How Very Classy

How Very Classy

I'm almost<a href=""><sup>1</sup></a> positive every teenager not <em>absolutely</em> positive what they're sexual preference is questions it. It's natural, and with society more open now than it ever was before<a href=""><sup>2</sup></a>, to question something. You feel attraction, and you ask yourself, "Am I <em>gay</em>?".

As a almost-not-any more teenager, I did question myself. It wasn't that I found girls to be attractive – quite the contrary – but my family has always been accepting of such a thing, and my hormones were raging. Before you can really test the water &aacute; la have sex, you really <em>don't</em> know. Of course, this is discluding positive feelings, because there are people who <em>do</em> go their whole lives without a second question to their preference.

I didn't grow up as a normal teenager, so I'm not one. I was, more or less, sexually stunted. I liked boys, but I didn't think of sex before I was 15. It's the society now – my 12-year-old cousin (12!) has already had sex…and I wasn't even looking at boys then! – that really introduces the aspect of sex, even if your body isn't ready for it. Back on track, I was 15, and I had sex. I'll admit it, I'm in the process of confessing my inner most thoughts, might as well get that out there, too; I don't mean to divulge too much, but in order to get my point across, it's relevant.

It was a mistake. I don't regret it, because I don't regret a lot of things, but in hindsight, I knew I was only doing it because it was the first guy to pay attention to me (and the last, unfortunately), and I wanted to feel that. I wasn't attracted to him, only the act. I liked it – not the act, because <em>that</em> left a lot to be desired – but the feeling itself. I knew then I wasn't attracted to girls, but a secret part of me <em>still</em> questioned it, even at 19-years-old, and well aware of my own hormones, and what I really feel now.

So, while questioning, and in St. Augustine, Florida on a mini-vacation with the family, I was down and out. We went to the beach – the only thing that made me feel better at the time – and then out to dinner. Minus the two flat tires and overall hassle of not having a car, I suddenly spotted a family. I didn't pay attention, because as mentioned, I wasn't feeling my usual quietly cheerful self.

The Dad of the family went out, unnoticed by me, and then came back in at some point. <em>This</em>, folks, was the moment I <em>knew</em> I was not gay; I wouldn't personally be ashamed of such a thing, if I was, but this was epic (to me). Anyway, he walks in, in fitted jeans with a belt, a blue t-shirt tucked in only at the waist and…oh my God, <em>is he Hispanic?</em> I thought, and melted. And perked up, because now I had eye-candy to glance all through dinner, however brief it was. I'm attracted to dark-skinned men (Hispanic, Mexican, Asian, you name it!), and I couldn't believe my eyes. I wasn't jealous of his wife, despite me somewhat wishing <em>I</em>, a not-really-all-that-attractive white girl, could attract him or someone very much like him. <em>That</em> was my reckoning.

Of course, I could have figured this out in 2002, when my sister and I would giggle on the couch and point at Daniel Radcliffe's crotch in <em>The Chamber of Secrets</em>, or at Tom Felton's pretty features in the same field (er…maybe that was jealously more than it was attraction); or when I had my <a href="" title="External Link: 'Why, Hello Stalker' at LJ">stalker &raquo;</a> who I was also secretly interested in, too; <em>or</em> when my sister, Uncle and I fangirled over Taylor Lautner's new body last week.

<ol class="smallNote">
<li id="note-1"><em>Almost</em>. I can't be quite sure, I only have the sister and her friends to rely on. And stories from others, but that's certainly no ground to walk on.</li>
<li id="note-2">I have this theory, before it was really questioned and Religious crusaders, and old Grandmas, that being gay was OK. Just a theory, but the feeling is bone-deep.</li>

…and the Indians Mated With the White People

…and the Indians Mated With the White People

I've always been interested in history. Wait, let me rephrase that: I've always been interested in history other than my own. American History bores me to <em>tears</em>, and no matter what anybody tries to tell me, I <em>don't</em> want to know about a whole bunch of dead old guys who are, well, <em>dead</em>. I will essentially use this information about…0 times in my life.

Back to the title: "…and the Indians mated with the white people." Not a direct quote, but something like that came from my <a href="" title="Similar Post: 'No Dad, I Will Not Kill the Wall'">&raquo; very strange</a>, <a href="" title="Similar Post: 'Parents Make for Embarrassing Times'">&raquo; very horny</a> Dad. Yes, you guessed it, I asked about my <em>history</em>.

My Dad has two Dads; his step-dad who adopted him when he was twelve, and his real father, who my Dad met at/after he was 40. I love both of them dearly, and it was to my surprise and delight that my sister and I found out that we were in some way Indian. Yes, <em>Native</em> Indian. As in, <em>real</em> Americans. When I asked my Dad if he knew how we were Native Indian several months ago, his answer (and "story" as it were) was:

<strong>Me:</strong> Dad? We're Indian right? From Grandpa Rodney?<br>
<strong>Dad:</strong> Yes, we are. About a couple of centuries back, we were pure Indian until we mated with the white people.

…yeah. I swear on my very hearty heart that my Dad is the <strong>strangest</strong> man that ever lived. His weird topics of discussion, such as the "zipper" incident (Courtney came out with "What has 1000 teeth and can hold the incredible hulk? <em>My zipper.</em>") which resulted in my Dad wondering how many zippers there actually were on jeans, before trying to mentally count them. Or maybe his very high shopping trip a few months ago that had him going to about thirteen different food stores. Or perhaps it's his <em>needing</em> me to write this off-the-wall story about an old man and his adventures.

Back on topic once more: yes, I want to learn about my history. Indians have enraptured me since I can remember, and sometimes I even dreamed about living as one/marrying one. I even have theories about how my half-white (well…on the inside, the Indians are like the damn Asians, they carry genes like nobody's business (I know, that comparison was lame, maybe someday I will come up with something more catchier)) children will venture to England and meet an English warlord who's half assassin, half lord…OK, maybe I'm living in the 1800s on that one. <em>Fascinating</em>, I say.

Now, if only I wasn't so lazy as to open another tab in my browser and go to <a href="" title="External Link: Wikipedia">Wikipedia &raquo;</a> and actually <em>learn</em> about them.

Tess' Facts of Wonders!

Tess' Facts of Wonders!

I wanted something light, happy and (very un)inspiring, so I complied a list of random and obscure facts nobody knew about me…that's also completely useless. <em>Completely</em>. <abbr title="Oh My God">OMG</abbr>, I have such wonderful ideas.

<li>The <a href="" title="External Link: Harry Potter series (books)">Harry Potter Series »</a> is the only non-romantic books I've read and will read. I'd like to say it's because I found HP before I found *my* genre, but it's also the fact that it's well written for it's genre, and, well…it's <em>HP</em> (rant on why HP is HP coming soon…ish).</li>
<li>I sleep with four pillows and two blankets. Year-round. NOT the cause of sweaty mornings in the summer. It's <em>because</em> I don't get a breeze.</li>
<li>I feel like I should be in the 1800's. I don't necessarily think they way women did then, but sometimes I think and act like it.</li>
<li>I can perfect a country<a href="#note-1">¹</a>, "southern bell" and British accent. And sometimes Northern if I try really hard.</li>
<li>I love romance, I love comedy, I love horror/thriller, but nothing gets me going as action movies do. You know, disgustingly buff men who try to talk in an accent they suck at with a absolutely horrible plot. Oh…*drools*</li>
<li>I avoid teenage genres like the plague. Teenage movies, teenage books, teenage <em>anything</em>. I'm still one, but I've never really connected with it. Teenage books are also pure crap (…OK, I can give testament to quite a few good ones). This is also partly the reason I won't read the <em>Twilight</em> series.</li>
<li>My Dog, <a href="" title="External Link: Baby at my flickr">Baby »</a>, is my best friend.</li>
<li>I have a scar about three to four inches long on my left arm. I've had it since I was a baby, and acquired it by a curling iron.</li>
<li>Out of my two sisters<a href="#note-2">²</a>, I'm the shortest at 5'7" 1/2. However, I'd like to think my bombtastic personality makes me larger than life.</li>

And <em>end</em>. Amazing, huh? 😀 Now, you don't have to tell me what you'll do with that information, but I will ask you to tell me something I don't know about <em>you</em>. I know I'll get -2 responses, but I gave a properly boring ending to a boring entry.

<li id="note-1" class="smallNote">Country as in "obnoxious" country accent. Like, Georgia or Alabama obnoxious.</li>
<li id="note-2" class="smallNote">Jackie (5'10") is older and currently distant, and Hannah (5'8" 1/2) is younger.</li>

And life goes on!

And life goes on!

My posts always take on a sort of story-telling adventure, and it's always to put off something else more important, but I'm going to give it to you blunt and forcefully:

My Grandma is in the hospital and is teetering on the edge of insanity (i.e. coming down from alcohol and cigarettes while hooked to a million IVs to build up her nutrition), and my Uncle tried (and thankfully failed) to commit suicide.

…I guess you can say it's been a rough start to a new year. Instead of dwelling on the "what ifs", I've thrown myself into life and have been trying to hold on. This has been going on for quite some time, but I'm a private person; I don't just mention <em> anything</em>, and I'm very close-mouthed to begin with. Which, of course, leads me to yet another statement: I'll continue to remain close-mouthed about it. I don't get a lot of visitors, but even so, I feel this is a matter better kept private, but dully noted anyway.

I can't say this experience hasn't taught me quite a bit about myself, however. Despite my disorder, I've never likened to the thought of suicide, but this experience has <em>really</em> opened my eyes to what I really feel: I want to live. I've known this yesterday, and I'll know it tomorrow, but my main goal is to live my life to the best of my ability. I'm not going to bungee jump, or go on crusades to save plant life, but I will be looking at things in a much different perspective…hopefully. 😀

R is for Random

R is for Random

<strong>Namecheap:</strong> DON'T stop. DON'T refresh. DON'T close the browser.
<strong>Translation:</strong> DON'T do anything, bitch. We want your money.

<strong>WampServer:</strong> Your configuration file contains settings that correspond to the default MySQL privileged account. Your MySQL server is running with this default, is open to intrusion, and you really should fix this security hole.
<strong>Translation:</strong> We're lazy fuckers, and we're displaying this so we're not held reliable. Oh, and change your shit.

<strong>Google:</strong> Google Chrome is a browser that combines a minimal design with sophisticated technology to make the web faster, safer, and easier.
<strong>Translation:</strong> Get in fucking <em>line</em>, Google is ruling the world. With a browser, we're one step closer to overcoming it.
<p class="tc">———</p>
Hilarity (and please take it as so; I'd hate to explain away any misunderstandings) aside, Christmas was good. Not with it's own amount of stress, but good nonetheless. 😀 Printer, which is a Canon (like my shiny <a href="" title="External Link: Canon PowerShot A590IS">new camera »</a> I got for my birthday), and it's badass, so no lame geek jokes. It can print photos from my memory card from aforementioned camera, and it can copy and scan like no other printer can (…well, theoretically it can, there's other copies out there).

New Years is almost here, and of course, resolution time. Truly, I feel resolutions are made in vain, and almost three quarters are never actually done, much less tried. To solve this dilemma before me, I've stuck with two I <em>know</em> I can accomplish in a years time:

<strong>Learn JavaScript</strong>, in which I hate. Hate, hate, hate. If I can turn it off in my <em>browser</em>, I feel unsafe. However, it can benefit my scripts and I, so I'm going to kick the bucket and do it.
<strong>Get more active</strong>, though this isn't necessarily about weight, just about me getting for active and healthy. Can't hurt, and there's no limit.

…and yeah. Here's to a new year, filled with hopefully lots of good things all around! 😀

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas!

<p class="tc"><img src="" alt="" class="bigbor" /></p>
Hannah<a href="#note-1">¹</a> and the family (parents, two dogs, eight cats<a href="#note-2">²</a>, chicken, snake and I) wish all and their families a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! 😀 May all receive their wishes and give, give, give, and more importantly, may all celebrate their practices and religions to their hearts content. 😉

<li id="note-1" class="smallNote">Hannah, my sister. Not a lot of Hannahs are around that I know of, but it's always nice to be clear!</li>
<li id="note-2" class="smallNote">Tried to get Jonn Beneé to take a Christmas picture, but she wasn't cooperating. Bitch.</li>

…ah, it's been a while…

…ah, it's been a while…

Yes, another ranty-post&#8212;er, try sappy&#8212;but I want to tell you of a personal story, inside of my political beliefs. It also beats talking about my uniquely busy life right now&#8212;and honestly, <em>who</em> wants to read about that?

For anyone who didn't know, Harry Potter was what got me into what I do now&#8212;Web Design. Something I love and hate, something I love as hobby, and love as a job. Something that has ruled my life since it's been introduced to me, and something that has taught me far more than I thought I ever would.

Harry Potter…a series half of the world loves, half of the world hates. HP was introduced to me in fourth grade, when the first and second books were read to me. I love them, and I loved the mystery, intrigue and captivating world behind them. I love HP! When I found out there were going to be movies, I went to the first, and it is now a tradition in the family to go see <em>every</em> one. I've watched all the young stars grow up, grow beards and flash us nude photos (yes, I'm looking at you, DanRad!). I've seen the first three movies bomb their way into non-HP-readers hearts, felt the 4th movie flop in my heart (WORST. DIRECTION. EVER.) and lift back up with the 5th (BEST. MOVIE. EVER).

6th movie? I'm <em>excited</em>. Because no matter how much I stray from HP, it always come back to this. Me getting all excited for the adventure our family will take this coming summer, angry at the push back HP got (and for as shitty as a movie Twilight was, that was a crap move, WB) and excited at the theme park that is right outside my city. I get to hear DanRad's half-annoying-if-he-wasn't-cheeky British accent, Tom's perfect features, Emma's stunning growth and Rupert's manliness. WIN. (I won't mention the other actors, I could go on for hours with that.)

<em>It always come back to this</em>. If I could make up a song on how much HP has changed my world, I don't think it'd ever compare to the love inside me. Thank you, J.K. Rowling, because without you, I don't know where I'd be in life. That's sappy and a little sad, and yes, pathetic in a sense, but it's the truth, baby dolls.

Just a Fad, Darlings

Just a Fad, Darlings

Before I start yet another (half-angry, yet <em>very</em> (see the emphasis) intelligent) rant, I want to state a disclaimer for the record: this isn't aimed towards anybody, I promise. This is a very important(!) issue that's been bugging for since 2005, and just now have I actually "looked into it" (a.k.a. browsed Wikipedia and asked my sister about the things I was too lazy to read about). I'm not going to kill you if you disagree with me either, these are only my <del>correct</del> views.

<strong>Emo is a music genre. Only, if that.</strong>

Oh, did I just jump right into that? Me = bad. But…while I'm there, might as well start off. First off, yes, I am aware if I were to pick on any sort of stereotype, I could aim for the (incorrect) "Scene", or possibly the stupidly unintelligent, a-blind-person-could-tell-different "Screamo", but I want to piss off some Emo kids. And make fun of you in the process. Moving on…

The term Emo started off in the 1980's as a <em>music</em> genre&#8212;while it hasn't been exactly claimed as such (i.e. Rock, Rap, etc.), that's what it is, and it's short for <strong>emotional</strong>. Most people like to classify a rock band as such, and in the 2000's, it grew into a <em>fashion</em> genre, for people with tighter-than-6-sizes-too-small jeans and a bang swoop. Researching aside, I'm going to give a bulleted list not only on the lack of intelligence the second genre <em>is</em>, but also the lack of clarity in the music genre, as well.

<li><strong>Music</strong>. Music can be anything (and I think I covered the amount of "emotion" <a href="/all-hale-music-momentarily/" title="Internal Link: Similar Post">» behind it</a>) and as such, "emotional" can be applied to any genre. First off, applying rock bands under this is fucking bullshit. If you're going to apply the label (short. for. emotional. – get it right), you're going to have to apply it to classical bands, rap musicians and country artists. Nine times out of ten, a musician will write/produce/sing an "emotional" song, therefore making them "emo". (Oh, did I just scare you? Sorry about that.) Another little tidbit&#8212;most bands people have classified as Emo have stated that it's "a pile of shit", "bullshit" and "the most retarded term ever". Quote, unquote, m'dears, so stick that in your back pocket.</li>
<li><strong>Fashion</strong>. If you've applied the "emo" genre to strictly rock bands, you have obviously not thought about the fashion aspect, now have you? Fashion…can be emotional. In a artsy, hippy way, and not in tight jeans and a bad bang job. Seeing someone with tight(ish) jeans and a trendy hairstyle doesn't make them "emo", because you have no idea if they're emotional or not. Yeah, they could be a robotic asshole for all anyone knows, and yet someone instantly apply's a genre to someone without even knowing who they are, or even how they dress&#8212;it could have been laundry day. Fashion isn't suppose to have genres, it is what it is, without any spectacular subcategories.</li>

I know a lot of people will roll their eyes at my…rather enthusiastic shittyness there, but I do believe it's all bullshit. Most people <em>know</em> it is, but I want to reach out to those who are still unbelievably wrapped up in the image. Whenever I hear someone say, "I want to be Emo!" or say "I'm Emo!", no level of intelligence is shining through, my friend. Look it up, research your shit. If you're going to stereotype yourself, know what the hell you're talking about.

All Hale Music (…momentarily)

All Hale Music (…momentarily)

For some random and obscure reason, <a href="" title="External Link: Raine at">Raine »</a> inspired me to write a post on <em>music</em>. Yes, <em>music</em>; something I rarely (if ever) talk about.

I have to remedy this situation, now don't I?

Music. Yes, something that can be both annoying and moving at the same time. It's this way with anything else, really (art, movies/TV, sports), but what's <em>different</em>, is we can be moved by the vocals of the singers (oh, am I resisting <em>that</em> fanlisting!), the lyrics of the song and yes, the instruments that make the symphony. What's even <em>more</em> exciting is there are <em>genres</em>, such as Rock, Rap and Techno (…and classic, something I enjoy, believe it or not!).

The point of this post in general is how my music tastes differ from others. It's not just one genre I'm partial to, it's the exact opposite: what genre am I <em>not</em> partial to? My <a href="" title="Internal Link: Top 8 image">» Top 8 Artists</a> at my <a href="" title="External Link: tesserini at"> »</a> profile is so…<em>random</em>. Upon looking at the artists, you have (<em>should</em>) realize my artists are different. There are not two artists on the eight artist list that belongs in the same category (though Disturbed and Breaking Benjamin are probably the closest)!

What do I love about music? That's the real question, really. What draws me to the <a href="" title="External Link: tesserini's Top Artists at">various artists »</a> I listen to? I've tried narrowing it down to vocals, instruments and lyrics; I've tried singling out artists by looks; I've even tried pretending which artists I could be (yes, men, too!).

Beat. Thinking. Flashing images of memories and future times. Perhaps that sounds like something <a href="" title="External Link: Raine at">Raine »</a> would say, but it might just be true. If truth be told once again, I'm beginning to think I'm versatile in my loves for things, and in how much I can love in the category.