Is it ever appropriate to add a random human on The Facebook Dot Com?

Let's open this for discussion.

Is it.

Ever.

Appropriate.

To add a random human.

On The Facebook Dot Com?

I imagine the conversation going a little something like this, should there happen to be a conversation.

Human A (who is the person receiving the random request) "Ummm, Human B, I don't even know you?"

Human B [who is the creeper (or are they?) who sent the random request] "Ah! You do not, in fact. But you are about to."

Some possible scenarios that may go down from here:
- blocking
- ignoring
- reporting to The Facebook Dot Com
- deleting of message
- responding

My gut instinct tells me that the last item here is the least probable of results, but I could be wrong, having not truly done this to anyone. Although, I should say, for argument's sake, that this has happened to me. And I have just deleted the request and, more often than not, blocked the human.

Statistical reports I'm actively compiling in my head suggest that the most probable result is ignoring. Ye Olde "If I don't pay attention to it, it never happened" method is commonly employed by young users of the social networking world. In fact, just over 72% of these reports state that ignoring is likely to happen at least 28% of the time. These reports are highly restricted in access to the general public, so I would tell you where they come from, however I'm sworn to secrecy. Even writing about the reports here may result in my certain death. Please note, if I am suddenly found to have ceased posting cat photos of the lovely Luna Chang in the next month, you all know why. You won't know who per say, but you will know why, and that's half the battle.

I digress.

Random messages to random humans leading to random addings of friends without first conversing is sure to lead to doom and gloom. Stray away, if you dare.

The Exact Art and Subtle Science of Becoming Your Parents

"Hannah, you're really becoming more and more like your mother."

I heard this statement said aloud while driving home on a solo return from the Holy Granger's Middle Name home this evening. It so happens that House of Pain's symphonic masterpiece, "Jump Around" was serenading me on my journey, and one hears such intricate melodies, one must rejoice to the high heavens above through an appropriate means of artistic expression--Dance!

(For those unfamiliar with Pain House Boston Boys rapping, or if you're wanting to watch footage of a Leicester High School Bagpiping Miracle Man, you may click here.)

Now, dancing in the car is a skill not to be underestimated. The ability to maneuver your body in such a fashion that both articulates your affinity for the music you are hearing, combined with not sacrificing the safety of those in your speeding death trap, it a feat mastered by few.

Often, in these instances where I am struck with such inspiration, I am compelled to exercise these skills. Others traveling in their speeding death traps are amazed by my moves which can only be perfected through years of practice. They may show their amazement by extending single fingers (a pointing gesture, if you will) or perhaps by pulling out their personal recording devices (I believe we are now calling them cellular phones?) or even simply by opening their facial food consumption device (a mouth?) and making strange uncontrollable noises.

As it were, these movements mimic those of a maternal influence in my life. This particular style of artistic expression is marked by snapping, excessive arm waving, slight hip shimmying, and side-to-side head whipping. Not everyone can grab hold of these movements with such precision, and I weep for them.

Just this evening, I was laying out my vitamins, allergy avoidance pills, and more, downing them with wine (as if there were any other way) and it came to me, as though through a secret whispered telegram (beep beeeeeeeeeep bee-bee-beeeep), that my name should be changed. Hannah? More like young Hannah's Mother (think a popular Creedance Clearwater Revival song mentioning fondness for ways of speaking and style of gait.) If this was too much for you, then you don't have enough of Hannah's Father in you (a recent-ish Presidential candidate.) Or maybe you don't have enough of Hannah in you. In which case, I weep still for you.

Maybe I don't have enough Hannah in me?! Is it possible to not have enough of yourself in you? Can I possibly be more Hannah?

The answer is yes, and the answer will be coming soon [to a theater/theatre (personal preference) near you] in the form of furry feline companion. Stay tuned! More updates to be published in the coming weeks.

The Armadillos

Once upon a time...

In a land not so far away (Orlando. Let's make this clear from the start. We're talking about Orlando. Not to be confused with Lake Buena Vista. Or Kissimmee. Or St. Cloud. Or Dr. Phillips. But Orlando, yes, Orlando.) (How many times can I write Orlando in a single post? Challenge accepted.) there were some armadillos.

Papa Armadillo, Momma Armadillo, and Baby Armadillo. One day, these three armadillos went outside of their humble abode to search for additional food (Baby Armadillo was the top pizza consumer in all of Orange County, despite popular belief of it being Hannah Richardson.) They searched far and they searched wide, but never could they find enough to satisfy Baby Armadillo's needs.

While they were out, a stranger (in a strange land) came across their living quarters. Locks of gold, this girl had! And she went to Papa and Momma Armadillo's bed (because she's in a strange land, so naturally she's *tired* and doesn't mind sleeping in some stranger's house.) "This bed is too hard!" she said, while also noting the MASSIVE indent from their bodies (not the brightest, this one, essentially sleeping in a semi-sphere bed...major back problems in the morning if she'd decided to stay.) So she moseyed on over to Baby Armadillo's room and found his bed. "This bed smells like pizza..." Locks of gold said out loud to nobody in particular. "And it looks like pizza too! IT IS PIZZA!"

Baby Armadillo, while searching for additional food, suddenly remember that his entire house was made of pizza. His parents were made of pizza! HIS LIFE WAS MADE OF PIZZA AND IT WAS A SHAM! Baby Armadillo rushed back to his house, found Locks of gold and invited her to his pizza party. They merrily consumed Papa and Momma Armadillo while feeling no remorse or grief. After all, non-pizza Papa and Momma Armadillo had left Baby Armadillo months ago for a late-night stroll along International Drive South, never to return. The pizza was delicious, Baby Armadillo was satisfied with his consumption, Locks of gold made a mental note that a pizza bed was now what she most desired in life, and they all lived happily ever after.

OR DID THEY.

Papa and Momma Armadillo hadn't really been hit by a car, as a nondescript earlier story would have you believe. They simply did not wish to care for their pizza-munching monster of a child any longer. They can still be seen taking their nightly strolls from time to time, as long as the temperature outside is at least 78 degrees per Roonil Wazlib's measurements. I see them often and wonder about pizza beds...

The end.

The One About Robin--THE SCARIEST THING I'VE ENCOUNTERED THUS FAR...

Not in the sense of being about How I Met Your Mother.
Nor in the sense of being about Friends.
Nor in the sense of being about work (but I'm tagging you because I told you I'd tag you. -Patrice)

It's actually not about any of those things, but really about

HAIR CLUMPS.

As someone who is quite afraid of spiders, I must state this with no sarcastic tones whatsoever: hair clumps terrify me. (I hope that did make sense, but I'm not in the right mind to go back and correct it if it does not make sense.) When my hair was longer, it used to clump up on my clothes when I would do laundry and I would often find it poking through shirt arms, resting underneath my pants pockets, or hanging down from the bottom of my hemming.

I like to have a fan going in my room the majority of the year.

It just so happens that on my pajama pants tonight, there was a hair clump, of the generally dark-colored nature. When one is not entirely devoted to staring at their pants while sitting on the bed, a certain rotating fan may cause a certain hair clump to move in the breeze. This specific motion may resemble spider-like movements.

It does resemble spider-like movements.

I thought there was a spider on my pants. A large, spindly spider on my pants.

Alas, a hair clump. My heart jumped into my mouth for no reason.

Time went on. The fan kept rotating, I regained a calm, steady heartbeat. When suddenly

OH GOD IT'S ANOTHER SPIDER. In the exact same spot as the last one! With the same body composure! And the same coloring! And it moves exactly the same way...

Wait. It's a hair clump. The same hair clump I neglected to move from earlier. The same hair clump that has now caused my heart to beat intensely on more than one occasion. The hair clump don't know it is killing me very good. 

The only thing worse (currently) than a hair clump posing as a spider, other than it being an actual spider on my leg, is this beautiful work of art:

Sleep soundly, cherubs. 

A cabbage is a cabbage, a lettuce is a lettuce

Three is the number of the day, so it seems.

Three days until my birthday!

Three years until 33!

Three recipes tried for pizza dough!

Three truths and one lie!

I hope you all know that I'm NOT 33. I have 9 years and 3 days until that time comes, which I suppose is also a signifier of three, seeing as how the number is divisible by 3 (3 years and 1 day for those who are not feeling mathematically inclined at the moment.)


I'm currently waiting for 6:15 to come around, because I need to punch my bread some more. (I just went searching for an image of someone punching bread, but unfortunately all of the images are of people punching dough, which is exactly what I will be doing.) But I was really hoping for a picture of someone punching bread. Maybe if I have extra dough and do decide to make actual baguettes with the leftover dough, I'll take a picture of me punching bread. Strange picture searchers of the world, rejoice!

Three is also significant today because it was my third haircut with the short hair. I initially cut it off at the end of May, got a new, shorter cut in June, and let it grow two months this go around because...I'm growing it back out. It was a great run, but I'm starting to miss my long hair. It will be much healthier this time because since May, I've only had it blow-dried while at the hair salon (meaning 3 times) so it won't have the heat damage that my hair was experiencing right before the chopping.


Hopefully the baguette recipe bodes well for pizza dough/crust. I'll be sure to take lots of pictures and post tomorrow! FOR SCIENCE!

This post has no appropriate title

Although I could call it "my thoughts on love," but who'd really want to read that?

I'm laying in my bed right now (laying? lying? cozied)--I'm cozied in my bed right now, thinking about the fact that my room is a bit too warm for comfort. I cannot sleep under the covers currently because my room is just that stuffy. Blankets will suffocate. Nevermind the fact that my sheet has somehow gone missing (I'm a firm believer that making your bed is pointless: you're just getting right back into it anyway.) This leaves me with a fuzzy brown blanket, which is perfect for cold winter nights, but not so ideal for warm late-spring nights, and a brown comforter with down-alternative filling. When did my life become so brown? And so insulating? Why am I not properly prepped for my pending move to Florida?

The fuzzy blanket used to be pink until a certain fluffy cat decided to turn it into his own personal litter box. No, I did not turn the pink blanket brown (nor did he), I simply replaced the ruined pink blanket with an identical brown blanket. And then the cat was never allowed on the bed again. Ahem.

I just watched "The Book Thief" with my parents tonight and while it did not emotionally wreck me as it did my mom, I did feel one thing: ultimately dull. I keep feeling this over and over since I have graduated. I am a dull person. I do dull things. I live a dull life. I eat dull foods. I have a dull daily routine. Maybe that is why I switched up my hair last week: I was tired of doing the same thing with my hair. I was tired of wanting to have short hair, so instead I just acquired...short hair! And while tonight resulted in my feeling like a dull person, ultimately the shorter hair has made me feel bolder and more outgoing. I can go anywhere!

Note: after this, all is new writing (as of 8/27)

My life is dull, but only because I choose to make it so! The beautiful thing about life is that we are in control! Not fully, but to an extent. My mom has always told me (much to my dismay) that life is all about choices. You can choose to do A or B in situation C. Maybe somebody is forcing you at gun point to do option T, but it is still your choice whether you want to do option T or option U. Granted, choosing option U may get you shot...but it's still your choice! You hold the cards! You are the master of your fate! Of your life! You want to change something then make it happen! 

I want to make a better pizza crust! So I'm experimenting with various recipes to make it happen! This isn't exactly a life-altering decision, but I'll be damned if it doesn't mean that I'm always going to make pizza at home instead of searching and searching for the best pizza around. I still think that either Giorgio's (who I did not eat at during my pizza search this summer because I already know their pizza to be amazing) or Jockamo take the cake. Or pie. Pie is probably the more appropriate term to use in this instance. I also want other things, and I'm working on those other things, but there is a time and place to announce them and this is neither the time nor the place. Actually, it probably is the place, but it is definitely not the time! 

Fear not! Ye shall know soon! 

Four days until my birthday! 

I really need to go to the store but I just wanted to say

I LOVE LIFE!

Today was fabulous for little to no reason at all other than the world is a beautiful place. People fall in love! Babies are born! Puppies find homes! Kittens are cuddled! OATMEAL IS PLANNED AND SMOOTHIES ARE CONCOCTED!

I want to go get some of that powder peanut butter: have any of you tried it?

WILL YOU JOIN ME IN SINGING THE GREAT SONG OF OUR NATION?

No, not the National Anthem ('MERICA!)

"Maneater" covered by Grace Mitchell. (This is not in any way an implication that I am a man-eater) *crunches bones in corner*

WELL, GIVE IT A WAVE!

Seriously. What a great cover. I feel on top of the world!

The time for dancing has come.