My Experiences with the "Make Your Siblings Poop" Game

So...this is awkward. I posted twice in two months and then decided my life would be best served being invisible on the blogging scene, apparently. This was not intentional, I'm just horribly, horribly lazy. Which is sad on my part, because I created this blog thinking, "Oh, what a wonderful writing exercise this will be! Just write about my life! I can do that!"
Haha.
Apparently not.

Anyway, today I got to thinking about some of the weirder experiences my sister and I have had when it comes to playing that that game that essentially places one person in the ax murder scene of a horror thriller.
You know. That game where you jump out and scare people.
Damn. That just sounds so much less exciting.
We could call it the "Make Your Sibling Poop" game, or the "Laugh at the Pure, Unbridled Terror of Others" game. I like those names. They're an accurate description of what happens. (Except the pooping part. I don't think I've ever been scary enough to warrant the loss of actual human waste. Perhaps that should be a goal? I don't know. Sounds messy).
Personally, I have two stories that always come to mind.

The first story takes place when my sister and I were about ten and eleven. (I made that up. We were fairly young though). We had this ritual of when our mom would send us upstairs to make our beds, one of us (or both of us), would wrap a sheet around herself and pretend to be  ghost, in a futile attempt to scare the other.
These were probably some of the least scary experiences in my recollection.
Except this one time.
I was in my room getting ready. I was gonna be thorough. I was gonna be the best-wrapped ghost my sister had ever seen. I had taken the bottom sheet (you know, that one that is terrible for ghosting because it's got that elastic in the corners so it's a stupid shape) and wrapped it around my body. I was going to pull the pillowcase over my head, and then wrap myself again in the second sheet. I was gonna be so entirely sheet-ghost, that maybe the very thoroughness of my outfit would scare my sister, because there was no way that I wouldn't look like a legit ghost.
I feel like now would be a good time to clarify that I'm the older sister.
And yes, I legitimately remember thinking that.
So there I was, kneeling on the floor trying to pull a pillowcase over my head and failing horribly because the stupid elastic sheet kept getting in the way. I knew I had to hurry, as there was a possibility my sister would come looking for me first. During my struggle, I began to realize that perhaps, visibility was going to be an issue. Would I be able to see? I didn't think so. I figured I could navigate by memory and touch.
Man, I had a lot of faith in my physical abilities back then.
I continued my struggle with admirable determination, but was beginning to consider that perhaps this wasn't going to be the fantastic operation I thought it was. Then, this happened:

Areia: "I am the ghost of Christmas"-
Me: *High-pitched, frightened horse-like screaming noise that may have produced a fart or two, but no one's sure*

When I finally managed to wrestle myself out of the blankets, I could see that my sister stood there, one sheet wrapped around her in a less extravagant imitation of the ghost costume I'd been so focused on constructing. We stared at each other for a moment. Me, cowering on the ground half-wrapped in sheets, my sister, arms raised with a dramatic sheet cape draped around them.
We burst out laughing.
Then our mom yelled up the stairs that we're only supposed to scream if we're in trouble. We tried to explain the situation to her, but it came out as mostly gibberish.
What a memorable moment.

The second story takes place a little more recently. Two years ago at the most. I would have been fifteen or sixteen. Probably.
I had just come upstairs to grab something, when I noticed that my sister was in the bathroom. It was evening in the winter, there were no lights on, and as a result it was very dark. I crouched on the stairs.
I think we all knew what I was planning to do.
Then, for some unknown reason, I had a change of heart. Just as my sister opened the door, I bolted up the rest of the stairs and eased into my room (which is next to the bathroom). I heard my sister walk out, and I quietly moved around behind the door so she couldn't see me.
I heard her footsteps hesitate.
I froze.
I didn't want to scare her anymore. Not really. But what if she tried to scare me? I couldn't reach the light from where I stood. I was already tense. I'd definitely scream. It would be The Sheet-Ghost Incident all over again.
I didn't move a muscle. I took short, shallow breaths so that I could better hear my sister. There was no sound from her.
I breathed.
She probably breathed.
And that was it.
We had reached an impasse.
To calculate how long we stood there would be difficult, but finally, I heard my sister move. She started down the stairs. I waited a few moments, then followed her.
In the minutes that followed, I would learn that she had been just as concerned as I had been. She'd known I was there. She'd thought I was going to scare her. She also hadn't wanted to move. I had inadvertently staged one of the strangest stand-offs in my siblings' and my history.
We laughed about that.
Hell, we still laugh about that.

I guess the moral of these two stories could be 'don't over-complicate things', and 'don't second-guess yourself'', but they could also just be 'if it sounds like something Serina would do, maybe you shouldn't do it.'
I don't know. Whatever you want the moral to be, how about that?

I think this photo suits the content of this blog. There's a possibility that in the future I will write a blog more deserving of this photo, but by that time this photo will have been firmly embedded in the memories of all as being with this blog and change will no longer be an option as it will confuse us all, like, "Wait, wasn't this photo with that weird blog about Serina pretending to be a ghost but ending up in a stand-off with her sister?"

Yes it was, my dear confused friend. Yes it was.

Video Games and Me

As much as I have tried to become a gamer, it has- for the most part- been to little avail. Video games and I just don't seem to get each other. I'd say the root of this problem is my general lack of ability with electronics. You know how they say 'So easy your grandma could do it'? No. My grandma can work a computer. Then there's me. Interactions involving my laptop and my brother often go like this:

Me: "Oh. Oh no."
Brother: "What?"
Me: "I broke him. I broke my child. I'm gonna have to get a new one. A new child. Whom I will also kill."
Brother: "What did you do?"
Me: *Explains something basic that to me seems irreparable at the time.*
Brother: "Let me see." *Takes laptop.* "Now watch carefully, this is the difficult part." *Hits an f-something key.*
Me: *Gasps* "HE LIVES!"

And on top of that, there's the fact that I get way too emotionally involved in even the most basic of games. Regardless of if I'm the one playing them or not.

Friend: *Playing that game where the cells eat each other.*
Me: "GO FASTER!"
Friend: "Shh. I'm focusing."
Me: "NO, YOU'RE NOT GOING FAST ENOUGH, YOU'RE GOING TO DIE!"
Friend: "People are studying."
Me: "IRRELEVANT!" *Bangs head on table in distress and covers eyes* "DID YOU DIE??"
Friend: "No."
Me: "Oh. See? You're doing well. Hey, eat that guy, he's- OH MY GODS YOU DIED, GODDAMMIT, WHY DIDN'T YOU LISTEN TO ME??" *Keening wail of despair.*

I'm a backseat driver of video games. An aggressive one. Why people even want to play video games with me I'll never know. I've been known to shriek like a banshee when I fall off the map in Smash Bros. In Mario Kart, I got so upset about driving up the wrong escalator in Coconut Mall that I leaped off my seat and began frantically waving my controller, jumping, and yelling while still trying to drive.
Needless to say, that wasn't my best race of the day. Turns out screaming and flailing doesn't work well when you're trying to steer. Imagine that.

Which brings me to the only two games I really play: Super Smash Bros. and Mario Kart. Coincidentally, these are also pretty much the only two games I even have a chance of winning in.
There was this one time I downloaded an MMORPG, and I was completely obsessed with it...
For about a week.
Then I got stuck, became annoyed that I was stuck, and stopped playing because I was annoyed.
I must say though, the general nature of MMORPGs freaks me out- no, not the graphics, violence, or the world chat that I never close because sometime's it's funny, none of that- what freaks me out is that I'm constantly worried that someone will try to talk to me.
The entire time I'm just running around like: Don't slow down, don't make virtual eye contact. Oh gods, I hit a tree. Goddamn it, I'm stuck. Okay, don't panic. Wait, now I'm in the tree. Crap, that's another person! Another person is here. Don't move. Don't breathe. They can smell newbs. I'm in this tree on purpose. Keeps the...monsters away. They left. I'm still stuck though. Hmm. I don't think I'm very good at this.
I also have a tendency to get lost and just run around killing things until I somehow end up where I'm supposed to be. How I even manage to get anywhere is kind of a mystery.


And that's basically why I'm not a gamer, even though I would certainly like to be.

This is my new pink wig. I'm super excited about it, and it really shows in this picture. Geez, if I keep using these pictures, people are going to think I'm this excited all the time.

As a Child

Where is always the best place to start? The beginning. So of course, as with most living things, my beginning was my birth.
Out of my mother's uterus came me- a screaming, temperamental bundle of burning hatred who was destined to become the jaded, angry, seventeen year-old girl I am now.
And as a child, I think I caused my parents perhaps a small amount of psychological damage. My mother would hear often of the ghosts that lived in our attic, the red eyes under my sister's crib, and the long-tailed thing. I almost drowned once too, which certainly didn't help matters.
Now however, I am far too unproductive to do much beyond sitting at my laptop scrolling blankly through Tumblr, yet another lifeless lump of flesh that could not move much less if I were dead.
Occasionally I venture downstairs and converse with my family in a series of grunts and dinosaur sounds. The first time I did this, it was apparently a rather unexpected occurrence. It went like so:

*Door opening*
Dad: "I'm home!"
Mom: "Welcome home, honey!"
Me: *Makes loud dinosaur noise of welcome.*
Mom: *Looking at me with horror as though I've brought dishonor down upon our great ancestors* "What was that?"

However, it didn't take her too long to get used to this new, faster and energy-conserving language, because only a few weeks later...

Me: *Walks into house after school, drops bag, makes a sound vaguely like a triceratops playing a trumpet*
Mom: *From somewhere else in the house* "Welcome home, Serina."

So here I am now, about to go into my final year of high school sporting my brand new Disney shirts, my spiffy collection of cosplay wigs, and my freakishly strong emotional connection with my cat.

And not to sound like a cliched teen movie opening, but, surely it's gonna be interesting.

This is me. Don't be fooled, I usually look less excited, but I was feeling particularly peppy here.