Grima Wormtongue Unbound

I am seriously wishing that I had started blogging on Blogspot rather than WordPress. I’ve been learning about the Adsense option, and I’ve heard that Caitlin’s earned like… thirty dollars already. I can’t imagine how much money I’d be making! I get at least a hundred hits a day, from people looking at my Twilight stuff. But alas.. I mean, I’m 4th on Google Images now… *sniff*. I’ll figure it out one day, maybe. I read that WordPress is considering adding a monetizing option… but who knows. Maybe I should just appreciate the fact that I’m apparently awesome and everyone in the universe gets to see my blog on Google Images. Yarp and yay for strangers reading about my personal business!

So. I live in Montreat now. I’m kinda glad. It was really, truly, definitely

I sleep there. Just not with that gay-bo girly quilt.

I sleep there. Just not with that gay-bo girly quilt.

 important that I lived in Asheville with my brother for a year. It provided the solitude and silence necessary to really get my head back on straight.

I know that if I had tried to live in the dorms, or live near campus with friends, there may have been a repeat of the semester-that-must-not-be-named. No. Not happening.
But I love my new house. Sure, there’s alot of crap in it (how many freakin’ WHCardHeartcassette tapes about cardiovascular health does one person need?), and we’re still battling with a previously-contracted roommate, but aha! Chelsea and her FAR-too-slick manipulative powers to the rescue! It’s rather unfortunate for my immortal soul that I am SO darned good at getting what I want from people. It’s a very simple concept, and I will share it with you, adoring public. You must make them think one or any combination of three things:


1. it was their idea all along

2. they are doing something wonderously righteous/selfless in agreeing to your request

3. you, unlike everyone else involved, are secretly on their side and just want to get this over with and politely defeat those “other people” who are working against them.


I'm Grima, ex-roommate is Theoden... MWAHAHA


Yes, I know. It sounds bitchy. But it’s simple diplomatic tactics that people have been utilizing for thousands of years, and I’m just admitting (against Sun Tzu’s advice) that I do it. I’ve learned that pretty much NO ONE responds to getting the smack-down laid on them (lolz). Srsly. This chick and her parents were simply getting grouchier and grouchier and more and more recalcitrant as we continued to ask that if she wanted to back out of the school-year lease that she signed, all we wanted was her portion of the first month’s rent until we organized her replacement. Then we could take her off the lease and she could go wherever the hell she wanted.

Whit was pushing (as well as dear little Whit can push), and instead of doing the right thing by us, these people just kept pushing back, and it was starting to make me mad—and it takes alot for me to really get mad. I like to say “I get distressed occasionally, and I get annoyed/uppity occasionally, but I’ve only been mad two or three times in my life.” Mad is a feeling reserved only for people who mess with my loved ones. Long stories there. ANYWAY off topic.00Warrior_female

So I just today emailed this chick. OOHHHH and I laid it on so sneaky-like. I threw every angle I had at her–the “see, isn’t getting taken off the lease  what you wanted all along?” angle, the “it would be so wonderful if you could help us out with this” angle, the “I know everything’s getting crazy and complicated and I’m not sure everyone has all the right info, but how about you and I…” angle. And no, I don’t feel like I acted deceitfully. I’m using the powers I have to get these people to do the right thing ethically and legally. You wanna break a contract? Fine, but don’t whine when there are consequences. Just be glad you got off as easy as you did. We could take their asses to court if we wanted to–but I just want it all to go away. But I’ll be damned if they walk away after making Whit out to be the bad guy, and making us shoulder their part in the money due. The funny thing is, back when the lease was signed, the girl and her parents promised us, several times, that if she got engaged and wasn’t going to live with us anymore, they would pay her rent REGARDLESS, for the whole year if necessary (which would have come to about 35 hundred dollars in total. Sheesh). Now we’re fighting to get $385.00 from them.

Whatever. The heat is off Whit’s head, that’s all I care. One day, she’ll smash her dad’s red Ferrari and want to take the heat herself, but til then, I’m the Ferris to her Cameron 🙂



stolen most shamefully from Ellar

so, on my darling-dirgiest friend Ellar’s website, she suggested the challenge of listing in fifteen minutes, the fifteen books most influential in your life, or most likely to stay with you forever, or some such nonsense. Her list was not nearly as cool as mine, but oh well. Here is my list, because I know you all are just dying to know.

Oh! Note more important than all notes ever—this is NOT a list of favorites, or even stuff I particularly enjoyed. They are simply the most influential, usually to me as a writer.

1. A Game of Universe, Eric Nylund (Well, this one IS my absolute favorite book, so…)

2. Son of the Shadows, Juliet Marillier (and second favorite…)

3. Foxmask, Juliet Marillier (and third favorite…)

4. Persuasion, Jane Austen

5. The House of Seven Gables, Nathaniel Hawthorne

6. Eragon, Christopher Paolini

7. The Carpetmakers, Andreas Eschbach, English translation

8. Singularity, William Sleator

9. Cicero, Anthony Everitt

10. A Man for All Seasons, Robert Bolt

11. Jude the Obscure, Thomas Hardy

12. Ender’s Game, Orson Scott Card

13. Give Me a Break, John Stossel

14. Redwall, Brian Jacques

15. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot (if poetry can count–if it can’t count, I’ll say The Winterking, Bernard Cornwell)


This is me.

This is me, if you know what I mean.


I just… Can’t help myself… NEW MOON! Twilight! PAUL!!!!

Edit: Just an interesting note–if you go to Google Images, and type in “New Moon Wolf Pack,” this blog is the 7th option on the first page. Wow.

Yeah. I’m a dork. And I REALLY don’t love Twilight this much… but I just… can’t help it… I’m sorry…

New Moon. Bella Swoon.

New Moon. Bella Swoon.

New Moon. Edward Cullen (I can't think of anything clever)

New Moon. Edward Cullen (I can't think of anything clever)

Yeah, I just realized how I’m pretty excited about this movie, New Moon ya call it. I need to keep my pretty little brain looking towards the future… to a sexy Jacob Black… and Paul. Oh Paul… You… uhhh….Paul… Yeah…MMMMMM.


I apparently don’t believe in tags…

Much like the latest post of my lovely Caitlin, I anticipate that this will be short and to the point.

EDIT: Warning. It is not. It is long and to no point.

My dearest one is in Afghanistan now, for the next year, save for a few weeks in January/February. My mood started high, as it’s quite easy to be brave when you’re prepared for the first moments of hardship, but as the days start to really begin and the consciousness of the months ahead really come creeping into your heart, it’s not so nice. I know it’s only going to get worse. As days turn to weeks, and it gets more and more difficult to conjure up the exact sounds of his laughter, then I’ll steel up again and press forward. But in this middle of the beginning, I’m fading. There are so many things going on in my life–work, school, money, family, friends–and each little thing that would normally not wear on me is grating away because of the tremors of loneliness that scratch away at the pillars.

I’ve never been a lonely person. I’ve never known, until this week, known what it meant to truly long for someone. But I know it now, and like I always do, recluse that I am, I’m drawing into myself, and it’s torture to look outwards. It’s torture to attempt to explain how I feel. It’s torture to even let people know that I’m suffering. Oh, I hate it so much. After all the stuff I’ve dealt with in the past, I’ve learned (however wrongly) that despite the fact that I know that people can actually help me when I let them in, I push them away, because it’s easier just to keep everyone in the dark, and suffer through the pain on my own. If no one knows, then I can pretend it’s not there until the moment comes that it all breaks away and it isn’t there anymore. Stupid, I know, but it’s the way I cope.

Even though I have a fondness for the type of music it spawns, the whole “emo” mentality makes me laugh. I guess I don’t mean “emo” in the sense of the stylistically-defined subculture/subgenre, I mean “emo” in the sense of the postmodern idea that everyone should feel my pain because it gets more important the more people know about it. It’s just funny to me. But what really gets me is the thought processes behind the whole I’m gonna make myself hurt more and more, and I’m gonna make sure everyone knows how much I’m hurting, because the drama of sympathy is just so ossim.

Please. Names unspoken, I’ve heard lately of an acquaintance who wants to think herself bipolar, or to put it slightly less pop-culture/slangily, manic-depressive (isn’t that strange? Ha. You call someone bipolar, it means you’re just commenting on how spazzy and indecisive they are. You call someone manic-depressive, then you’re touching on something “serious”). After a few moments of listening to my friend’s description of how this girl behaves and would like others to treat her during her newfound affliction, it made my heart hurt. People want to think they’re ADD so they can get away with being hyper and unmanagable, and people want to think they’re bipolar so they can demand that everyone tolerate their every mood swing with no consequence.

Maybe I’m being harsh. But I’ve earned the damn right to say these things. Why is being thought to be bipolar so glamorous? Is it the sympathy and understanding garnered during the so-called depressive stages? I can say from countless experiences, when you’re in the middle of those depressive stages, you couldn’t care less about sympathy or understanding. Sometimes you can’t even wish for the depression to end, you hurt so bad. Sometimes you can’t even tell the difference between a kind face and a malevolent face–they all look and feel and terrify the same to you. Honestly, if no human in the world had known I was bipolar, it would have been an answer to prayer. The only thing worse than the torturous lows and the reckless and horrifying highs, was watching helplessly and guiltily and painfully as my friends and family tried to help and understand and placate and care for me.

How’d I get on this topic? Who knows, haha.

I’m still trying to learn to let people help me. But it hurts so much worse to let my pain seep into them. Ha! I’m sounding like Andrew when I first met him. He was so convinced that people shouldn’t get close to him because of how much they’d have to suffer if something happened to him in Afghanistan, or even just how much they’d suffer to be far away and worried about him. It was me and my argument that changed his mind—I told him that it would hurt people (and by people, I mean ME ME ME ME this girl here!!!) more to be deprived of knowing him than than to suffer anything that came with that privilege.

Yeahhh, he’d probably laugh if he read this post. Me and my seclusion. Well, I’ll try to reach out, alright, people? Just don’t hug me too much. Hugs make it too obvious that I need comfort, and then I might cry all over one of you, and then mascara would get alllllll over your brand new blouse, and then you’d drive home proud of yourself for being a good friend, but then still you’d feel really irked that I messed up your pretty new outfit…and then I’d be all alone again, and then you’d feel sheepish, now, wouldn’t you?

That’s what I thought. And now a photo that makes me smile, even when I can’t find my batman pants (which usually make me smile the most):


I call it, "Caitlin Can Eat a Whole Watermelon in One Bite"

I call it, "Caitlin Can Eat a Whole Watermelon in One Bite"



I am become a hilarious photo critic

Maybe I’m an idiot, but after I did this stupid photo-critique, I laughed for like five minutes straight.

Item one: a photo, sent to me by cellular telephone, on the Fourth of July.

July They Kill With their faces (Andrew and Gaslon)2


drolly speaking, of course

As of 4 seconds ago, I’ve learned that Army bases are notoriously bad at distributing mail. Apparently the little mailroom dudes only believing in working from 12:06-12:17 each day, and apparently unless you’re a four-star general, you’re not gonna be able to go by the mailroom until at least 12:17:01. So you’re screwed.

i can haz angry?
i can haz angry?


Anyway. I thought I was being all super clever because I wrote these letters to Andrew, and mailed them all meticulous-like, so that he would get them every couple days, and I would be a special and cool and thoughtful girlfriend. But now, if he ever gets access to his mail, he’ll just have a stupid non-meticulous bundle of non-special, non-cool, non-thoughtful, non-clever letters all at once.


Oh well. It’ll probably be the same when he’s deployed. I’ll try to be special/clever/meticulous/cool/thoughtful/etc, and he’ll end up getting nothing for a month, and then like 5 million letters on one idle Tuesday.

It happens.

So. YEAH. I totally accidentally watched the Notebook twice in one day last week, and you know how Ryan Cygnet writes Rachel Adamsapple a letter every day for a year while he’s off gallivanting in the outer rims; that is, France or whatever? I totally want to do that. It would cost me an assload of postage, but wouldn’t that be cool? I would be the coolest ever, if I could do that. Even if it were only a few lines, or even just:

I'll do it.

I'll do it.

For realz.
I have some weird feelings in my self right now. Part of me cannot wait for him to leave; part of me dreads it. Obviously I dread it because well, bullhell, he’ll be gone off to freaking Afghanistan for a year. Yah.
But… The sooner he leaves, the sooner he comes back. And that’s an awesome thought. And—he is totally with me on this—it’s going to be pretty sweet to just write letters for a few months, and then exchange those rare emails, and those rarer phone calls, and then… how thrilling it will be for him to come home. I mean, I’m used to talking to him every single day–how much more will I appreciate those amazing instances of reaching him and his voice and his heart when I’m living so deprived of them?
All I want is to support him. I could care less about how difficult it’s going to be for me. What a good girlfriend I am. Bwaha. 🙂
For your entertainment:
You Know You’re A Military Girlfriend When…

You don’t mind a phone call waking you up at 4 a.m.

You tell people that ask that he’s ‘only’ been gone a month.

The smallest contact (short email) from your man makes your entire week.

You cry over an email that says nothing more than hi and I miss you.

You email everyone in your address book when you receive a one liner email from your Soldier.

Those recruitment commercials on TV make you cry because you are so proud.

You get super excited just knowing that your Soldier tried to call but wasn’t able to get through.

Your first Military Ball you go to as your Soldier’s girlfriend, your name tag says “Mrs”.
(Is that a self fulfilling prophecy or what?!?)

A 30 second phone call after no calls from him for 3.5 months leaves you full of joy and happiness, and “No news is good news” becomes your motto.

The motto “no shore too distant ” becomes your life.

You feel yourself growing more and more in love with your man even while he’s so far away.

Planning letters and care packages and putting them in the mail is more exciting then going out for a night on the town with the girls.

While enjoying an evening alone together, your boyfriend shows you all the different ways he knows to kill or incapacitate a man, and then you casually continue cooking dinner as though it’s perfectly normal, and you find yourself learning phrases in foreign languages from letters, and aren’t surprised when you realize you know how to say, “Throw down your weapons and lay down on the ground!” in Arabic!

You hold off on seeing certain movies so you can see them with your Soldier when he comes home.

You want to roll your eyes when you hear someone say, “I havent seen my boyfriend in a week!”

You can go from being happy, to sad, to lonely, to angry, to proud, and back to happy in a matter of less than an hour, and you sleep with the phone right next to you, just in case.

If he’s deployed you don’t care how your hair looks nor care about wearing make-up, and the people at your work ask about your boyfriend every day to see if you’ve heard from him.

The sight of any other man in a uniform makes you miss your boyfriend MORE than it makes you drool, and you try to explain to civilians what your boyfriend does for a living, they give you a blank look because they don’t understand a third of what you just said.

You are oceans apart and you dont notice the time difference, and talk until 5 a.m. his time, and 2 a.m. your time on a school night, and phone kisses are just as good as the real ones,well almost as good

You don’t bat an eyelash when he says, “Uh, honey they changed when I’m supposed to return home, yet again for the 18th millionth time”.



I’m incomprehensibly lazy, so I’m not going to do a proper update. All kinds of marvelous things are happening, but I’m just a bad blogger and a bad friend and I DONT CARE. So, in the interest of time and the interest of people not getting mad at me, I’m going to do one of my annoying bullet-point updates, unseen in these waters since December.

*My hair is blonde and I’m adorable lately.

*Bernard and Maisey are going to UNCA in the fall. SUPER.

*I’m discovering more and more how very sneaky God is.

*I’ve fallen in love, quite against my expectations.

September 2017
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