Been a long time since I've written a journal, eh? *shakes head* Like many of you care, right? Another Journal showing up in your inboxes is just another thing for you to roll your eyes at and wonder why the hell you read them anyways. I'm guessing most of my watchers don't even watch for my journals, anyways; most of you probably adjusted your settings so you only get my art, which you don't even fave or comment on anyways. ^{Yes, I AM talking to all of you NOT reading my journal! I am calling your lazy asses out! Meet me at the edge of town at high-noon and we'll settle this the old fashioned way- WITH PISTOLS AND LIQUOR!!!} Meh, I'll admit it, I LOVE comments. I love talking to people. I love hearing responses from friends and strangers alike, especially knowing that I've made people laugh _{or scared them shitless,} so dropping a line is doing me a great kindness~ Of course, while reading this, you are probably rolling your eyes STILL wondering why you're reading journal. Frankly, now I'M wondering why you're reading this journal... The government put you up to this, didn't they? *stares*

Okay, okay, enough of that. There's only so much conspiracy theory one person can take. What's another topic I can bore you all to death with? ...Oh, I got it, school. The ultimate soul-sucking agent responsible for raping kids' minds and leaving them drooling zombies of society.

It's been a busy two months getting back into the groove of university. Everyone who attends any kind of school knows the deal- it's basically a conspiracy to see what can drive you crazy first, your crazy-ass professors, or the work they decide to assign you. Which is all miraculously due THE SAME DAY. Not that I'm complaining, really. I've been getting my already-disturbingly-big ego stroked for the last few weeks as I get back essays and midterms to see that I have maintained my genius status through near-perfect marks. I'm not humble about it, I admit it; I worked shit-fuckin' hard for my marks, so I think it's only right that I get to have a little fun, dance around, and say "Yeah, damn right, I AM amazing." Of course, I wake up every morning telling myself that, so me being amazing is basically my default setting. And, when I have such a colourful cast of profs this semester, how can I complain? One did his undergrad on Barbie dolls and his Masters on Cowboy & Indian toys; one is basically the real life version of Indiana Jones, complete with crocodile wrestling and fake leg; one is just a nutty batcase who wanders into class always wondering if she's on time, and then asks what class she's teaching; one is a high school dropout who worked as a professional clown before deciding he wanted to earn more money and went back to school, and lastly, one teaches Human Sexuality. Enough said. I love my life. Everything about it _{except those bastard rats I'm forced to admit relation to... effing brothers, I'll kill them one of these days...} is great~

_{If anyone hasn't noticed by now, I suffer from a severe case of too much self-esteem. It's symptoms include bloated ego, swelled pride, lack of shame, and excessive indulgence into one's own epicness. It is a rare condition amongst females today, who often suffer from another fatal condition known as no-self-esteem. Luckily, I have built up an AWESOME immunity to it. Sadly, there is no cure for too much self-esteem. I'll have to suffer from it for the rest of my life. Whatever gods, goddesses, or totems you pray to, pray to them for me- TELL THEM HOW AWESOME I AM- *ahem* ...I mean... Um... Nah, nevermind, just tell them how awesome I am.}

Now that I have all of that out of the way, I think it's time for one of my old family stories, don't you think? *nods to myself* Oh yes, it's been far too long since I've shared a story. I bet you've all been DYING for a new story. *rolls eyes at sarcasm* Okay, here we go:

So, this is the story of the day my mother brought my father home to meet Delmer, my grandfather. Now, this doesn't seem very extraordinary to anyone- meeting the parents happens all the time, every day, and the world hasn't ended yet. But, what you all must understand is my mother comes from a very usual family. Unusual in ways you can probably never understand, unless you're related to me, and then you know too well and I pity you for it. But blood feuds, mistresses, sheep in the basement, and headless roosters aside, we'll just say bringing anyone to the old farm house homestead will always remain an event in and of itself.

Walking in the front door and turning into the living room, my mother-to-be and father-to-be were greeted by the sight of Delmer sitting in his favourite chair. This should not alarm anyone, for usually if one has a favourite chair, they sit in it. Of course, Delmer just happened to be incredibly drunk at the time, because this was 20 years ago in the Maritimes, and everyone 20 years ago in the Maritimes was an alcoholic. Come to think of it, even today, a lot of people are still alcoholics here. *sigh* It's basically a default setting. Of course, Delmer was also naked. Well, naked aside from the bright-red pair of underwear he was wearing. But underwear usually doesn't count as clothes, so for the purposes of this story he was naked.

Except, his underwear was not all he had. Oh no, for Delmer also had a large turtle tucked under one of his arms, and a very large knife in the other.

My mother, rather used to coming home to stranger sights, simply asked, "Dad, what are doing?"

Delmer, of course, answered with the most obvious answer in the history of answers: "I'm gonna live forever."

My mother, bless her, dared to ask on this fateful naked-father-in-a-chair day, "And how you gonna do that, dad?"

The turtle was raised as if it were the Holy Grail of all turtles. Or perhaps it was The Turtle, the one that Stephen King refers to in his books as the god of all gods and is so amazing, even though I can't read his books because they scare the shit out of me so I only know about this from Wikipedia.

"I'm gonna live forever by carving my name in the back of this turtle."

And so he did.

Ironically, he died a few years later driving a tractor, which hit a ditch, and he fell in. And then the tractor fell in.

But let's not dwell on that, because there is a turtle out there with Delmer's name on it, so he is not truly gone, but serving as some awesome tattoo that a he-turtle is showing off to all the impressed she-turtles and telling them it means "peace" or "love" or whatever other turtle-y things he'd like it to say.

And, of course, my own father-to-be was not completely traumatized by this experience, because he married my mother. Or maybe he really was traumatized and that's what made him marry her...
Wow, that explains so much about my life... O_o



*Ahem* Well, the moral of the story today, kiddos, is : Don't marry into my family. For the love of all that you hold dear, don't marry into my family!!!! Turtles. That is all.