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Approximately 17 years ago, when my brother and I were about 5 years old, we decided to add a new member to our family. We found that new member in a feisty orange kitten who, not even moments after we met him, bit our dad's finger. We named that kitten Hunny.

As we grew, the kitten grew with us and that feistyness never disappeared. Hunny had an attitude and a serious superiority complex, and we loved him for it.

He loved us, too.

He showed his love by meowing at us, putting his butt in the exact spot we didn't want it to be, drinking our water, and being a general marvel.

Hunny was never a mean cat, though. He rarely hissed (only when we bothered him beyond his tolerance level, which, after a few years, was very high) and he didn't scratch (unless you deserved it). In fact, he was a very loving and affectionate cat. He loved sitting with us, on our laps (even when we were in the bathroom, and, I confess, I let him, because I loved him), on our chests, on our keyboards and textbooks, and we liked it that way. We liked him that way.

It is with the heaviest heart that I say that Hunny, sweet and loving and beautiful Hunny, passed away earlier this morning.

I won't go into the details of his death, nor the bouts of sickness he's had over the past year, because that's not important (and, frankly, my heart hurts too much to remember it).

What's important is that Hunny was the best cat you could ever ask for. He has ruined me for other cats and none other can ever hope to compare. I will miss him more than I can bear, but I will for Hunny because he was worth it and he deserves the best. He lived a long and happy life full of so, so much love and I didn't regret a single moment of it.

I love you, Hunny, my baby kitty, more than the entire world, and I know you knew that. You will be missed dearly and a moment won't go by that I won't remember you with all the love in my heart.

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I love you so much, Hunny. Go enjoy life in Kitty Heaven, and I'll see you again one day, I promise.
WARNING: Major spoilers for The Battle of the Five Armies (obviously).

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If I were to rate this film with a number, I would personally give it a 7.5/10 - has some flaws, but is generally enjoyable and will also break your heart in the best ways. Richard Armitage deserves more than one award for his performance as Thorin, I will go to the grave with this.

Handling Emotions

Okay, so today I saw The Battle of the Five Armies extended edition in theaters, but that's not what I'm talking about today (later when I've had time to process and grieve). No, today I'm going to talk about how I'm apparently incapable of expressing emotional thoughts (of a personal nature), or even receiving them.

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So, yeah, had to get that off my chest. Opinions on TBOTFA Extended Edition will come eventually. Probably.
The Trespasser DLC for Dragon Age: Inquisition came out on Tuesday, September 8th, and I've beat it once and am now about a third of the way through it a second time. Here are my thoughts on it so far.

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Overall, it's a very good DLC and I enjoyed it immensely. The developers are always really vague about if they're making a new game, but we'll probably see a new installment in the series with the next five years and I'm greatly looking forward to it.


I am basically screaming everywhere right now. Everything about this trailer excites me beyond belief. From the time jump to the political turmoil to the enemies to the characters and just everything.

More screaming and flailing under the cut, along with a heavy dose of barely-restrained excited speculating.

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Mostly, though, I'm just SUPER EXCITED.

Of course, it's the middle of the freaking school year, so I need to get everything done weeks ahead of time so I have nothing but free-time to play the DLC with all of my Inquisitors.

September 8th, man, write it on your calendars and make a schedule.

The Nerve of Some People

Okay, so, can I rant for, like, a minute?

So I'm in Paris, right? We're leaving on Monday and the past three weeks have been fucking amazing. I've made a friend plus a couple acquaintances and it's been great. Except this friend I've made is also kind of a killjoy? She's judgmental, she complains, and all she does is talk about herself -like, jfc, get over yourself.

She didn't really start to get on my nerves until we went to the Musée d'Orsay. I'm in Paris taking a French class, and my French teacher wanted to make sure we went to the d'Orsay because it's awesome. Just as we were leaving, my friend's statistics class was coming in and she was like, "hey, I want to come with!" So, we go to the d'Orsay and I love it immediately. At first, it's fun hanging out with her and joking about the statues and the paintings, but then it becomes increasingly obvious that she's bored. That's right, bored, at the Musée d'Orsay, as if she's not in France, as if she's not within ARMS-REACH OF FUCKING VAN GOGH ORIGINALS (I was in absolute awe. Fucking Van Gogh, guys). In fact, she rushed me through the Van Gogh exhibit. Rushed me. Through. Van Gogh. Near the end of the second floor, she's basically dragging her feet, asking me when we're going to leave, again, as if we're not in the fucking Musée d'Orsay looking at priceless works of art in fucking Paris, France. Finally, though, I take pity, but... She gives me the opportunity to continue looking around while she sits (jfc), and I go straight back to fucking Van Gogh. It's beautiful, I take pictures, I might tear up a little. But, unlike her, I'm not a jerk, so I don't take my sweet-ass time (I really should have) and I return to her in less than ten minutes (practically saint-like).

As we walk away from the d'Orsay (disappointment in my lungs and regret in my heart), I ask her what the fuck was up in there (though not so bluntly), which is when she tells me she doesn't like looking at art. THEN WHY THE FUCK DID YOU COME WITH US TO A FUCKING ART MUSEUM???? And you know what she told me? For the architecture. The fucking architecture. And you know what? The entire time we were in the museum she was fucking complaining about it. Jesus fucking Christ.

But, no, the horror doesn't end there.

The d'Orsay was one thing, but the next day we went to the Louvre itself. So, after she'd confessed she didn't like looking at art, she said she'd come with us to the Louvre the next day, but she wasn't going in - she was just going to take pictures of the pyramids and leave. Only, that isn't what happened. Instead, she came with us inside and proceeded to make a fucking military operation of my afternoon at the Louvre. Alright, I understand booking it to the Mona Lisa - we want to get that crowd over with, but then it was just "is there anything else that you wanted to see?" and "we can leave the building, go through security again, and cross the courtyard to get to where you want" as if now that we've seen the Mona Lisa everything else is optional. Um, excuse me, there are world-renowned works of art in here and you want me to skip past entire sections just because you hate looking at art?

You're in FRANCE, one of the ART CAPITALS OF THE WORLD. WHAT WERE YOU EXPECTING???? (Guess what? She only came to Paris because she's taken up to Intermediate French II and wanted to practice her French. That's fine, but if that's literally the only reason you came and nothing else was appealing to you, you could've gone to some other francophone country that wasn't so art-intensive. Or, y'know, dealt with the language barrier in Japan, the place you obviously would've preferred going.)

Today, we visited le cimetière de Père-Lachaise, the famous cemetery with the graves of such celebrities as Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison. She held out until she could take a picture of Édith Piaf's grave, but literally the moment she took the pictures, she was asking if we could go. Pardon, mademoiselle, je veux toujours voir le cimetière, alors sois silencieuse, s'il te plaît. She continued to trail behind the group, complaining the whole time, and then, later, she complained to the group leader, telling him how, yeah, this is pretty, but she'd rather talk to real people than look at the graves of dead ones, completely ignoring how another student was having the time of her life. I think the level of my friend's complaining convinced the group leader that this cemetery won't be a group excursion next year, again, completely ignoring how this cemetery was the whole reason that other student came to Paris, and how other students had loved it as well.

Everything's about her and it's infuriating. When she looks at art, all she can think about is her own art. When she looks at graves, all she can think about is how she'd rather be talking to a living person. You know what? That's great. There are people who feel that way and that's fine, but it's common-fucking-courtesy to keep it to yourself so that the people who don't agree with your way of thinking can enjoy things.

If you hate things, fine, but if I want to gaze at the fucking paint-strokes of a single painting for five minutes, then that's my fucking prerogative and if you're bored, go find someone else who hates art or suck it up and sulk somewhere away from me. I'm in Paris and I don't know when I'll return, so I want to enjoy this trip as much as I can, and it's kind of hard when the one person on the trip who wishes they were somewhere else happens to be the one who likes hanging out with me the most.

(Honestly, I think she hangs out with me because I'm the only one who can tolerate her. The way I've heard it from other students, no one else can stand her, and I completely understand. Completely.)

The Reason We Set Multiple Alarms

That's the Royal We (but feel free to join me if you need to do the same).

Today was Eiffel Tower day - Eiffel Tower day which I MISSED because I slept through my alarm.

FUCK.

I completely forgot to set multiple alarms and just had the one, which I slept through. I actually woke up at around 5:30AM, but, like any sane person, I thought, 'Hey, I've still got an hour and a half,' and passed back-the-fuck-out, but instead of waking up in an hour and a half, the next time I looked at the time it was EIGHT-FUCKING-THIRTY. THIRTY MINUTES AFTER WE WERE SET TO LEAVE.

So I basically laid in bed wracked with guilt and self-loathing for a few hours, until I forced myself out of bed to do something product (shower and shave, go me). Then I dressed in something cute despite not going out today and went to the cafeteria to get food (by myself), where I ordered food (in French!). So proud of myself.

And now it's time for class, so, hopefully they won't make me feel worse than I do. And hopefully when I go out tomorrow (if I do, since I didn't see Morgan today because I slept through the Eiffel Tower), I'll get to see it, even if I don't get to go up (which, honestly, I don't mind - seriously, fuck heights).
So, we went to the Catacombs today, which was awesome, but FIRST I want to complain about this fucking internet problem I just had because it took around an hour to get it to work.

At the place where we're staying in Paris, we get free Wi-Fi. Except, every 24 hours (I'm guessing) it resets and we have to log in again. I'm fine with this, except today the login screen wouldn't show up. Login screens show up when you open your browser, but instead I was just getting my home pages telling me they couldn't connect. I must've opened and closed my browser a hundred times, and I must've restarted my computer at least ten, and I must've disconnected and reconnected to the Wi-Fi at least twenty times. Point is, it was fucking harrowing. The worst part was when, while attempting to find a way to reset the connection that was more final than simply disconnecting, I accidentally disabled the wireless entirely. Enabling the wireless is a lot harder than it sounds. It took my about twenty minutes to figure out how to re-enable the wireless. What made it worse was that my room is apparently a signal deadspot for my phone. It was already a trial at home to get my mom and brother to respond in a timely manner to texts without the travel time for my text to go from France to Tennessee and vice-versa, it was just hell waiting for a signal to tell my mom and brother that my internet wasn't working so we couldn't skype. I think it was purely luck that let me finally log in. Regardless, if you don't hear from me for a while at any point, it's probably because my internet decided to be a dick again.

Anyway, so, today we went to the Catacombs! I'd say it was totally worth getting up at 7AM for, but I've been waking up at 7AM since we got here, so it wasn't exactly a trial (well, actually, it kind of was because my body kept trying to go back to sleep, more so than usual, but I digress).

We waited in line for a couple hours (we got there an hour before it opened), and then we descended a tightly wound set of spiral steps for about ten minutes, and finally walked for ten or so more minutes through tight stone corridors. The bones were awesome, when we finally got to them. It still strikes me how funny it is (in a morbid way, but such humor has always been my favorite) that the people who organized the Catacombs went through the trouble of stacking all the leg and arm bones in a neat pile, bordered and broken by rows of skulls, then just throwing the rest of the bones in the back. It totally looks awesome, so kudos to those guys, but still funny.

Le première jour en Paris

Technically, the trip started yesterday (the 7th), but given we spent almost all of it in airports and on airplanes, I'm not counting it.

We had two flights: one from Nashville to Atlanta, and then from Atlanta to Paris. The first one was so short, by the time I assumed it was safe to pull out our electronic devices, I'd hardly listened to half of one song before they announced they were going to start their descent soon. I hadn't even unfastened my seat belt yet. The next one was, conversely, eight hours and uncomfortable as hell. I got maybe an hour of sleep despite trying for at least three hours just because there was no way to get comfortable enough to sleep. On the upside, though, I did get to watch a couple movies I'd been planning on watching: the live-action Cinderella film and Kingsman: The Secret Service, both of which were very enjoyable. I fell asleep watching Sleeping Beauty, then, an hour before landing, managed to watch the defeat of Smaug by Bard the Badass.

We arrived at the Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris today at approximately 8AM (six hours ahead of home, so it was actually 1AM, which meant I'd been awake for nearly 24hrs with only an hour long nap to tide me over until bedtime). I will say, though, that my teacher made the airport out to be a lot more hellish than it turned out to be (and it's probably thanks to him, because he's been here before). The worst part, honestly, was dragging my suitcase around everywhere; on the underside of the handle are these ridges that are apparently supposed to help gripping it, but all it did was give me blisters, so fuck you, suitcase.

The ride on the metro was fun and I took a ten minute nap, but then we finally arrived at our destination and it quickly became disastrous. The turnstiles to get out of the station weren't letting some of us through, and a teacher and myself had to resort to ducking under the turnstiles while someone else held open the barrier. Only for that same teacher and myself to nearly fall down the escalator (and my laptop bag fell, but Yusuf seems fine, thank god). He and I both walked away unscathed, but it certainly got my adrenaline pumping enough to keep me awake for the next couple hours at least.

I got my room assignment, and ended up switching around rooms until I landed with the single room. Hell yes. Though, there are both pros and cons to this arrangement. Pros: I don't have to worry about sharing a bathroom or someone judging me on my unpracticed shaving methods, nor do I have to worry about keeping someone else up with my internet addiction (lol), and, also, I'm currently not wearing pants and I haven't for about five hours. It's great. Which leads to the cons: it'll be harder to make friends and harder to hang out with people because of said lack of friends. I have a hard time making friends already without the barrier of being away from everyone. I mean, just today, I headed up to my room after orientation and was too anxious to go back downstairs afterwards despite wanting to explore the campus. I ended up taking a four hour nap and I'm not going to eat dinner.

Regardless, I am now in Paris, it's not humid or hot out (though they don't have air-conditioning, because they're hippies or something), and I'm hoping to start making friends in the next week or so. Can't wait for tomorrow!

Jurassic World

Three weeks after its release, I finally got to see Jurassic World today. I've only ever seen the first Jurassic Park film, and, really, that's all you need to watch in preparation for this film (as there are many *direct* references to the original film, and even a returning character (looking at you, Henry Wu)). And, you know what? This film totally lived up to the original. Of course, it'll never be as good as it, but it certainly didn't put it to shame.

But that's not what I wanted to talk about. I actually wanted to talk about my MAIN PROBLEM with the film, and that's the character arc of Bryce Dallas Howard's character, Claire Dearing.

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Sorry this is a total mess, I'm still organizing my thoughts, I just wanted to get this out there. I might come back later, or at least post a follow-up (especially after I've seen the film again), but, knowing me, probably not.