery. I'm not actually an asshole. Then again, maybe I am. 

So the plan here is simple: turn my life into an electronic diary, if you will. A modern day version of Anne Frank. --Too soon?-- You could call me out as an asshole for not frankly saying blog, but that's not all this will be. Videos, drawings, memes, words, pictures--this is more than just a blog. This is the closest thing I'll ever have to a magnum opus. This is my precious. So follow me through technology.

Let's get to know each other a bit. I hear you can judge a person (because we're all God here in America, yeah?) based on who they spend their time with; after all, like they say, you choose your friends…right? And here at a university in the south, I spend three-quarters of my time stuck to the hip of whoever I got landed with as a roommate freshman year. Therefore, meet previously mentioned best (college) friend, Alissa:

While this comes off as posed, I assure you it was entirely genuine. I did, however, preface the video with: give me a sentence that sums up both your personality and our entire relationship. What happened next was: "Actually, I don't really feel like a Frosty. I'd really like to, you know, go to Sonic, where they have those mini-things--" her hands make a measurement about the size of her rat, Pedro "--you know…those…mini-things…"

I stopped Alissa right then and there. I had just taken my Psychology Research Methods final a mere four hours before, and I knew all about the foot-in-the-door technique. [I'm not even making that up. It's a real thing. Wikipedia it.] I was not falling for that trap; it had gone from 99 cents to Elaine-Stricht-knows-how-much. 

There you have it. My relationship with my BFF correlates with how much money she makes a jobless college student spend, along with how much she can make fun of her order in the Quiznos line--only to be knocked down by my psychopathic genes and words of spite. 

From now on, after this overweight first born child of an intro entry, I'll do my best to be a strong Solomon and trim the tasty fat off the edges, so you're more likely to bear with me till the end. Who knows? Maybe I'll have a story worth telling.