After an exhausting day (when I say “exhausting”, I mean I-can’t-feel-my-legs and my-bag-is-soaked-from-my-wet-clothes-caused-by-my-faucet-sweat exhausting, and not exaggerating what seems to be just “tiring” like most people do, because yes, there is a huge difference) I came home to find this red, embossed bump right below my right breast. It was perfectly shaped too…like a skinny cockroach without the head and antenas.  It didn’t really bother me much until it started hurting. It was a familiar hurt (I’m sure you’ve felt it too) but something I can’t explain in words. Well at least not now since I’m on zombie mode. It was a mysterious, unspecified damage on the dermis of my skin that came out of nowhere that there was only one explanation I could think of….that I, Colleen Javier (also known as “Bob”) was bitten (if not entered) by some sort of creature that will eventually turn me into a super hero. (Notice how I say this with much casualty and humility, because I mean, I’m trying to keep it on the down low.) I’ve been waiting for this night ever since I was seven. 

You see when I was a lot younger, and a lot more innocent, and maybe ignorant yet blissful, I (can’t believe I’m admitting this but here it goes) used to think EVERYONE was an alien and that God sent me in this world to kill them (all of them) to make way for the real humans to take form. Indeed I was delusional for a second (or am I? Oooh) but observing my father in the car one day, and trying to examine what I thought was his alien ways, I thought to myself that I couldn’t kill my own father. I mean he was nice. He bought me bubbles. 

So that’s the end of my story. Kidding. I guess the moral of the story is that you guys should all feel lucky that I decided not to kill you all and that you are humans (not aliens) therefore, you only have one life. One world. One planet. Live it. Take care of it. Anyway the venom is not still not kicking and I’m not a super hero yet. Hmm. Screw that, I’m going to sleep. (So that’s the end of my story. Not kidding.)

“Control yourself. Take only what you need from it.” -Kids (MGMT)

A black sharpie. Smelling it gives me a tingly feeling. 

It’s been almost two years since I’ve been here and I really have nothing dumbfounding to say except for; “Let’s get this sh*t started.” (Again). 

In the beginning, there was Adam and Eve.

I’ve always wondered, what if Eve didn’t eat the apple? Then we would all be walking around butt naked and none of us would care. We don’t have to worry about what to wear or if this top goes with this socks. Don’t get me wrong, I do love clothes. What I don’t really love however, is wearing a bra. (If dirty thoughts come to your mind right now then you are officially a pervert and you should be ashamed of yourself). Bras are basically a thin strap of evilness with two cups (size may vary) that is made to destroy women’s taste of freedom. (Yes, I believe women are truly free when they’re not wearing a bra). I remember wearing my first REAL bra. It’s was very uncomfortable and I wasn’t a very happy pre teen. It can be tight and suffocating. I mean, thank god my breasts aren’t claustrophobic. I’m quite used to it by now of course, although the feeling of unhooking this evil piece of clothing before I shower or sleep is still totally amazing. It’s like freeing butterflies from a dark, scary box. So yeah…that’s it for now and my secret dislike for wearing bras.

Cheers to my first blog!

*P.S.: Wearing a bra is highly proper for almost all females and can actually be “sexy” if used in an extra awesome way.*