Awkward Everyday Stuff

I have this puzzle I made. I bet you something valuable (and tangible to which I can deliver) on the line that no one will ever solve this puzzle. Anyone can who can view blogs and post replies in this blog post are allowed to participate. You just need to have the motivation to catch my furtiveness and may even need to do some research if you haven't tread this world. It doesn't matter if you're a staff member, regular member, advanced, or private. Eyeing this blog post overtime for new revelations from other members may help you solve the puzzle first. Can you solve this mystery?

 

I'll help you out. You can ask YES/NO Questions and I will pick and choose. Get the truth out of me--hopefully intelligently.

 

Don't be intimidated by numbers. You have both strength and friends in numbers.

 

RULES:

• To win, you must write out the three fill-ins of the crossword in any order in one post in this blog.
• Anyone can ask YES/NO questions to get clues in solving this puzzle.
• No one person can ask a YES/NO question twice in a row, however, asking a question at every other turn is permitted.
• I am obligated to answer a YES/NO question for every three of such asked.
• However, I can choose which YES/NO question to answer out of the pool. For example, after three questions, I would answer the any of the three, but after the six questions, I can answer any of the six, excluding the ones I previously answered.
• You can ask any type of questions as well, but I'm not obligated to answer them, but I can if I want to.
• If you catch me lying at any point regarding a response to a question and provide an explanation correctly defining my lie, then you automatically win and the puzzle ends without needing to find the solution.
• There is no time limit on this puzzle, but if I'm gone from Codex for an extended time, assume the worse on this puzzle.
• The prize gets better with time, but I will never publicly say what it is.
• Never PM me about this puzzle. I follow this blog entry and will check it when I get notifications. Click "Follow this entry" on the top right of the title bar to get updates.

Good luck.

 

 

 

 

My editor told me my last submission was... crap. Bless his no-filter heart.

 

Two major reason reasons for the crappiness:

• the lack of magic I'm willing the reader to work with (they need more substance, less concept--too much tell, not enough show)
• characters are three dimensional, however too simplistic

 

So he forwarded me this writing game, to which he explained having often given it to authors who have zero idea about what to write. Thanks, Dave. It doesn't have a name. He just copy&pasted the rules without even copying and pasting the title or example. The rest of the email was written in the same dark green verdana text format as the rules. Bless his rush job emails.

 

I'll temporarily call it the "6 Ways to Die" Game. To all those homicidal enthusiasts out there, the game does not has as much killing as you would expect unless you want it to. I just typed whatever dice-related pun comes to mind.

 

To start off you, write a character name and an action (active or passive), but it must encompass a basic conflict you want any story to start off as.

 

For example:

 

Dave the editor struggles between security and vulnerability.

 

Then I roll a die. Each side of the die corresponds to the 5W's + How.

 

1 = Who
2 = What
3 = Where
4 = When
5 = Why
6 = How

 

I rolled a five, so I then I must answer a "why" component (it can address any point) in relation to the previous statement and add it to the sentence.

 

Dave the editor struggles between security and vulnerability because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness.

 

I roll again. A six. How.

 

Dave the editor struggles between security and vulnerability because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade.

 

A four. When. Notice how I don't always address to the last addition when answering a question.

 

Dave the editor struggles between security and vulnerability in his late twenties and early thirties because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade.

 

A five. Again. Why.

 

Dave the editor struggles between security and vulnerability in his late twenties and early thirties because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade.

 

A one. Who.

 

Dave the single, smoke addict editor struggles between security and vulnerability in his late twenties and early thirties because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade.

 

A one. Again. Who.

 

Dave the single, smoke-addicted editor struggles between security and vulnerability in his late twenties and early thirties because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade like his eldest brother.

 

Another five. Why.

 

Dave the single, smoke-addicted editor struggles between security and vulnerability in his late twenties and early thirties because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade like his eldest brother because his eldest brother was the strong-willed and cold breadwinner in their childhood.

 

Three. Where.

 

Dave the single, smoke-addicted editor in Greenwich struggles between security and vulnerability in his late twenties and early thirties because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade like his eldest brother because his eldest brother was the strong-willed and cold breadwinner in their childhood.

 

Six. How.

 

Dave the single, smoke-addicted editor struggles between security and vulnerability in his late twenties and early thirties because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade like his eldest brother because his eldest brother was the strong-willed and cold breadwinner through various odd-jobs in their childhood.

 

Two. What. I would like to mention I take a lot of liberties as to how I answer these questions.

 

Dave the single, smoke-addicted editor struggles between security and vulnerability in his late twenties and early thirties because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade like his eldest brother because his eldest brother was the strong-willed and cold breadwinner through various odd-jobs in their fatherless and poverty-stricken childhood.

 

Five. Why.

 

Dave the single, smoke-addicted editor struggles between security and vulnerability in his late twenties and early thirties because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade like his eldest brother because his eldest brother was the strong-willed and cold breadwinner through various odd-jobs in their fatherless and poverty-stricken childhood because his mother was in an eternal bout of depression and drug abuse.

 

Two. What.

 

Dave the single, smoke-addicted editor struggles between security and vulnerability in his late twenties and early thirties because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade like his eldest brother because his eldest brother was the strong-willed and cold breadwinner through various odd-jobs in their fatherless and poverty-stricken childhood because his mother was in an eternal bout of depression and drug abuse up until the unfortunate accident.

 

Four. When.

 

Dave the single, smoke-addicted editor struggles between security and vulnerability in his late twenties and early thirties because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade like his eldest brother because his eldest brother was the strong-willed and cold breadwinner through various odd-jobs in their fatherless and poverty-stricken childhood because his mother was in an eternal bout of depression and drug abuse up until the unfortunate accident during his first year of college.

 

Two. What.

 

Dave the single, smoke-addicted editor struggles between security and vulnerability in his late twenties and early thirties because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade like his eldest brother because his eldest brother was the strong-willed and cold breadwinner through various odd-jobs in their fatherless and poverty-stricken childhood because his mother was in an eternal bout of depression and drug abuse of morphine up until the unfortunate accident during his first year of college.

 

Five. Why. Again, LOTS of liberties.

 

Dave, the single and smoke-addict from all the subliminal movie advertisements, editor struggles between security and vulnerability in his late twenties and early thirties because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade like his eldest brother because his eldest brother was the strong-willed and cold breadwinner through various odd-jobs in their fatherless and poverty-stricken childhood because his mother was in an eternal bout of depression and drug abuse of morphine up until the unfortunate accident during his first year of college.

 

Six. How.

 

Dave, the single and smoke-addict as a result of all the subliminal movie advertisements, editor struggles between security and vulnerability in his late twenties and early thirties with failed romances and diminishing friendships because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade like his eldest brother because his eldest brother was the strong-willed and cold breadwinner through various odd-jobs in their fatherless and poverty-stricken childhood because his mother was in an eternal bout of depression and drug abuse of morphine up until the unfortunate accident during his first year of college.

 

Six. How. Again.

 

Dave, the single and smoke-addict as a result of all the subliminal movie advertisements, editor struggles between security and vulnerability in his late twenties and early thirties with failed romances and diminishing friendships because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade like his eldest brother because his eldest brother was the strong-willed and cold breadwinner through various odd-jobs in their fatherless and poverty-stricken childhood because his mother was in an eternal bout of depression and drug abuse of morphine up from self-loathing and incompetency until the unfortunate accident during his first year of college.

 

Three. Where.

 

Dave, the single and smoke-addict as a result of all the subliminal movie advertisements of lower Greenwich, editor struggles between security and vulnerability in his late twenties and early thirties with failed romances and diminishing friendships because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade like his eldest brother because his eldest brother was the strong-willed and cold breadwinner through various odd-jobs in their fatherless and poverty-stricken childhood because his mother was in an eternal bout of depression and drug abuse of morphine up from self-loathing and incompetency until the unfortunate accident during his first year of college.

 

Five. Why.

 

Dave, the single and smoke-addict as a result of all the subliminal movie advertisements of lower Greenwich, editor struggles between security and vulnerability in his late twenties and early thirties with failed romances and diminishing friendships because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade like his eldest brother because his eldest brother was the strong-willed and cold breadwinner through various odd-jobs in their fatherless and poverty-stricken childhood from an area rich with gang violence and poor social care because his mother was in an eternal bout of depression and drug abuse of morphine up from self-loathing and incompetency until the unfortunate accident during his first year of college.

 

Two. What (FINALLY, I CAN PROGRESS WITH THE STORYLINE)

 

Dave, the single and smoke-addict as a result of all the subliminal movie advertisements of lower Greenwich, editor struggles between security and vulnerability in his late twenties and early thirties with failed romances and diminishing friendships because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade like his eldest brother because his eldest brother was the strong-willed and cold breadwinner through various odd-jobs in their fatherless and poverty-stricken childhood from an area rich with gang violence and poor social care because his mother was in an eternal bout of depression and drug abuse of morphine up from self-loathing and incompetency until the unfortunate accident during his first year of college when his eldest brother committed suicide.

 

Four. When.

 

Dave, the single and smoke-addict as a result of all the subliminal movie advertisements of lower Greenwich, editor struggles between security and vulnerability in his late twenties and early thirties with failed romances and diminishing friendships because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade like his eldest brother because his eldest brother was the strong-willed and cold breadwinner through various odd-jobs in their fatherless and poverty-stricken childhood from an area rich with gang violence and poor social care because his mother was in an eternal bout of depression and drug abuse of morphine up from self-loathing and incompetency until the unfortunate accident during his first year of college when his eldest brother committed suicide during a time when money was hard to come by and only less-than-ideal opportunities were left.

 

Okay so then you repeat this process until you're distracted and want to quit or feel so invested that you can't wait to roll the die to add another point to the story. In this case, let's pretend I'm facing the latter. To close off, I like this game, because it forces me to ask questions that I am often just fucking around. Makes me think what the readers would like to know.

 

Dave, the single and smoke-addict as a result of all the subliminal movie advertisements of lower Greenwich imposing tobacco use and unrealistic relationship development, editor struggles between security and vulnerability in his late twenties and early thirties with failed romances and diminishing friendships because he was groomed into believing that being open was akin to weakness with all his reputable models maintaining a macho facade like his eldest brother because his eldest brother was the strong-willed and cold breadwinner through various odd-jobs in their fatherless and poverty-stricken childhood from an area rich with gang violence and poor social care because his mother was in an eternal bout of depression and drug abuse of morphine up from self-loathing and incompetency until the unfortunate accident during his first year of college when his eldest brother committed suicide during a time when money was hard to come by and only less-than-ideal opportunities were left because his eldest brother faced a wall where he, himself, needed help and was trapped in this toxic mentality to the point of swallowing a bullet which left the entire family in dire economic pitfall with the exception of Dave who became independent, funding his own college education through part time jobs in the printing and publishing industry as a lowly errand boy or factory worker and when faced between quitting his schoolwork to support his mother or abandoning her to pursue his own self-interests, he chose the latter because for one, he knew she was pretty well-off with a living space despite being supported with paltry amounts of money from the government, and two, he feels incapable and inadequate to fill his brothers shoes, so he just leaves her in the hands of people he trust without saying a word to her mother at the funeral because in the end, he can't express his feelings of remorse and weakness to her.

 

And that's how you plot out chapter one.

1. Given that Hell does exist, mine would strap me into a chair and force me to watch every moment of my mortal life without a break, in repeat.

 

2. I have six people in Codex I want to apologize to but there's something, whether by weakness, fear, or inferiority complex, I have always found a seemingly legitimate reason to not do so.

 

3. A young boy's first true sight was of my face behind a mask. I wished his first vision was something more meaningful like that of his mother's face.

 

4. I'm at a point in my life where it's pointless to consciously show off and accept that it's okay to live as what I choose as okay. I've never been more grateful.

 

5. I have too many people that love me and it bugs me that I can't love them back.

 

6. If I were to die in the next minute and only had a pen and a sticky note to leave something behind for the world, I would make a small paper airplane and name it whatever comes to my mind at the last moment.

 

7. Wishes have expiration dates.

I was reading on all the course materials for next semester (i.e. syllabus, required texts, clinical dates, conference schedules) on Blackboard. On the clinical spreadsheet, it showed who was with what hospital/institution/doctor. I found my name and I'm scheduled for Mondays at 7AM. Bummer, but I'll live. I looked through the list to see if I'm grouped with my friends (or people I particularly don't have an affinity to because I don't particularly mind them). I couldn't find Enzo's name. I double checked the list and counted the rows of students and counted one less person.

I had to assume the worst. He dropped out.

I want to assume that Doc Scherf made left this mistake remain for over a month despite being the neurotic and OCD person he is. One time he deducted one point off my pharmacology exam grade for scribbling away at an incorrect date instead of with a single strike through line.

So I'm right here at 2:50 AM just panicking because Enzo was one of the few people I would definitely never hesitate in saying he is my friend (I have a severe fear of intimacy and the label itself repulses me). When we first entered the program, we didn't talk much but the desperation to not fail out with nothing to show for it except for student loan debt brought us together. We even promised each other that the moment we feel like we're slipping in our work and studies, we (along with everyone else in our circlejerk of psychiatry students) wouldn't second guess of pounding the alarm for an emergency study group. We have no lives outside our school anyway. And believe me, our ''Coffee or Die" sessions were frequent and stressful but everyone benefited from them. We taught each other and that made the world of difference. Because of the times I helped my friends out, I even considered a possibility of being (on top of practice) a college psychology or even psychiatry professor because I enjoy teaching and hearing myself talk and people are (for the most part) motivated to listen and learn.

But back to Enzo. I knew he was not at the top of his game with the spring semester. He was getting by but barely. What bothered me the most was that it felt like he was self-defeated before the first day of the semester in January. He went to study groups, but never initiated them (which he normally did) and he basically started to fall off the face of my very narrow Earth. When we did clinicals and research presentations, he would do well in those so I would assume that every other evaluation or examination would reflect the same level of proficiency.

Even though I am fully convinced he dropped out, I refuse to think he failed out. Even though our class started with 30 students. Even though many people dropped out after the first test. Even when the wait-list people got in. Even when one of the wait-list people dropped out at the end of the first semester.

But it sucks

So badly.

I have his number. My phone record is 97% from my study group in both group texts and phone calls. If you have an iPhone, you can understand that I can keep scrolling pages and page from my own personal texts with him from all the way since July for our orientation. I just did so and his first text to me is "Ayyyyyyyy -Enzo". I probably miscounted the y's but that's not the point.

I know it's late in the night for me right now but I don't have the heart or mind to ask him about why he isn't listed in the schedule.

Being the very self-aware person I am, I know that I can handle the bad news (if he really did drop out) and make every effort to still be friends and keep in contact, but I refuse to make the first step in contacting him because I can't accept that he did drop out and would either (1) rather wait for him to confront me about it because I'm a wuss when it comes to people I give a shit about or (2) believe that I can do nothing because this could just be a possible mistake from the Doc and everything will fix itself to what it was before or better when everyone returns.

I don't know what to do.

That's a lie.

I do know what to do and how to face it.

I just don't want to face the matter on my own

• I wrote this impulsively because @Shannon made her blog recently and a part of me feels spiteful that her life recently is so interesting and another part of me always instigates pissing contests at any given opportunity.
• I have at least 28 minutes of performance recordings onsale on iTunes.
• I like to lie most of the time when it comes to any strategic planning and whenever it goes very conveniently well, I claim as if it was all planned.
• I have an illogical and emotional repulsion to lamp shades, but not the actual light-producing lamps themselves.
• My confidence is a product of delusions of grandeur compounded with extraordinary, inhumane talent and being chosen since I was young for something big.
• I primarily use NeoCodex as the only outlet of my introverted self because my real life wouldn't let that side come to light.
• I'm 6 pounds over my BMI and I have no motivation to lose that weight. Just to clarify, I have no muscle weight.
• I can stand being covered from head to tow with tarantulas, but dragonflies scare the shit out of me.
• I am tsunamimarauders. This is a waste of a bullet.
• I believe power (political, economical, social) is never produced. It is relinquished.
• If it seems like I'm making myself look like a bad person, it is actually all a ruse to hide the fact that I can't be emotionally vulnerable and the disgusting things I say about myself are simply distractions from that fact.
• I cringe at the times people call me a bro, on the inside of course. That is not my life.
• I believe people are wrong when they say I have a corrupt ulterior motives to whatever I do. I'd rather think of it as a co-motivator.
• The only reason why I immigrated to American when I was four compared to the true geniuses in my family is because a medical opportunity opened up America I couldn't get access to in the Philippines. I think my parents souls their souls for that opportunity.
• I spent $1300 into publishing a book when I was 21, and the profits never helped me break even.
• I went to a hospital today and saw a picture of a patient and quite possibly a Codexian. It would be cool if it were really the Codexian I think it was--but not in the way of them suffering because someone they love is in the ward, but from just thinking how everything is interconnected in one way or another. It's a small world, after all (or not).
• I acknowledge I probably broke HIPAA laws with the point above, but then again, I was a visitor and not a practicing health care professional student this time around. Maybe I did. I really don't know if this is slander or not.
• I think my ulterior motive for this blog post is for one specific person to read this and feel horribly conflicted. I am a petty, passive aggressive and a bitter person, at times.
• I don't see making that one person feel conflicted as a bad thing, but the exact opposite. The rest of the reference people, I really don't care for.
• Even after two weeks, I have Vicki's song from Community's paintball episode of season 6 stuck in my head.
• I enjoy adept and premeditated lying at the right times because the thrill of possibly getting caught ups my game and gets my black heart beating.
• I hate movies as an artistic medium.
• I unintentionally smell people and memorize their scents if they walk by close enough.
• My immediate fear is being proved wrong.
• My eternal fear is being condemned with a certain end with no power to change it or make whatever is left the best it could be.
• "Soup That Is Too Hot" is both my favorite CAH card and my biggest pet peeve with non-living things.
• I say to people I've done drugs before to seem cool, but I haven't. The closest thing I've gotten close to doing opioids is eating a poppy seed bagel.
• The one combination of words I hate the most is "I'm fine."
• I rather don sweats in the summer than get bitten by bugs at night.
• When I type, I think phonetically. I type what the syllable sounds like than the actual spelling. Most of the time it works for me, sometimes it doesn't. If it weren't for spellcheck, I'd be doomed. I think this way because I know four languages and three out of the four of them spell as they sound with very minimal exceptions. Fuck you, the English language.
• I had Codex sex dreams before.
• My Snapchats are very crazy, especially if you've have a video one before. Consider yourself lucky if you did receive one.
• I wear a tailored back brace for all my life (not to mention going to the PT monthly) and because of that, I can't go to the gym or run that much. I ride a bike for most of my exercise.
• Even though I post a lot, I consider myself a lurker. I don't actually post when I peruse Codex most of the time.
• My first girlfriend dated me because she thought I was gay. She's a lesbian and originally used me (as I did her) to make our parents shut up about dating when we were both in high school.
• I love all John Rutter music. My all time favorite selection from him is his Suite for Strings because it was the first difficult music I played in my high school's chamber orchestra and overbearing nostalgia trumps sound reasoning.
• My right wisdom tooth is 30% cracked off. I haven't went to the dentist since October and I don't exactly need to go. Despite what all medical literature state, I think it's fine because it'll be removed anyway.
• I have 8 Codexian's phone numbers and/or Snapchats. I haven't contacted anyone in over a week because reasons explained in Number #39.
• I think way too much into internet relationships and dwell on too much rationale as to not talk to anyone online. I should though because of the explanation in Number #40.
• I truly believe harmful, unfamiliar or distant company is better than self-perpetuated isolation.
• I bought 5 pounds of Willy Wonka's Chewy Spree and it arrived last Tuesday. It is now 3 pounds and 11 ounces. I don't share my candy.
• The reason why I didn't want to spearhead Team Codex this year is because I took the Altador Cup a little too seriously last year and it hurt myself and a few others as well (the anti-ACG complainers don't count).
• I recently became so jaded to people sharing their deepest secrets to me that I just wanted say to them "go suck on a moderately-filled bag of dicks and fuck off"--but in a professional, non-aggressive way, and from a place of love. I think I'm starting my sociopathic phase now.
• I love a pint of Friendly's Vienna Mocha Chunk ice cream more than I do for most of the people I see everyday.
• I still habitually write 2014 when I date my papers. So now, the year number always ends with a weird 4 that has a 5 scribbled on top that eventually looks like a digital 9.
• I never post or comment or like or friend in Facebook anymore because it makes me depressed knowing the few people I actually care about are more successful than I am and that I'd rather not see shameless selfies of people I bonded over with in state and national conferences but never talked ever again.
• I just logged into Facebook for the first time in a while and found out my high school friend (we weren't all that close, but I would actually sit next to them in lunch than sit alone) who lives like a 20 minute walk from my parents house committed suicide two weeks ago. Everyone is paying their respects to the family members and her fiance who are enduring this time of hardship.
• I feel like a total ass right now after seeing what I wrote in this blog post. Number #47 puts things into perspective and make me wake up to the fact that writing something like this is a waste of time. I should have accepted a family friend's offer to eat out tonight than watch a stupid season finale of a show I lost interested in halfway through.
• Damn, I feel really really bad now. The funeral already happened on Saturday and I wished I went.
• I was going to end this on a happy note, but now I don't feel like writing something so superficial and inconsequential about myself. I'm going to bed.

This morning I had to drive my dented car to an All-State Insurance Inspection center or whatever it is called to get an official car repair quote onto my claim. If you didn't know, I got into a "car crash" where a tried to merge into a New Jersey Highway. Being a good New York Driver, I expected signaled looked at the mirrors, and accelerated appropriately to make a clean entrance into the highway. With New Jersey being terrifying drivers, everyone was driving 80 in a 55 miles/h road. That is item #8 in my "Top 20 Things I Hate About New Jersey list". By the time I merged into, a car zoomed into my blind spot and we side swiped each other. Bumps and paint scratches on both sides. The other driver was chill, though. She works at a public park and likes the Yankees, but has a Cardinals bumper sticker.

At the All-State location, the inspector revealed that total repairs would cost $1700 and my insurance would cover $1400 of it. I was like fuck that. I'd rather get a new car that replace a side bumper and door that had not problems other than being concaved inward. My car is over 14 years old so it was about due to pass into the netherworld soon enough. A Gray 2000 Honda CRV. If I just get a $120 paint job, the damage wouldn't be noticeable unless you intently stare at the lack of symmetry. The inspector was calm and nice so I didn't say what I was thinking out loud. He likes swimming in amazing summer weather like the one we had today.

A Freihofer's distribution outlet was close by. I wanted to buy bread because I'm a cheapskate who likes freshly manufactured bread. The parking lot there didn't have white lines painted on the ground for spaces. I spent a good 10 seconds trying to figure out where to park without looking like an idiot. I dreaded parking diagonally, or heaven forbid--blocking actual "road". A few cars scattered about but not enough in a consistent order to make good judgement. I parked close to this one car who seemed to have their life figured out like their parking, It was a safe decision.

As walked out of my, I rolled my ankle and my left temple banged the sideview mirror of this white van adjacent to my car that looked like it was made only two years ago. The mirror shifted on its movable plane, but not damaged or scratched. A voice from a woman who looks like a recent mother in Ray Bans and a white blouse said, "Ah. That's my car," as if I took the last dessert in the cafeteria line. Well thank you, bitch for caring about me. I don't know anything about her, but I hope her kids continues to live with her in their late 20's. I felt my head and found no bleeding nor bruise. We both got lucky.

In the shop, I bought six loafs: three Honeywheat, three Wholegrain for their local price of 3 bags for $4 bucks. Carrying the bags looked like I was holding six wiener dogs by their tails.

The clientele inside were not the most glamorous or trendy as the bitch mother was. There was a mentally retarded patient and her caretaker, an elderly women and her daughter, and a callously shaven man who still had his Shell gasoline uniform on. The cashier, an urban black women like Sweet Brown ("Ain't nobody got time for that!" woman), was deflated of sass and devoid of shits to give. She almost cracked a smile when I smiled and said thank you, but the muscles of stone cold face wouldn't let the corners of her mouth inch toward her ears.

When I got home, I fell asleep. A combination of striking disappointment, embarrassment and heat stroke made be feel drowsy. It was only 1 in the afternoon by that time.

In my dream, I was in the basement of an old church I was in when I was 8. There were people there I didn't particularly want to talk to but if I had to, I wouldn't mind a superficial conversation with them. I think I was watching a movie projected on an old brick wall and felt annoyed people pestering me about my future and schoolwork while I tried to watch Balto. There was also bagels but I hate bagels.

This is the part of the dream where you can't remember how you arrived at B from A. Now I'm side by side with Pearl (without his effects) from Rupaul's Drag Race Season 7. We were both riding bikes to I don't know where. The roads around were oddly reminiscent of the plazas and residential roads I drove today on my way to see how much money I don't have to fix my car and yet spend whatever I do have on delicious factory bread full of preservatives. There was the travel agency, the ballet studio, the Panera Bread, the Shell gas station, PF Chang's and St. Anthony's. We were biking on the sidewalks even though there was no car in sight. Dream logic.

Pearl fell suddenly fatigued and looked like he was dying. He said he had to make it to the whatever the place was and his strong desire to get there motivated me to carry him on my back all the way there. "There" was a narrow two story house like the ones your find on the hills of San Francisco. The house was wedged between a Barnes&Noble and the Panera Bread along the same strip. I could have just wheeled him there on his bike than drudging on foot, but I didn't. Again, dream logic.

Before I put him down in that house, he said needed chocolate chip cookies in order to feel like himself again. I rushed outside on foot and ran all over the shopping district for the goods. All the buildings were all white blocks with no doors or windows. With each block I passed by, I had this gut feeling that chocolate chip cookies or even the concept of a bakery never existed in this world yet I did whatever I could to help him.

Again, this is another moment where I can't remember how I got from point C from B. One moment I was surrounded by white buildings, and the next I'm back inside the same room as Pearl, seeing him eating spaghetti and smiling. He asked me if I found the cookies. Lying is easier than admitting failure. I said the bakery was warming up a new batch and it'll take a while instead. I felt more disappointment now than I did at the new mother's compassion for my well-being.

Don't psychoanalyze me.

[Trigger Warning] If you're going to complain about anything, don't bother reading.

[Bandwidth Warning] A lot of images of basic resolution.

Simulator found here.

Welcome to the first ever NeoCodex Hunger Games! Where Waser Lave is President Snow and relationships don't matter.

The Tributes

Tributes were chose from the Highest Posters for the day 11 March 2015 plus 4 random people in Tinychat at my appearance plus Kate.

Let the games begin and may the odds... fuck it, just murder each other.

The Bloodbath

(the first moment when the games begin and the hype killing starts)

Spoiler

Day 1

Night 1

Day 2

Night 2

Day 3

Night 3

Day 4

Night 4

Day 5

Night 5

Day 6

Night 6

Day 7

Night 7

Day 8

Night 8

Day 9

WINNER!!!

Stats and Placements

Until Next Time.

Something from last week is still bothering me.

A good friend, Irene, is moving back to North Carolina from New York. We went to the same undergrad university up North. Three years ago, she went back to NC to live with her parents at the end of our second year. Last year, she alone moved back to NY alone to make a life for herself. She admitted she longed to escape the conservative environment back at the South.

After working several jobs including a secretary of a children's after school theatre program and an employee of a local Trader Joe's, she felt her life was going nowhere in more than just financially. Fortunately, she was surrounded by extremely nice people who pushed her to be a better person by being a positive model or emotional support.

She rented out a basement of a nice guy (platonic friendship) for 700 bucks a month plus utilities. Financially, she was just breaking even with an above minimum wage income. Eventually paying off student loans became the least of her worries.

She is a person who knows when to drop your sorry ass when you cause nothing but drama and harm to everyone around you. However, she cares way too much for the good friends around her--dangerously so to the point of depression.

I was driving her home after the both of us caught up with another old friend. The drive was a little over 40 minutes.

We both got into my car after saying energetic goodbyes to our friend. We left on a very high note because all three of us were laughing. Scratch that, Irene and Heather (the person we bid farewell to) were laughing. I was just stroking her cat while smiling and nodding at the right times. I stuffed my face with Count Chocula whenever it seemed like I would be later prompted to talk. It was a long day and I was too tired to engage in the conversation at that point.

Irene and I got into the car and as soon as I finished setting my GPS, Irene's said something in almost a whisper. I thought she would say something like today was fun and thank you for driving me, so I smiled and nodded at her. It was my mistake to assume it was a pleasant thing.

She said, "I don't know." It wasn't the same cheerful voice from a few minutes ago.

I stayed quiet a bit, knowing from prior experience to give the person a few more seconds to continue their thoughts before interjecting. She ended up saying nothing for a while.

"If you want I'll listen to you," I said. "It seems to me that not saying anything is hurting you a lot more."

I was going seventy on a highway, but I managed a quick glance at Irene. She hunched forward into her phone, almost tugging the seat belt to its maximum. If her legs weren't down below the glove compartment, she probably would be hugging them at that point. She let out a small sniffle. "I don't want to move back."

I again waited a second to make sure she was done.

"Can you tell me why you feel that way?"

"I'm ending my long distance relationship," she said.

That long distance relationship started way back before Irene left our school. She found a guy in NY and they managed to maintain a long distance relationship when she moved back to NC, how strong that relationship, I never asked. She never mentioned the guy's name so I'll use Torian as a placeholder.

Torian is a bright person around our age. He completed his associates degree in Engineering and graduated with honors. When he was applying to different schools in sight of a Bachelors, his mother got sick or injured herself. I didn't ask what happened to her. All I know is that event left the mother in a hospital for a few weeks and then disabled for the days after. Torian believed that since money will be tight, he will have to work instead of pursuing his education. Irene will be leaving Torian at a very rough time.

"Are you more conflicted that you're ending your romantic relationship with him or you're leaving him at a shitty time in his life?"

"I don't know," she said.

It was awkward. I stayed quiet for a few moments, not for her to collect herself but for me to rethink my strategy.

My past experiences tell me to recommend her to professional services that will help her with emotional sorting and conscious decision-making. So I did. She said she's sick of giving money to psychiatrists who don't help at all. She also said I'm helping her more than they ever did. "What would you do?"

Fuck. I'm in a dangerous situation. I'm the type of person who runs away at the sight of real commitment. I also lock down my emotions to the point of consciously faking them. Whatever I will say won't help a person who is the complete opposite of me. Also, unlike most people I helped in the past as a paraprofessional, I've done so with a cold and logical standpoint. I was a total mess on the inside to really say the words that I should have said from a practical standpoint.

Irene is my friend and I care so much for her to the point of wanting to cry for her, but I couldn't. I was driving.

I did what most stumped psychiatrists do when the conversation is going nowhere and change the topic to focus on a different relationship trouble. Maybe just maybe, looking at another tumultuous relationship for a second will help formulate an answer for the first relationship.

Earlier that day before we met up with Heather, we went to a diner to eat breakfast. I shared my crappy life and she shared hers. She told me in confidence (whoops, I shouldn't be blogging this whole thing at, but nnneh~) that she has a father who loves her and would devote himself to them to the point of dying for her and her mom if it meant protecting them and securing them a bright future. However that devotion is currently only manifested in monetary support and silent faithfulness.

Irene wanted more from her father than just a provider; she wanted a father figure, most specifically a happy memory of her father. She told me that even though she has friends back in NC to help her, she will force herself to ask her dad to teach her how to drive.

Problem is, she knows what will happen. Although I know Irene is already a good beginner driver and there shouldn't be an issue, she admitted that her father would start yelling at the smallest imperfection, then she'll start yelling to defend herself, then they'll go home both angry. Her father will plant himself in front of the TV and Irene will run to her room crying. It happened already, but she's willing to take the risk if it means finally getting that happy memory.

This I can analyze and help her with.

"Have you considered just going up to him and say I'm not happy with the relationship we have? Ask him: I want to know you and love you more as a person and as my dad. As of right now, I'm not feeling enough love from you just by your supporting us alone," I said.

She was quiet for a while. I let her think for a second. Then she knocked me back off my feet again.

"Did you try this with your own parents?"

I was flustered when she asked me that, but I couldn't let her know that. She needed a strong person in that moment.

I was quiet for a while. I juggled between being genuine and telling her I never tried it with my parents and have no intentions to do so OR make a Cinderella story in which doing so will yield strong results in the future. Making this decision was hard because I truly wanted Irene to live a happy life when she moves back. Because of my love for my friend, I made a choice i would never make as a professional.

"Yes I have," I spouted bullshit. "Around the time we were still in NP, I reached a point where my relationship with my dad was not enough for me. It took a heart attack scare to realize that I don't have anything with my dad other than the provider-son relationship. I went to him when I needed money. He went to me when he needed forms to be filled out or information regarding my education. I didn't want him to die without knowing him more. So I told him up front: Hey. I want you to be more in my life and I want to know and love you more. Things didn't magically change overnight. I went back to school, but when I was gone, he slowly opened up to my brother and sister who were still in high school and middle school. To this day, he has been making attempts to get to know his children. It made happy when my sister texted me saying our father took them out for food and he spoke more than two words the entire night. In terms of my own relationship with him, it's not like we're bros, but at least we're making attempts and I think that's better than 3 year ago."

It was all lies. I'm never close to my father, not even after the heart attack scare.

It got dark out and I couldn't see Irene's face except the short moments she turned on her phone to reply to a text. I also couldn't afford not looking at the road because of asshole drivers who don't signal when changing lanes.

"I don't know," she said again.

I resorted to my last resort and said what was really on my mind.

<<Saying what I said really hurt me, but maybe I'll share it another day. This one blog entry is long enough already.>>

Fast forward ten minutes and I said, "I love you and I really care about you. That's why I said what I said. I would have said the cookie cutter script if I were talking to a different person."

"I love you too, " she said. "I really appreciate it."

We were both quiet for the rest of the trip. At least now her faint sobbing quelled down.

I pulled over to the curb of her renter's house. We hugged goodbye.

I gave her my personal email address that I always check and offered my time if she needed to vent more than just using the phone or texts. She gave me hers and assured me the offer works both ways.

I was really happy that the words I said on my mind didn't ruin our friendship. That was the last time I saw her in person, even thought it was just a week ago.

What really bugs me to this day is the lies I said to her just to make her get over her problems. I didn't give her real concrete advice that I know for a fact works from my own personal experience. We even didn't arrive at a conclusion with Torian.

I spent the last hour writing this and it helped me make sense of what I should have done, but it didn't help with what I should do in the future. I have her contact information. I can drop a text or email asking what's up, but I'm so ashamed from the things I said to the point I just want to wait months before doing so. I just hope that everything I said helped her. I couldn't deal with myself if it had adverse effects on her life.

My school has an NRHH chapter and they decided to do an appreciation mural that is ongoing until after Thanksgiving break. On it, students or faculty or anyone really can take a leaflet, write the person’s name whom they want to appreciate and a sentence or two describing how they positively impacted their lives or why they are thankful of them and stick it on the wall. Their goal is to surpass 1000 leaflets by the first week of December. Being an alum of NRHH of a different school’s chapter, this inspired me to do a bit of appreciation in my own way.

This is a list of fifteen (and increasing) different people from Codex who I really appreciate. I left all the names out because I can only imagine the egos I would inflate and some things are really personal. They will know it’s them when they read it.

Appreciation

1. After I disappeared for a while, they did some research using my real name and checked the obituaries of local newspapers around my location if I died. They even found my Facebook (which doesn’t even have my full name). I was more happy than creeped out.

2. They purposely became the devil’s advocate against two different parties in order to solidify their relationships by becoming the common enemy. Although I don’t approve of their self-destructive means to their goal, I am forever grateful to their dedication.

3. For being that one person who admitted to me that I’m not a cunning, manipulative, or calculating person by nature. Instead, they realized I’m just an asshole who seems to dissect peoples’ mind because I genuinely want to know more about people. They're wrong. But I'm thankful they thought positively of me.

4. They took the time to uphold the rules that can be easily looked over. They has a lot of virtue and persistence. I hope I can emulate half of their character. As such, I decided to take time for myself in order to focus on myself and my own needs.

5. This person really pulled their life together from a slump I can never imagine recovering from, myself. They shared their life of drastic changes and although there are times of weakness, I see so much strength in them everyday. They’re my hero.

6. Their random jokes always made me laugh and it lightened the mood when everything in front of us had nothing but seriousness, problems, issues, etc.. Their smile makes the mood so much better during those times.

7. The long chains of PM’s with this person are really memorable even though I recall nothing. I can’t remember what we said in the recent month, but it made me good every time they replied.

8. I stand strong when I say they should be a television writer. They are so talented in a very certain genre and audience. I love reading their work so much even though I am not into that certain style.

9. This person hides behind a mask, but when their personal self is revealed to a select few, I find them to be a truly beautiful human being. Also consider that I read a lot and bitch a lot about what I hate most in life (people) and for me to say something like that for a person takes a lot of me.

10. For the longest time, I thought this person was a social shut in, but after knowing them a bit better, they are actually an inviting person and are really talkative and funny. Their Facebook is open 24/7. I would talk with them endlessly but I don’t ever go on Facebook.

11. I can’t be thankful for this person who shares all the same interests as I. In my school right now, everyone is so serious about their education and their recreational time is either novel writing/philosophy, punk/alternative garage bands, or drawing birds. It’s such a refresher to find someone who loves the same games as I play and isn't ashamed to talk about it.

12. This person commits so much time and effort to things most people most likely never even notice at first sight. If I were not a moderator and already knew the inner workings of Codex, I would have never noticed their consistent work. To this day, I occasionally check on their updates and smile a bit from what they write.

13. Point blank: They’re the butt of many Codex jokes. They have a massive amount of character just to laugh it off.

14. They bring out the more vulnerable and personal side out of everyone; people are less of a stranger because of them. They do it in the most chill and effortless way.

15. They, intentionally or unintentionally, make me more conscious of my writing and pay more attention to the hidden messages behind people. They also spur more activity in Codex. What a weird combination.

I’ll add more later after observations.