I. Hate. Germs. Particularly germs that attack my friends. PARTICULARLY, particularly germs that attack my friends, live on them for a while, and then JUMP SHIP TO ME! GERMS, IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, PLEASE STOP. It is NOT NICE.
I'm hoping they will get the memo so that I can stop eating cough drops, because while I like cough drops sometimes, I do not like not being able to form COMPLETE SENTENCES without coughing eleven times in between.
Three, as far as I know, of my friends are currently being attacked by the STUPID, GROSS germs, and they have also come for me. I really hope that I can defeat them, but I'm really bad with battles. Though, I must say, I prefer coughing my brains out to puking. By a lot. The last time I was sick, I was puking, and THAT was not fun at ALL. Ugh, just thinking about it fills me with unhappiness.
I didn't really want to ramble about germs, and I wasn't sure what I actually wanted to say today. I feel very uninspired right now, but that might be because I'm getting attacked by the evilness that are germs.
Whatever.
What I finally settled on was bees. I COULD write about how bees collect pollen, make honey, how there are different types, how some chase you down, and how some are ninjas. But I'm only going to talk about how bees are ninjas, and perhaps I'll leave the "chase you down" story for another day.
Along with a ghost, my room has a tendency to attract bees. About a foot away from my window, there is a bee hive. I don't know why they chose THERE to live, because I never gave them the impression that I wanted them for window neighbors. Apparently, bees like to assume things. Also, apparently, bees like to make WRONG assumptions.
Somehow, and we still do not know how they managed to do this, but I'm suspecting they had help from my ghost, they found a way INTO MY ROOM. I woke up one morning, and apparently woke up the bee, because he zipped out of somewhere random and started to fly around my light, which, obviously, FREAKED ME OUT. Ugh. I hate things flying around me. I felt like it was watching me, so I had my mom swat it with something.
I didn't think much more of it, because random things get into houses all the time, right?
Well, it happened the next day. And the next day. And it continued happening ALL SUMMER. Almost every single day, a bee would make its way into my room, and fly around. Even after we sprayed the hive, they KEPT COMING BACK.
Also, if I didn't manage to kill them, I'd find dead bees ALL OVER MY ROOM which, as it sounds, is disgusting! I'm getting that feeling I got when I thought of puking.
All these bees had to do was NOT live in my room, and they would have lived happy bee lives, but they wanted to be NINJAS and SNEAK IN and FLY AROUND and THREATEN TO STING ME.
Miraculously, I only got stung once. Thankfully, I'm not allergic to bees. Unfortunately, it was while I was sleeping.
I don't know WHAT this bee was thinking. I think it might have had some anger management problems or SOMETHING, but I was just happily sleeping, and then it STUNG MY ARM! Seriously, I didn't do ANYTHING TO IT. I was SLEEPING and it STUNG ME!
Who DOES that?
Stupid bee.
So I went to sleep downstairs in the living room because I was attacked IN MY SLEEP by a vicious, vicious bee.
By the time winter came for real, and it was cold, they stopped coming in. I'm afraid that they'll come back again, though, come summer. Especially because I now have flowers in my room. I mean, yeah, they're dead flowers that I keep forgetting to get rid of, but they're still flowers, and bees LIKE flowers.
(They're the flowers I got after our Haiti Water Benefit Dinner, so they lasted a LOT longer than I thought they would. I don't even know why they died. Apparently they've got it out for me.)
So these ninja bees attacked me in my room, once while I was sleeping, and STILL thought it was okay to come in afterwards. I think they might be INSANE, or just have a lust for danger.
I can see the headlines now.
Bees Gone Wild
[If I was any good at/had Photoshop, this is where I would have made a picture of a couple bees wearing biker helmets and leather jackets, holding flame throwers and ninjas. Yes, ninjas, because these bees are so badass that they can CATCH NINJAS.]
Friday, April 10, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Facts of Awesome
I'm slightly exhausted (even though it's only Thursday AND I have tomorrow off) and therefore feeling uncreative. I know, it's very disappointing. Rocks are being gathered AT THIS MOMENT to be thrown viciously at me.
Or not. I appreciate the not.
But because I'm feeling ridiculously uncreative and rambly at the moment (very tired, I could rant about how tired I am, but my guess no one wants to read about that) I'm going to answer more ABOUT ME questions. Because I'm sure you guys are DYING to know everything.
Just kidding. But that is what you're going to get. Possibly accompanied by some pictures, for kicks and giggles. Enjoy!
Last hug?
That, I think, was yesterday in gym class. My friend and I are in a butt kicking war. That started when my school was trying to convince kids not to smoke, and there were stickers that said Kick Butts Day, because that's what it was called. Anyway, he had a sticker and he said something along the lines of, "Do you see this sticker? It gives me complete permission to do this."
And then he kicked my butt. And now we're in a war. I think I'm winning.
Anyway, yesterday in gym, I didn't change because I "didn't feel good" (I'm EXTREMELY incapable of coordination, so gym isn't exactly my favorite class, and I didn't really want to participate AT ALL). He came up behind me and kicked my butt.
So I glared at him.
So he hugged me. I 'spose that counts, right?
This is NOT HEALTHY.
Name one person you hate and why:
See, I thought this was somewhat interesting, because I have the hardest time actually HATING someone. I can dislike them with a passion, but if I ever say I actually HATE someone, I feel really guilty afterwards.
I even feel bad if I talk about someone, even though I know they'll never find out what I said, even if it's a celebrity who gets much more bashing than I could EVER deal out, I feel guilty.
Tadaaaa.
Have you ever pulled an all-nighter?
Every year in June, my city does the Relay for Life, and Key Club signs up to participate. I went to the one last year, and that was my first all nighter.
It was so hot out, but in a good way. It wasn't like humid or anything. Just sort of dry. But we managed to sell lots of fudge by walking around and asking people if they wanted it. You'd be surprised how many people would buy fudge from a bunch of shouting teenagers, but they seemed appreciative.
Also, we had FACE PAINT, which was EPIC, except that it came off easily because it was really hot and we were all rather sweaty.
I didn't think I was going to be able to make it through the night, because I'd never COMPLETELY stayed awake all night before. Also, when I get tired, I get annoyed VERY easily, so I was scared that if I did stay awake, I wouldn't be able to tolerate people. But I did! It was so exciting!
We had these glow sticks and we were just throwing them Frisbee style to each other for like an hour. I think we made a people pyramid. We played KNOTS which was so much fun, because we were all ridiculously over tired, so nothing made sense, and we just made a bigger mess of limbs.
I did manage to stay up all night, and that was exciting. However, I got home and completely crashed. I don't know if that cancels out the all-nighter bit, but if it does DON'T TELL ME. I prefer to remain ignorant.
It was this, nothing, or random pictures of people I DON'T KNOW. Yay!
Yahoo or Google?
Google. Because Edward Cullen googles. 'Nough said.
Just kidding. That's not the only reason I love Google. They are FULL OF AWESOME, and, if you ever have the opportunity to be EMPLOYED by Google, TAKE IT. They have the craziest working environments EVER. It's like... going to a party. Every day. And getting PAID for it.
Unfortunately you have to have like four excruciatingly intelligent brains to even be considered, which makes sense, because if they let just anyone in (like me), they would get nothing done, because I'd be too busy freaking out at the awesome.
And last but not least:
One rumor that has been spread about you:
Okay. I don't know if this counts as a REAL rumor, because one of my friends started it as a joke, and I played along with it, because it was really funny, and unbelievable.
Although people actually DID believe it!
Okay, so in tenth grade, my friend Peter decided to started the rumor that one weekend I was in rehab from OD-ing on heroin. See, there are some things wrong with this.
a) I have never, in my life, EVER seen heroin. So unless I had super cool imaginary heroin, I don't see how this could possibly be true.
b) I HATE needles, which proved to be very problematic YESTERDAY when they did a blood drive at my school in the gym, which is RIGHT across the hall from MY LOCKER. PLUS, all day I saw people walking around with bandages on their arms. It was awful.
c) It's me. And I'm morally apposed to all forms of drug usage.
It was REALLY funny. I know this makes no sense, me laughing at a rumor about me over dosing on drugs, when it really happens to people, and it's a horrible situation, and I hate drugs anyway, but it was just so ridiculous that it was kind of funny. At least he had the decency to send me to rehab afterwards.
But, and I'm not even kidding you, people ACTUALLY BELIEVED IT. I don't know what they were thinking, but apparently it could happen to me, and I had to reassure someone just a couple months ago that, no, that didn't ever happen.
And on April Fools Day this year, the kid that started the rumor gave me a nice little pamphlet about the dangers of heroin.
My rumor-starting friends are looking out for me.
Or not. I appreciate the not.
But because I'm feeling ridiculously uncreative and rambly at the moment (very tired, I could rant about how tired I am, but my guess no one wants to read about that) I'm going to answer more ABOUT ME questions. Because I'm sure you guys are DYING to know everything.
Just kidding. But that is what you're going to get. Possibly accompanied by some pictures, for kicks and giggles. Enjoy!
Last hug?
That, I think, was yesterday in gym class. My friend and I are in a butt kicking war. That started when my school was trying to convince kids not to smoke, and there were stickers that said Kick Butts Day, because that's what it was called. Anyway, he had a sticker and he said something along the lines of, "Do you see this sticker? It gives me complete permission to do this."
And then he kicked my butt. And now we're in a war. I think I'm winning.
Anyway, yesterday in gym, I didn't change because I "didn't feel good" (I'm EXTREMELY incapable of coordination, so gym isn't exactly my favorite class, and I didn't really want to participate AT ALL). He came up behind me and kicked my butt.
So I glared at him.
So he hugged me. I 'spose that counts, right?
This is NOT HEALTHY.
Name one person you hate and why:
See, I thought this was somewhat interesting, because I have the hardest time actually HATING someone. I can dislike them with a passion, but if I ever say I actually HATE someone, I feel really guilty afterwards.
I even feel bad if I talk about someone, even though I know they'll never find out what I said, even if it's a celebrity who gets much more bashing than I could EVER deal out, I feel guilty.
Tadaaaa.
Have you ever pulled an all-nighter?
Every year in June, my city does the Relay for Life, and Key Club signs up to participate. I went to the one last year, and that was my first all nighter.
It was so hot out, but in a good way. It wasn't like humid or anything. Just sort of dry. But we managed to sell lots of fudge by walking around and asking people if they wanted it. You'd be surprised how many people would buy fudge from a bunch of shouting teenagers, but they seemed appreciative.
Also, we had FACE PAINT, which was EPIC, except that it came off easily because it was really hot and we were all rather sweaty.
I didn't think I was going to be able to make it through the night, because I'd never COMPLETELY stayed awake all night before. Also, when I get tired, I get annoyed VERY easily, so I was scared that if I did stay awake, I wouldn't be able to tolerate people. But I did! It was so exciting!
We had these glow sticks and we were just throwing them Frisbee style to each other for like an hour. I think we made a people pyramid. We played KNOTS which was so much fun, because we were all ridiculously over tired, so nothing made sense, and we just made a bigger mess of limbs.
I did manage to stay up all night, and that was exciting. However, I got home and completely crashed. I don't know if that cancels out the all-nighter bit, but if it does DON'T TELL ME. I prefer to remain ignorant.
It was this, nothing, or random pictures of people I DON'T KNOW. Yay!
Yahoo or Google?
Google. Because Edward Cullen googles. 'Nough said.
Just kidding. That's not the only reason I love Google. They are FULL OF AWESOME, and, if you ever have the opportunity to be EMPLOYED by Google, TAKE IT. They have the craziest working environments EVER. It's like... going to a party. Every day. And getting PAID for it.
Unfortunately you have to have like four excruciatingly intelligent brains to even be considered, which makes sense, because if they let just anyone in (like me), they would get nothing done, because I'd be too busy freaking out at the awesome.
And last but not least:
One rumor that has been spread about you:
Okay. I don't know if this counts as a REAL rumor, because one of my friends started it as a joke, and I played along with it, because it was really funny, and unbelievable.
Although people actually DID believe it!
Okay, so in tenth grade, my friend Peter decided to started the rumor that one weekend I was in rehab from OD-ing on heroin. See, there are some things wrong with this.
a) I have never, in my life, EVER seen heroin. So unless I had super cool imaginary heroin, I don't see how this could possibly be true.
b) I HATE needles, which proved to be very problematic YESTERDAY when they did a blood drive at my school in the gym, which is RIGHT across the hall from MY LOCKER. PLUS, all day I saw people walking around with bandages on their arms. It was awful.
c) It's me. And I'm morally apposed to all forms of drug usage.
It was REALLY funny. I know this makes no sense, me laughing at a rumor about me over dosing on drugs, when it really happens to people, and it's a horrible situation, and I hate drugs anyway, but it was just so ridiculous that it was kind of funny. At least he had the decency to send me to rehab afterwards.
But, and I'm not even kidding you, people ACTUALLY BELIEVED IT. I don't know what they were thinking, but apparently it could happen to me, and I had to reassure someone just a couple months ago that, no, that didn't ever happen.
And on April Fools Day this year, the kid that started the rumor gave me a nice little pamphlet about the dangers of heroin.
My rumor-starting friends are looking out for me.
Maybe it's not so bad after all...
So there you have it. My BEDA of the day. I'm sorry it's so lame. I really am tired. Sadly, I'll probably think of something interesting later, and be like OMG PEOPLE WOULD LOVE THIS.
And that would be full of fail.
Slaters :]
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
BEDA Addiction: The Possibilities
Guys. It's getting bad. Seriously bad. It's been just over a week of blogging, and it's ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT. I'm not even kidding when I say that last night, I was blogging IN MY DREAM. I can't figure out if that is extremely cool, or extremely pathetic. It's extreme though, and I'm interested to see what will become of me by the end of the month.
Option One
I think that, after thirty days, I may have developed an obsession with blogging. I will definitely be in the habit by April 30th, and I'm not sure how easy it will be for me to break it. You see, I'm bad with habits, and breaking them. I'm not a smoker, so I've never had to jump THAT particular hurdle, however I've gotten into the habit of (a) using the computer right after school and (b) buying chocolate every opportunity I have during math class.
These habits are hard to break. I feel DEPRIVED if I do not use the computer immediately and oh-so-very sad when I don't have my delicious happy-making chocolate. It's so yummy, and helps me survive the evils that are pre-calc.
The problem here is that I won't even be able to ween myself off of blogging. Perhaps I could have done it May first, took a day off, May third, skipped another day, May fifth, skipped a couple days, and so on so that I wouldn't go completely insane from not rambling into a text box about something or another. But I CAN'T.
See, on May first I have a school trip to NYC (I'm so excited! I've never been before!), and we're leaving VERY EARLY IN THE MORNING. We won't be returning until VERY LATE AT NIGHT.
Can you see the problem? The first day of Not-BEDA, I won't even be able to have weened myself a bit. IT WILL HAVE BEEN TAKEN FROM ME COLD TURKEY!
Blog-readers, I'm terrified about this. There's a good chance I'll need to be placed in a mental institution. If that's the case, I'll find a way to let you know (unless they make me attend something along the lines of Bloggers Anonymous) and I'm relying on YOUR encouraging comments to save me.
Option Two
I die.
Option Three
This seems like the most reasonable option, and the one I hope to take, because it involves neither insanity nor death, which are two things I really don't want to happen to me any time soon.
Option Three is where I go back to how life was pre-BEDA. That is to say, I don't blog as frequently, however I don't NOT do it, either. That would be bad. But I don't DREAM about blogging, because that can't be a sign of anything good, and I don't not pay attention in math BECAUSE OF BLOGGING. It's amazing how much brain time this takes up. However, I can't guarantee that I won't pay attention in math. It's just not fun. At all.
I think it's getting better, now that I've developed some sort of routine. Wake up, go to school, come home, blog a bit, do homework, sleep. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
Or perhaps this is what Maureen Johnson wanted. Maybe she wanted to create an army of BEDA zombies. Or ninjas. We're learning about each other so that we can cooperate easily, and then we'll take over the world in favor of books and random adventures.
Or maybe I really am going insane. Or I'm just tired. Actually, I'm quite tired today. Even though I got a decent amount of sleep last night, I'm ridiculously tired. It's kind of suckish, particularly because I have to finish an essay, study for TWO tests, do a lab, and finish this all before sleeping.
Though it shouldn't be hard. This one is going to be significantly shorter. As in, TIME FOR RANDOM QUESTION!
The temptation to answer the question "Do you have a blog?" was almost unbearable. I'm refraining, because that wouldn't have a very good story.
Would you eat sushi?
I don't think I'd try sushi. Again, that is. I have tried sushi before, but I didn't actually eat it, if that makes sense.
A couple years ago, my group of friends decided that we should have a really cool night and go get Chinese food and hang out. We went to this Chinese restaurant with a buffet and got really good food. They had mashed potatoes, which we all found amusing, and french fries, and things like that, along with other things that you would suspect would be at a Chinese place.
Including sushi. (Which is odd, because isn't sushi Japanese? I could be completely wrong, but I'm just saying.)
No one else took the sushi except for my friend. She was determined to try it, and we all decided that she was insane. She took TWO pieces, for kicks and giggles.
After much persuasion (or maybe I was just a fool, either option is plausible) I took her second piece of sushi and put it on my plate. We decided that we would eat it at the same time.
We picked up the sushi, held it in front of us, and on three we took a bite. She managed to swallow hers and then looked at me. I should have known by her wicked smile that nothing she said would have been good, but I currently had some unknown substance in my mouth and wasn't paying attention.
"Oh," she said after seeing that I hadn't made any movement to actually chew my bite. "I think you got the one that had the [fish] egg on it."
And that was the end of my sushi experience.
I have, in fact, sunk my teeth into sushi, however I have never actually swallowed any.
Now I've got to go do the massive amount of homework I've got.
Option One
I think that, after thirty days, I may have developed an obsession with blogging. I will definitely be in the habit by April 30th, and I'm not sure how easy it will be for me to break it. You see, I'm bad with habits, and breaking them. I'm not a smoker, so I've never had to jump THAT particular hurdle, however I've gotten into the habit of (a) using the computer right after school and (b) buying chocolate every opportunity I have during math class.
These habits are hard to break. I feel DEPRIVED if I do not use the computer immediately and oh-so-very sad when I don't have my delicious happy-making chocolate. It's so yummy, and helps me survive the evils that are pre-calc.
The problem here is that I won't even be able to ween myself off of blogging. Perhaps I could have done it May first, took a day off, May third, skipped another day, May fifth, skipped a couple days, and so on so that I wouldn't go completely insane from not rambling into a text box about something or another. But I CAN'T.
See, on May first I have a school trip to NYC (I'm so excited! I've never been before!), and we're leaving VERY EARLY IN THE MORNING. We won't be returning until VERY LATE AT NIGHT.
Can you see the problem? The first day of Not-BEDA, I won't even be able to have weened myself a bit. IT WILL HAVE BEEN TAKEN FROM ME COLD TURKEY!
Blog-readers, I'm terrified about this. There's a good chance I'll need to be placed in a mental institution. If that's the case, I'll find a way to let you know (unless they make me attend something along the lines of Bloggers Anonymous) and I'm relying on YOUR encouraging comments to save me.
Option Two
I die.
Option Three
This seems like the most reasonable option, and the one I hope to take, because it involves neither insanity nor death, which are two things I really don't want to happen to me any time soon.
Option Three is where I go back to how life was pre-BEDA. That is to say, I don't blog as frequently, however I don't NOT do it, either. That would be bad. But I don't DREAM about blogging, because that can't be a sign of anything good, and I don't not pay attention in math BECAUSE OF BLOGGING. It's amazing how much brain time this takes up. However, I can't guarantee that I won't pay attention in math. It's just not fun. At all.
I think it's getting better, now that I've developed some sort of routine. Wake up, go to school, come home, blog a bit, do homework, sleep. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
Or perhaps this is what Maureen Johnson wanted. Maybe she wanted to create an army of BEDA zombies. Or ninjas. We're learning about each other so that we can cooperate easily, and then we'll take over the world in favor of books and random adventures.
Or maybe I really am going insane. Or I'm just tired. Actually, I'm quite tired today. Even though I got a decent amount of sleep last night, I'm ridiculously tired. It's kind of suckish, particularly because I have to finish an essay, study for TWO tests, do a lab, and finish this all before sleeping.
Though it shouldn't be hard. This one is going to be significantly shorter. As in, TIME FOR RANDOM QUESTION!
The temptation to answer the question "Do you have a blog?" was almost unbearable. I'm refraining, because that wouldn't have a very good story.
Would you eat sushi?
I don't think I'd try sushi. Again, that is. I have tried sushi before, but I didn't actually eat it, if that makes sense.
A couple years ago, my group of friends decided that we should have a really cool night and go get Chinese food and hang out. We went to this Chinese restaurant with a buffet and got really good food. They had mashed potatoes, which we all found amusing, and french fries, and things like that, along with other things that you would suspect would be at a Chinese place.
Including sushi. (Which is odd, because isn't sushi Japanese? I could be completely wrong, but I'm just saying.)
No one else took the sushi except for my friend. She was determined to try it, and we all decided that she was insane. She took TWO pieces, for kicks and giggles.
After much persuasion (or maybe I was just a fool, either option is plausible) I took her second piece of sushi and put it on my plate. We decided that we would eat it at the same time.
We picked up the sushi, held it in front of us, and on three we took a bite. She managed to swallow hers and then looked at me. I should have known by her wicked smile that nothing she said would have been good, but I currently had some unknown substance in my mouth and wasn't paying attention.
"Oh," she said after seeing that I hadn't made any movement to actually chew my bite. "I think you got the one that had the [fish] egg on it."
And that was the end of my sushi experience.
I have, in fact, sunk my teeth into sushi, however I have never actually swallowed any.
Now I've got to go do the massive amount of homework I've got.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
My Haunted Shoe
Right now, my arm feels very woozy. Kind of like it has a concussion. In fact, I think I might possibly have an ARM CONCUSSION, which doesn't seem medically possible (or normal) and that happens to be gained from carrying things. Like monkeys. Or friends.
This particular arm stress happened from carrying my friend on my back after she decided that she was tired. And, because I am such a wonderfully fantastic person, I said I would carry her.
Let me tell you something about myself, Blog-reader. I am weak. The circumference of my arm and a piece of spaghetti are almost the same. The spaghetti may be bigger. I haven't measured it recently. (Though, I've got to admit, my arms did get a bit stronger after tennis season, but if you ever witness my serve, you'll know that I still have the strength of a piece of cotton.)
Anyway, my arm concussion happened because I carried her through a hallway and a half before finally giving up and dropping her. Not on her head or her butt of anything. It was more of a, "Hey, my arms are about to fall off because I am very weak. Please remove yourself from my back. Kthx."
Because she knows about the uselessness of my arms, she complied quite quickly. However I am now left with an arm concussion. I'm extremely grateful that THIS particular concussion was not a result of evil Bunny Hills.
Alright. My main topic for today (Oh yeah! Happy End of Week One/Beginning of Week Two of BEDA!!!) is my ghost, whose name I'm still deciding. I think it's going to be Thomas, but he hasn't made an appearance in a while so I'm not sure if Thomas fits his personality.
This particular arm stress happened from carrying my friend on my back after she decided that she was tired. And, because I am such a wonderfully fantastic person, I said I would carry her.
Let me tell you something about myself, Blog-reader. I am weak. The circumference of my arm and a piece of spaghetti are almost the same. The spaghetti may be bigger. I haven't measured it recently. (Though, I've got to admit, my arms did get a bit stronger after tennis season, but if you ever witness my serve, you'll know that I still have the strength of a piece of cotton.)
Anyway, my arm concussion happened because I carried her through a hallway and a half before finally giving up and dropping her. Not on her head or her butt of anything. It was more of a, "Hey, my arms are about to fall off because I am very weak. Please remove yourself from my back. Kthx."
Because she knows about the uselessness of my arms, she complied quite quickly. However I am now left with an arm concussion. I'm extremely grateful that THIS particular concussion was not a result of evil Bunny Hills.
Alright. My main topic for today (Oh yeah! Happy End of Week One/Beginning of Week Two of BEDA!!!) is my ghost, whose name I'm still deciding. I think it's going to be Thomas, but he hasn't made an appearance in a while so I'm not sure if Thomas fits his personality.
What I imagine Thomas to look like.
I think Thomas (which is what I'll call him in here so that I don't have to keep referring to him as 'my ghost' which would get old quickly) is a summer ghost, or at least a relatively summer ghost because he seems to shy away from being annoying in the winter. Perhaps he's upstairs in the attic with whatever else we've got up there. It's small, but I bet he could fit, because, like, he's a ghost.
There are two stories that I think are evidence of me having a ghost. That only haunts my room. And only likes to bother me. It's kind of similar to the problem Emily has in The Year My Life Went Down the Loo.
Except Thomas doesn't live in solely in my underwear drawer and, thankfully, he doesn't toss all my bras around the room. I'd get really annoyed with him if he did that. Thankfully, he only likes to fix things for me and occasionally misplace my shoes.
Which are the stories that I'm going to tell you about. I'll start with the shoes, as it happened before all the rest and was the reason I decided I had a ghost in the first place.
As I've mentioned before, I play tennis. I don't have a nifty SPECIAL pair of tennis shoes that I wear, I just have sneakers. However, during school, I didn't want to wear sneakers because it was still MOSTLY summer, therefore still warm, and my feet did not want to be confined by the evilness of SOCKS.
So, everyday, I would have to bring my sneakers with me to school, along with my tennis clothes, so that I, you know, didn't have to play tennis in jeans and flip flops. I'm pretty sure my coach would have had a heart attack if I did that. He's a stickler for proper footwear.
Like I said before, I am NOT A FAN of having my feel TRAPPED BY SOCKS AND SNEAKERS in the summer, so on the way home from practice, I had a habit of, despite the risk of High Stink Levels, taking off my socks and shoes, stuffing them BACK IN MY BAG (Note the importance of this!), and putting my flip flops on. Then, when I would get home, I would drop my bag on my bedroom floor and leave it until the next morning, where I would swap out clothes for things that don't smell like ick or post-tennis.
Well, one morning, I was about to replace what was in my bag. My sneakers were in there, just hanging around waiting for their new best friends that would be another pair of shorts and a t shirt. I saw BOTH OF MY SNEAKERS in my bag. I knew they were there. I SAW them. THEY. WERE. THERE.
And then I got sidetracked and went to find more clothes to put in my bag. When I returned to the bag, I wanted to make sure my shoes were still there and in the bag, because occasionally they fall out, and even though I had already seen them, I just wanted to make sure. However, when I went to look, I only saw ONE SHOE!
Just ONE!
Frantically, I started searching my room, tossing clothes aside, checking the bag five more times, under the bed, in the closet, under the dresser. It COULDN'T BE FOUND. I was distraught. I had no idea WHERE MY SHOE WENT.
I ran downstairs and asked my mom if she saw it. She said she thought she saw it by the back door, so I searched the pile of shoes that live over there. There were heels and flip flops and fancy shoes and everything EXCEPT MY OTHER SHOE.
You can see the problem.
I bolted back upstairs, paranoid now that I was going to be late for school. I checked EVERYwhere, doubled checked everything, and my shoe, still, could not be found.
"Seriously!" I was shouting to no one in particular except my shoe. "Where the hell could a SHOE go? How does it just DISAPPEAR!?"
Apparently, after frantic searching, if you cannot find the desired footwear, you start to go insane. I did not know this. I sounded like a lunatic.
At one point my mom heard me because she answered, "It's probably by the back door!"
"No! I checked! It's not there! It's gone!"
"Ashley!"
"WHAT!?" It was seven in the morning, and I couldn't find my stupid shoe. I hope my short-temperedness can be perceived as slightly reasonable. I mean, I needed it. Tennis + not sneakers + crazy coach = sprints for Ashley, and probably while not wearing shoes.
"It's down here!"
Confused, I ran back down the stairs and RIGHT THERE in the middle of my living room floor was my missing shoe. It was just lying there, as if it had been there ALL ALONG, even though I KNOW IT HADN'T BEEN because it was in my room. I swear to you, blog-readers, my shoe was in my room and I saw both of them. Also, it doesn't even make sense how my shoe could have gotten in the living room in the first place. Also SQUARED, don't you think I would have seen it the first fifty times I was running frantically through my house, LOOKING FOR IT.
That is the first reason I think I have a ghost. And an annoying one at that. However, the lamp story isn't as much annoying as it is helpful. Also, I felt like a complete moron after this happened. Sometimes it's frustrating knowing that your ghost is smarter than you. I'm just saying.
I think Thomas (which is what I'll call him in here so that I don't have to keep referring to him as 'my ghost' which would get old quickly) is a summer ghost, or at least a relatively summer ghost because he seems to shy away from being annoying in the winter. Perhaps he's upstairs in the attic with whatever else we've got up there. It's small, but I bet he could fit, because, like, he's a ghost.
There are two stories that I think are evidence of me having a ghost. That only haunts my room. And only likes to bother me. It's kind of similar to the problem Emily has in The Year My Life Went Down the Loo.
Except Thomas doesn't live in solely in my underwear drawer and, thankfully, he doesn't toss all my bras around the room. I'd get really annoyed with him if he did that. Thankfully, he only likes to fix things for me and occasionally misplace my shoes.
Which are the stories that I'm going to tell you about. I'll start with the shoes, as it happened before all the rest and was the reason I decided I had a ghost in the first place.
As I've mentioned before, I play tennis. I don't have a nifty SPECIAL pair of tennis shoes that I wear, I just have sneakers. However, during school, I didn't want to wear sneakers because it was still MOSTLY summer, therefore still warm, and my feet did not want to be confined by the evilness of SOCKS.
So, everyday, I would have to bring my sneakers with me to school, along with my tennis clothes, so that I, you know, didn't have to play tennis in jeans and flip flops. I'm pretty sure my coach would have had a heart attack if I did that. He's a stickler for proper footwear.
Like I said before, I am NOT A FAN of having my feel TRAPPED BY SOCKS AND SNEAKERS in the summer, so on the way home from practice, I had a habit of, despite the risk of High Stink Levels, taking off my socks and shoes, stuffing them BACK IN MY BAG (Note the importance of this!), and putting my flip flops on. Then, when I would get home, I would drop my bag on my bedroom floor and leave it until the next morning, where I would swap out clothes for things that don't smell like ick or post-tennis.
Well, one morning, I was about to replace what was in my bag. My sneakers were in there, just hanging around waiting for their new best friends that would be another pair of shorts and a t shirt. I saw BOTH OF MY SNEAKERS in my bag. I knew they were there. I SAW them. THEY. WERE. THERE.
And then I got sidetracked and went to find more clothes to put in my bag. When I returned to the bag, I wanted to make sure my shoes were still there and in the bag, because occasionally they fall out, and even though I had already seen them, I just wanted to make sure. However, when I went to look, I only saw ONE SHOE!
Just ONE!
Frantically, I started searching my room, tossing clothes aside, checking the bag five more times, under the bed, in the closet, under the dresser. It COULDN'T BE FOUND. I was distraught. I had no idea WHERE MY SHOE WENT.
I ran downstairs and asked my mom if she saw it. She said she thought she saw it by the back door, so I searched the pile of shoes that live over there. There were heels and flip flops and fancy shoes and everything EXCEPT MY OTHER SHOE.
You can see the problem.
I bolted back upstairs, paranoid now that I was going to be late for school. I checked EVERYwhere, doubled checked everything, and my shoe, still, could not be found.
"Seriously!" I was shouting to no one in particular except my shoe. "Where the hell could a SHOE go? How does it just DISAPPEAR!?"
Apparently, after frantic searching, if you cannot find the desired footwear, you start to go insane. I did not know this. I sounded like a lunatic.
At one point my mom heard me because she answered, "It's probably by the back door!"
"No! I checked! It's not there! It's gone!"
"Ashley!"
"WHAT!?" It was seven in the morning, and I couldn't find my stupid shoe. I hope my short-temperedness can be perceived as slightly reasonable. I mean, I needed it. Tennis + not sneakers + crazy coach = sprints for Ashley, and probably while not wearing shoes.
"It's down here!"
Confused, I ran back down the stairs and RIGHT THERE in the middle of my living room floor was my missing shoe. It was just lying there, as if it had been there ALL ALONG, even though I KNOW IT HADN'T BEEN because it was in my room. I swear to you, blog-readers, my shoe was in my room and I saw both of them. Also, it doesn't even make sense how my shoe could have gotten in the living room in the first place. Also SQUARED, don't you think I would have seen it the first fifty times I was running frantically through my house, LOOKING FOR IT.
That is the first reason I think I have a ghost. And an annoying one at that. However, the lamp story isn't as much annoying as it is helpful. Also, I felt like a complete moron after this happened. Sometimes it's frustrating knowing that your ghost is smarter than you. I'm just saying.
A couple summers ago, we moved into the house that I live in now. The one that left me with a haunted room. We went to Lowes (or maybe it was Home Depot) because we were going to fix some things up a bit before we actually moved in. I mean, I'm quite glad that we added that final wall. The breeze would have gotten quite cold after a while, especially in winter.
When we were at Lowes (or Home Depot), I was also shopping for things that I wanted. I think we were actually buying paint. I knew my room was going to be blue (Unfortunately. My mom was dead set against it being orange, even though I would be the one having to live in it, not her.) and I wanted something nice and pretty to make it lovely and mine. Well, I found this lamp that matched my room almost eerily, so I bought it. It had a lamp shade that I thought was uber cool and balanced on top of this ball on top of the lamp, so that is how I always had it, balancing on top of the little metal ball.
Yes, occasionally it would fall, but I just thought that it was one of the downsides of that particular lamp. But everything has flaws, so I looked passed it. It was only human, after all.
Well, one day, I got home and went to turn on this lamp, because I needed it light, and it turns out that the lamp did much more than compliment my room. In fact, it made light, too, which made things like seeing much easier. I went to turn it on, careful not to knock the shade off as I had so many times before.
When the shade didn't even wiggle, I became intrigued. Did the shade suddenly become adhesive? Did it not want to move? Over the course of a day, did the lamp acquire very good balancing skills?
None of those were the answer. What had happened was this:
The little metal ball, that I thought was used for BALANCING, could actually be unscrewed! Yes! You're supposed to unscrew the little metal NOT-balance ball, put the shade on there, and then screw the ball back on! WHAT A CONCEPT! I was in complete shock about this that at first I didn't even wonder how this came to be.
And then I did.
"Mom!" I said when I went downstairs. "How'd you know the little non-balance metal ball unscrewed and that's how the lamp shade stayed on?" I was beaming. I would never have to face the wrath of unbalanced lamp shades again!
My mom looked utterly and honestly confused. "What?"
Which lead to me asking every person in my house if they knew anything about my mysterious balanced lamp. And none of them did. The only logical explanation that I could come up with was that MY GHOST HAD STRUCK AGAIN!
Yes! Thomas had come back, except this time he was HELPFUL. That was something strange and new. I appreciated his help, but it was still kind of strange having a ghost look out for me.
He hasn't made an appearance since then, and I'm wondering if he'll come back. Maybe he'll come visit me in college? Maybe he'll move his hauntings down the hall and into my brother's room? Perhaps he'll take residence in one of my shoes. I don't know. But there is my proof that my room is, in fact, haunted.
Have you ever been in the hospital?
This seemed like the perfect random question for today. Not because I'm about ready to go to the hospital or anything, because I'm not. My arm concussion seems to have faded since I started this, so I don't think it will need to be hospitalized, which is good, because I need my left hand as I am left handed.
I have been in the hospital, for many reasons. Four births that I can remember (not including my own), a concussion, and stitches. You've already heard about the stupid concussion. Now I'm going to tell you about the stitches.
This happened in sixth grade. My brother had this very bad habit of starting water wars with me at horrible times, but I would always fight back. Do you know those little things that you suck medicine into, so that you can measure it, and then squirt it out? Well, those are actually also very convenient to have in a water war. That's what he was using. My weapon choice was a cup. A glass cup. I wasn't thinking much when I grabbed this, and I'm sure you're already piecing together what happened.
I chased him through the house, out the door, around the backyard, and he bolted up the stairs. Somehow, in my attempt to follow, I tripped up the stairs, trying to catch myself with the hand that was also holding the glass of water.
Bad idea.
The glass broke, obviously, and decided that, instead of being nice and avoiding my hand, it would cut a nice jagged line right into my hand. I mean, it was pretty deep. Clearly, as I had to get stitches. I'm pretty sure I hit an artery (unless, if by hitting an artery you die, in which case it wasn't one, because I'm still alive), so it was bleeding like a head wound, which was really gross.
I started freaking out and wrapped it in a towel, and my mom came rushing down, saying that we needed to go to the hospital.
See, I didn't think I needed to go to the hospital, so this news freaked me out EVEN MORE. That is NOT something a twelve year old needs to hear. Regardless, we went to the hospital, where, first they wrapped my hand up, and asked me questions, and then stuck me in the waiting room for HOURS. I'm not even kidding. It was SO LONG.
In the time spent waiting in the waiting room (and they did name that quite properly), I made a new friend, who I'm pretty sure was drunk. It was this lady who was bit by this bug, and it made her hand swell, and she wanted to make sure she wasn't going to, like, die or anything.
She even brought the bug in a little plastic bag.
She was really funny, possibly because she might have been drunk. Maybe just over tired. I'm not sure which, but it was enough to amuse little twelve year old me. She came with one of her friends, who had bug stickers in her purse, so I was helping her pick out which ones she needed to put on the baggy to make a home for Charlotte. Which is what she named it.
It gets better though! After a while, another lady walked in and went to do the whole Asking Questions bit, and her daughter came to sit with us. At this point, it was probably midnight, because hand wounds and bug bites apparently aren't NEARLY as important as other highly rated hospital priorities. Anyway, so this girl comes over, and we tell her the story with the bug and how we named her Charlotte and everything.
"Can I see it?" she finally asks, holding out her hand for the bug-in-a-bag.
Crazy possibly-drunk-but-funny lady hands over Charlotte with her Sticker Family. We wait patiently while this girl observes the bug.
After much waiting (again I say, this room was FULL OF IT!), she finally says, "That's a boy bug, not a girl." Our response was pretty much... *blink blink blink*.
"Really?" The girl nodded. So then we changed Charlotte's name to Charlie. It was the only logical thing to do.
Three years of waiting later, they FINALLY called me in and said that I needed stitches, which, along with hearing that I needed to go to the hospital, was not something I WANTED TO KNOW. But I went anyway and tried not to stare at the gaping black hole that was the hand wound. Or the needle. The needle that they POKED INTO THE GAPING HAND WOUND to make the pain stop.
I hate needles.
I remember talking about soccer, because I think they were trying to distract me from the fact that they were SEWING ME UP LIKE NEEDLEWORK.
There were five stitches, and I had them during my sixth grade graduation, which was kind of cool, but kind of inconvenient. Also, I got to go into school late the next day because we were at the hospital until, I'm not even kidding, three in the morning.
I never actually checked how much I write in these things, and this is close to 3000 words! I'm so sorry that they're so long! I'll have to cut back!
Slaters, guys,
Ashley
(Also, I'm not sure why the second half of this is formatted weird, and I'm too lazy to go solve the problem. Sorry!)
Monday, April 6, 2009
Panic! Or Just Dance
As the fourth and final marking period begins at my school, I find that, as a senior, I have two things to worry about. They are two things I do not want to worry about, but two things that are ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY to worry about because they both DETERMINE THE REST OF MY LIFE.
I see that as a slightly big deal.
The first is COLLEGE.
Yes. I know. Many, many, MANY people go to college, and they love it it, and they party, and they get drunk, and they make new friends. But this all happens AFTER they choose which school they go to. College, in fact, is just one giant stress ball that too many people have to go through IN ORDER TO SURVIVE or else they will face the wrath of EVIL PARENTS.
Or not. Okay, parents aren't EVIL for pushing this on their innocent children. They are actually, in fact, quite smart for wanting their spawn to have a nice future full of plush cars, fancy houses, and 2.4 kids. I'm sure college IS A BLAST and everyone says it will be the BEST YEARS OF MY LIFE (Although, I thought that was high school. Huh.) but what is causing this big deal, you might ask?
Well, I'll tell you, you curious blog-reader.
Picking a college.
There are people who know where they want to go, and they have their college picked out. I mean, these are the types of people who wore diapers with Harvard or Notre Dame stamped across the front. The ones whose mothers ate nothing but Harvard scarves and leprechauns for nine months. They. Know. They're prepared. They WANT this.
Then there are the Me's of the universe, who don't know WHAT they want to do or WHERE they want to go, and looked at some colleges based on the boy to girl ratio because that was the only interesting thing they could think of. It's muy pathetico.
This is turning quite serious, and I'm not a fan of serious. If you've read my previous posts, you should know that me and serious do not add up to anything.
Panicking about college is... necessary. It proves that you are able to actually CARE about where you want to go, and worried that making the wrong decision will, you know, affect your entire life. I mean, it's something horrible, but it can also be enjoyable.
Now I've just got to pick, damnit, when all I want to do is eat really good chocolate chip cookies.
The second reason to panic is PROM.
Oi, with the poodles already. Prom is supposed to be fun, but everything that needs to happen before prom is RIDICULOUSLY STRESSFUL. I don't understand why. It's the END OF SENIOR YEAR. I should be jumping for joy that I get to put on a pretty dress, painful shoes, get my hair done, and have nice looking feet for a change.
Our prom this year is supposed to be really cool. We're having it at this really nifty train station (which, now that I think about it, is much more nifty than it sounds), and we get to take a train there. However, just today, I realized that my date prospects are DWINDLING. And quickly. Very quickly.
In the matter of ONE DAY, I found that one potential-guy-that-could-be-asked-by-Ashley has the possibility of already being asked, and the other, in fact, has a girlfriend. Which I suppose I should have realized before that. But I am a firm believer of IGNORANCE BEING BLISS.
It really is. Not only is it a wonderful song:
(Yes, I actually know these people, and am proud to say they have never bitten me.)
but it is, in fact, VERY TRUE.
Think about it. If there is a bug in your oatmeal raisin cookie that looks like a raisin, wouldn't you MUCH RATHER eat the raisin-like bug than find out that it is a bug so that you can continue to eat the otherwise delicious cookie?
I'm not saying that it's ALWAYS true. I'm just saying that the phrase, "ignorance is bliss," has many true qualities.
So, with the mixture of COLLEGE plus PROM, it's very amazing that seniors around the country haven't imploded by now. I'm impressed. However, once all of this is resolved, once colleges are chosen, once dates are found, dresses picked out, financial aide handled, it will all be fun. I mean, there's DANCING at prom. I can't dance like a normal person, but I can wiggle something fierce, and sometimes in beat with the music and act like a goof, and I think that's good enough.
On a MUCH happier note, today you get TWO random questions about me, because I feel bad for this being such a rambly and un-happy-making (save the epic video) entry.
Can you fit in your locker?
Okay. Story time. I'll set the scene for you. It was the last day of school, and my friends Shannon and Rachael and I were over by Rachael's locker. It was sunny out, and we were getting ready to leave, but we had some last minute locker cleaning to do.
We were a very random bunch of people. The three of us, plus three more of our friends, had study hall fifth period, and we'd go to the library. There, we would sit between the shelves looking for books, occasionally finding random trap doors that were useless so we left notes in there and sitting in random places we thought we could fit. Eventually, the librarians decided we were a disturbance and intimidated people who wanted to go through those particular shelves to look for books, so we went to a corner.
For your entertainment, to see how random we actually were in the library, I give you the following, possibly paraphrased, but ultimately true, conversation.
Shannon: *did something to make Rachael annoyed*
Rachael: I can't hear you. I put up a force field. *holds up hands to symbolize said force field*
Shannon: Move over.
Rachael: I CAN'T hear you!
Shannon: *shoves*
Rachael: Hey! *being shoved* Stop!
Shannon: What was that, Rachael? I can't hear you. There's a force field.
It was definitely one of those times that you HAD TO BE THERE for, however I still find it funny now. They were sitting in this little cubby thing in between the bookshelves. I know, it might not seem funny to you, but trust me, blog-readers, it really was.
Maybe if you pictured them like this:
Anyway, back on topic. Rachael was cleaning out her locker, and I'm pretty sure, once she finished, one of the exclamations was, "Oh my God! It's so clean! Like, someone could probably fit in there!" (Note: I'm using the fact that I was a FRESHMAN when this happened as an excuse for the possibly excessive omg's and like's.)
Also, I was about locker size, then. So, we decided that I should hop into the locker. And so I did. And they shut the door. And Rachael COULDN'T GET IT BACK OPEN, which was tragic, because I thought that I'd be stuck in this stupid locker ALL SUMMER LONG, while everyone else was off going swimming and having fun, and oh man, what if I had to pee? and it was awfully cramped in there and uncomfortable.
So, after much fidgeting with the lock, the door opened, and I was able to escape into the wonderful glory that is summer. Thank god.
I don't think I can fit into my locker NOW though, because, you know, my hips got bigger, and I grew like an inch. Only an inch in four years, which sucks. I was just measured today, too, randomly, because during gym the substitute was like, "Name?"
"Ashley," I answered, quite used to this protocol.
"You need to go to the nurse."
Blank stare. "Me? Really?" astounded that I had the honor of going to the nurse, therefore missing the first ten or so minutes of gym where I would have otherwise been running around, looking like I was doing something active, but not really doing it.
"Yes."
So I went to the nurse, where they took my blood pressure, height, weight, eyes, ears, all that good stuff that got me out of gym! Yay! It was extremely random, though, because I already had a physical this year for tennis. Not that I'm complaining. I suck at all things in gym. Except badminton. That's fun.
And that's how I figured out I've only grown an inch.
What did you eat for breakfast this morning?
This is actually a very good story. And it wouldn't have happened if I didn't have very odd, very random friends.
I was distracted reading blogs this morning before my friend came to pick me up. Normally, if I'm distracted for too long and don't realize that she's already here, she'll text me to let me know. This morning, my phone went off while I was reading a blog, and I jumped up, and asked my mom if she was in the driveway. I wasn't even going to read the text message, because I figured it was her telling me that she was here.
However, my mom said that there wasn't anyone in the driveway. So I pulled out my cellphone and looked at the text message.
"'Want some toast?'" I read to my mom. We both laughed.
I immediately sent back my 'yes,' because toast is excellent, especially random surprise toast.
When she finally did get here, I jumped in her car and she offered me her toast, complete with jam and everything. It was very delicious. And square. Like, perfectly square. Not a cube, because, while interesting, that would be very difficult to eat, especially with jam all over it, just square. I was quite intrigued by this.
So for breakfast this morning, I had a square piece of toast with raspberry jam.
I feel much less witty and clever than I do other days (which is strange, because I'm hardly witty or clever then), so excuse me if BEDA 6 was suck-tacular. Tomorrow, I will try to make it better. Would you like to hear about bees? Or ghosts?
Let me know in the comments. Those stories are much more interesting than today, I promise.
Slaters,
Ashley
I see that as a slightly big deal.
The first is COLLEGE.
Yes. I know. Many, many, MANY people go to college, and they love it it, and they party, and they get drunk, and they make new friends. But this all happens AFTER they choose which school they go to. College, in fact, is just one giant stress ball that too many people have to go through IN ORDER TO SURVIVE or else they will face the wrath of EVIL PARENTS.
Or not. Okay, parents aren't EVIL for pushing this on their innocent children. They are actually, in fact, quite smart for wanting their spawn to have a nice future full of plush cars, fancy houses, and 2.4 kids. I'm sure college IS A BLAST and everyone says it will be the BEST YEARS OF MY LIFE (Although, I thought that was high school. Huh.) but what is causing this big deal, you might ask?
Well, I'll tell you, you curious blog-reader.
Picking a college.
There are people who know where they want to go, and they have their college picked out. I mean, these are the types of people who wore diapers with Harvard or Notre Dame stamped across the front. The ones whose mothers ate nothing but Harvard scarves and leprechauns for nine months. They. Know. They're prepared. They WANT this.
Then there are the Me's of the universe, who don't know WHAT they want to do or WHERE they want to go, and looked at some colleges based on the boy to girl ratio because that was the only interesting thing they could think of. It's muy pathetico.
This is turning quite serious, and I'm not a fan of serious. If you've read my previous posts, you should know that me and serious do not add up to anything.
Panicking about college is... necessary. It proves that you are able to actually CARE about where you want to go, and worried that making the wrong decision will, you know, affect your entire life. I mean, it's something horrible, but it can also be enjoyable.
Now I've just got to pick, damnit, when all I want to do is eat really good chocolate chip cookies.
The second reason to panic is PROM.
Oi, with the poodles already. Prom is supposed to be fun, but everything that needs to happen before prom is RIDICULOUSLY STRESSFUL. I don't understand why. It's the END OF SENIOR YEAR. I should be jumping for joy that I get to put on a pretty dress, painful shoes, get my hair done, and have nice looking feet for a change.
Our prom this year is supposed to be really cool. We're having it at this really nifty train station (which, now that I think about it, is much more nifty than it sounds), and we get to take a train there. However, just today, I realized that my date prospects are DWINDLING. And quickly. Very quickly.
In the matter of ONE DAY, I found that one potential-guy-that-could-be-asked-by-Ashley has the possibility of already being asked, and the other, in fact, has a girlfriend. Which I suppose I should have realized before that. But I am a firm believer of IGNORANCE BEING BLISS.
It really is. Not only is it a wonderful song:
(Yes, I actually know these people, and am proud to say they have never bitten me.)
but it is, in fact, VERY TRUE.
Think about it. If there is a bug in your oatmeal raisin cookie that looks like a raisin, wouldn't you MUCH RATHER eat the raisin-like bug than find out that it is a bug so that you can continue to eat the otherwise delicious cookie?
I'm not saying that it's ALWAYS true. I'm just saying that the phrase, "ignorance is bliss," has many true qualities.
So, with the mixture of COLLEGE plus PROM, it's very amazing that seniors around the country haven't imploded by now. I'm impressed. However, once all of this is resolved, once colleges are chosen, once dates are found, dresses picked out, financial aide handled, it will all be fun. I mean, there's DANCING at prom. I can't dance like a normal person, but I can wiggle something fierce, and sometimes in beat with the music and act like a goof, and I think that's good enough.
On a MUCH happier note, today you get TWO random questions about me, because I feel bad for this being such a rambly and un-happy-making (save the epic video) entry.
Can you fit in your locker?
Okay. Story time. I'll set the scene for you. It was the last day of school, and my friends Shannon and Rachael and I were over by Rachael's locker. It was sunny out, and we were getting ready to leave, but we had some last minute locker cleaning to do.
We were a very random bunch of people. The three of us, plus three more of our friends, had study hall fifth period, and we'd go to the library. There, we would sit between the shelves looking for books, occasionally finding random trap doors that were useless so we left notes in there and sitting in random places we thought we could fit. Eventually, the librarians decided we were a disturbance and intimidated people who wanted to go through those particular shelves to look for books, so we went to a corner.
For your entertainment, to see how random we actually were in the library, I give you the following, possibly paraphrased, but ultimately true, conversation.
Shannon: *did something to make Rachael annoyed*
Rachael: I can't hear you. I put up a force field. *holds up hands to symbolize said force field*
Shannon: Move over.
Rachael: I CAN'T hear you!
Shannon: *shoves*
Rachael: Hey! *being shoved* Stop!
Shannon: What was that, Rachael? I can't hear you. There's a force field.
It was definitely one of those times that you HAD TO BE THERE for, however I still find it funny now. They were sitting in this little cubby thing in between the bookshelves. I know, it might not seem funny to you, but trust me, blog-readers, it really was.
Maybe if you pictured them like this:
Anyway, back on topic. Rachael was cleaning out her locker, and I'm pretty sure, once she finished, one of the exclamations was, "Oh my God! It's so clean! Like, someone could probably fit in there!" (Note: I'm using the fact that I was a FRESHMAN when this happened as an excuse for the possibly excessive omg's and like's.)
Also, I was about locker size, then. So, we decided that I should hop into the locker. And so I did. And they shut the door. And Rachael COULDN'T GET IT BACK OPEN, which was tragic, because I thought that I'd be stuck in this stupid locker ALL SUMMER LONG, while everyone else was off going swimming and having fun, and oh man, what if I had to pee? and it was awfully cramped in there and uncomfortable.
So, after much fidgeting with the lock, the door opened, and I was able to escape into the wonderful glory that is summer. Thank god.
I don't think I can fit into my locker NOW though, because, you know, my hips got bigger, and I grew like an inch. Only an inch in four years, which sucks. I was just measured today, too, randomly, because during gym the substitute was like, "Name?"
"Ashley," I answered, quite used to this protocol.
"You need to go to the nurse."
Blank stare. "Me? Really?" astounded that I had the honor of going to the nurse, therefore missing the first ten or so minutes of gym where I would have otherwise been running around, looking like I was doing something active, but not really doing it.
"Yes."
So I went to the nurse, where they took my blood pressure, height, weight, eyes, ears, all that good stuff that got me out of gym! Yay! It was extremely random, though, because I already had a physical this year for tennis. Not that I'm complaining. I suck at all things in gym. Except badminton. That's fun.
And that's how I figured out I've only grown an inch.
What did you eat for breakfast this morning?
This is actually a very good story. And it wouldn't have happened if I didn't have very odd, very random friends.
I was distracted reading blogs this morning before my friend came to pick me up. Normally, if I'm distracted for too long and don't realize that she's already here, she'll text me to let me know. This morning, my phone went off while I was reading a blog, and I jumped up, and asked my mom if she was in the driveway. I wasn't even going to read the text message, because I figured it was her telling me that she was here.
However, my mom said that there wasn't anyone in the driveway. So I pulled out my cellphone and looked at the text message.
"'Want some toast?'" I read to my mom. We both laughed.
I immediately sent back my 'yes,' because toast is excellent, especially random surprise toast.
When she finally did get here, I jumped in her car and she offered me her toast, complete with jam and everything. It was very delicious. And square. Like, perfectly square. Not a cube, because, while interesting, that would be very difficult to eat, especially with jam all over it, just square. I was quite intrigued by this.
So for breakfast this morning, I had a square piece of toast with raspberry jam.
I feel much less witty and clever than I do other days (which is strange, because I'm hardly witty or clever then), so excuse me if BEDA 6 was suck-tacular. Tomorrow, I will try to make it better. Would you like to hear about bees? Or ghosts?
Let me know in the comments. Those stories are much more interesting than today, I promise.
Slaters,
Ashley
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Luck Levels
After using the word 'levels' about fifteen times in the last half an hour, I'm dubbing it my Word of the Day, which isn't something that is consistent, and happens randomly (that was redundant), and sometimes the Word of the Day can go into Word of the Month, which would make it qualified for Word of the Year, which means it gets added to my List of Really Cool Words.
That list includes words like defenestrate, redundant, repetitive, and asshat. I have them written down somewhere in a notebook that I think might have made a home in my school bag, but I'm in fact much too lazy to actually GET UP off of this slightly comfortable couch in order to search for my bag that is UPSTAIRS.
But if you're really curious, it involves other words like asshat, defenestrate, redundant, and repetetive.
The main topic of this blog, BEDA 5, is to talk about Luck Levls. Or Bad Luck Levels, depending on your optimism level. This idea spawned about half an hour or so ago because my mom is "spring cleaning" as she calls it.
What really happened was that my mom decided that our house needed to be Windex-ed to death, which I'll admit, is sometimes fun. Windex and Lysol are my favorite cleaning products. However, that does not mean I use them often. Do not intermix FAVORITE with USAGE LEVELS.
Also, she vacuumed it, with the help of my little sister (1.5 years old) who she has somehow brianwashed into enjoying cleaning. It's very strange. I blame the fact that my mom was young when she had me and, thus, didn't herself enjoy cleaning then, so it would be illogical to assume that I would like cleaning. Which I don't, generally, unless I'm really bored and my books don't want to be read. (Note: This is extremely RARE.)
While my mom was vacuuming, she hit the wine wrack. (OH. MY. GOD.) and one of the wine glasses (also, I keep wanting to put WIN GLASSES, which is funny, but not what I'm meaning to put) FELL OFF of the wrack. And broke.
No big deal, right? I didn't think so.
I had to go make sure my sister didn't go step in it, while she sat on top of me saying, "Broke. Uh-oh. Broke. Broookkeee!" because she's only a year and a half old, and intelligent.
My mom cleaned it up while saying, "You know, Ashley, you could dust," but I told her that I was distracted in keeping up with the blogs of other BEDA-doers, which isn't even a lie! It was/is what I was/am doing. Also, blogs > dust.
Then she went to go do something. I wasn't paying too much attention to whatever that was, but my sister decided it was time for her to vacuum again, and she wanted to do it next to the shelf that, coincidentally, was right next to the wine wrack. That corner/wall was not a LUCKY PLACE TO BE.
So she pulled the vacuum along, and tried to turn next to it, but hit the shelf. And apparently the nifty lamp we have doesn't like to be disturbed, because it leaped off of the shelf and it's glass shade thing broke! Broke! It really was a nice lamp, too, but my mom said that we just need a new shade, which cheers me up.
I heard the crash and walked over while my sister was pointing to it going, "Uh-oh. Broken. Uh-oh. Osh, broke," because she calls me Osh and I could clearly fix the problem.
So I cleaned that up, accidentally kneeling in some broken glass that I didn't know was there. It's okay, I'm indestructible, and didn't even feel it. Although it could just be my kick ass pajama pants. Except my mom didn't feel that I did a sufficient job (probably because I missed the little bits of glass that I was kneeling on...) and so she finished it.
My sister likes to randomly disappear when we're not looking. Particularly, she likes to run to hide in closets, which is awkward and funny and we really have no idea why. She'll leave the room, and we'll search everywhere for her. And where will she be? In the closet. It's slightly ridiculous and gets mad at us when we try to coax her out.
But anyway, while my mom was cleaning the rest of the glass, and I was blog-reading, my sister went to sit in the closet. It's very, very strange. She goes to sit in mine sometimes, which is weird and inconvenient, especially because I call my closet the Bad Karma Closet, so whenever it's left open I have a gloomy day. And one and a half year olds aren't good at remembering to close doors. (However, because she's been trained well, she turns off the TV before leaving the room, and occasionally the lights. Just not to shut closet doors once she's done using them.)
My mom asked, "Ashley, where's your sister?"
"I dunno."
She rolled her eyes. "Is she in the closet?"
"Probably." I was very tuned in to the blogs I was reading, hence the excitement in this conversation. I could try to make it more interesting.
"Could you get her for me?" Grudgingly, I nodded, set the laptop aside, and went to fetch my sister. Except when I tried looking at her, she went, "Oshh, no! Nooooo!"
Also, I swear, she discovered closets on her own. We don't lock her in there, although sometimes I'd like to do that to my brother. Unfortunately, he's slowly getting taller than me, which I do not like, and could probably defenestrate me if I tried.
(The more interesting version of this story:
"Ashley!" my mom yelled as we stepped closer to the open door of the plane.
"What?" I shouted back, not bothering to look at her, mostly because I physically couldn't. My gaze was held by the ground, which was, in fact, a great distance away.
"Where's your sister!?" she asked over the sound of wind rushing past us due to the high velocity of the plane. I gripped the straps to my parachute tighter.
"I dunno!"
She rolled her eyes at me. "Is she in the closet? In that house? Way down there? That we're conveniently over?"
"Probably!" I answered, preparing myself for the jump of a life time.
"Could you get her for me?!"
I looked at her like she was out of her mind. Me? Jumping? OUT OF A PLANE? It seemed ridiculous, but I've always wanted to go sky diving, and that seemed like the opportune moment, particularly because I already had a parachute strapped to my back, and had somehow gained infinite knowledge on What To Do When Sky Diving.
The ending to this is the same as the dull version, except in this one, I'm trailing a parachute behind me.)
Back to luck. Glass broke. Lamp broke. Sister goes into closet and won't come out. Bad luck. Which has a higher luck lever? Wine glass or lamp shade? I think it's a lamp shade, but I also think that we all know nothing brings more bad luck than THE MIRROR.
Thankfully, the Luck Level was rather low, and lasted probably about seven minutes, instead of seven years, as now my sister is running around with her toothbrush and watching iCarly.
One more random note before Random Question Time: My mom JUST (ten seconds ago) almost broke ANOTHER glass when she tried to move the wrack over. And now my sister is shaking the whole thing. Annddd *facepalm* That is a wrack with very high Bad Luck Levels, apparently, but still not nearly as high as the mirror.
Do you have any strange phobias?
In fact, I have many strange phobias that range from Santa Claus to caterpillars. I'll explain both of those, because they are my biggest, I think, and I also don't like to think of all my phobias at once...
Santa, and yes, I completely understand that he DOES NOT EXIST, just developed recently (a couple years ago) because I realized there are many innuendos that could be made about Santa, and that he could, in fact, be perceived as a pervert. I prefer not to sit on an old-man-in-all-red's lap just to tell him what I want so that he can sneak into my house in the middle of the night and leave presents (or BRIBERY) under a tree. And he expects cookies in return.
I do not think so. Nope.
Caterpillars happened a year before Santa. I was walking to my friend's house, and FOLLOWING THE SIDEWALK. Now, tell me. When you see a sidewalk, don't you generally think it's, oh, I don't know, A SAFE PLACE FOR YOU TO WALK? As in, if you WALK ON THIS SIDEWALK, you will not get dive bombed by caterpillars?
I thought so, but, apparently, I'm a moron.
Tent caterpillars. Those were the little asshats. I didn't really give much thought to caterpillars before that summer. I didn't care about them, they were just there, and always minded their own business. This was BEFORE.
They hang from trees in case you didn't know. Yes, they hang in trees, and live in trees, in populations of HUNDREDS. Like I said, I was walking to my friends house and walked RIGHT THROUGH THE MIDDLE of hundreds of caterpillars HANGING FROM THE TREE. And I didn't notice until I was IN THE MIDDLE.
I made it to my friends house, freaking out, dancing and flicking those stupid things off of me. They were all over! I was extremely close to taking my pants off, right in the middle of the street. Jeez, just thinking about it now is freaking me out.
Also, that was the same incident where my glasses first broke because they flew off of my face during the caterpillar dance.
Yeah.
So those are a couple of my phobias, and so far what my day has been about. I just now realized that, in two blogs, I've talked about weather and cleaning, which makes me feel kind of lame. Maybe I will go sky diving, because that's got to be more interesting than OMG BREAKING GLASS!
Until tomorrow,
Bye, guys!
That list includes words like defenestrate, redundant, repetitive, and asshat. I have them written down somewhere in a notebook that I think might have made a home in my school bag, but I'm in fact much too lazy to actually GET UP off of this slightly comfortable couch in order to search for my bag that is UPSTAIRS.
But if you're really curious, it involves other words like asshat, defenestrate, redundant, and repetetive.
The main topic of this blog, BEDA 5, is to talk about Luck Levls. Or Bad Luck Levels, depending on your optimism level. This idea spawned about half an hour or so ago because my mom is "spring cleaning" as she calls it.
What really happened was that my mom decided that our house needed to be Windex-ed to death, which I'll admit, is sometimes fun. Windex and Lysol are my favorite cleaning products. However, that does not mean I use them often. Do not intermix FAVORITE with USAGE LEVELS.
Also, she vacuumed it, with the help of my little sister (1.5 years old) who she has somehow brianwashed into enjoying cleaning. It's very strange. I blame the fact that my mom was young when she had me and, thus, didn't herself enjoy cleaning then, so it would be illogical to assume that I would like cleaning. Which I don't, generally, unless I'm really bored and my books don't want to be read. (Note: This is extremely RARE.)
While my mom was vacuuming, she hit the wine wrack. (OH. MY. GOD.) and one of the wine glasses (also, I keep wanting to put WIN GLASSES, which is funny, but not what I'm meaning to put) FELL OFF of the wrack. And broke.
No big deal, right? I didn't think so.
I had to go make sure my sister didn't go step in it, while she sat on top of me saying, "Broke. Uh-oh. Broke. Broookkeee!" because she's only a year and a half old, and intelligent.
My mom cleaned it up while saying, "You know, Ashley, you could dust," but I told her that I was distracted in keeping up with the blogs of other BEDA-doers, which isn't even a lie! It was/is what I was/am doing. Also, blogs > dust.
Then she went to go do something. I wasn't paying too much attention to whatever that was, but my sister decided it was time for her to vacuum again, and she wanted to do it next to the shelf that, coincidentally, was right next to the wine wrack. That corner/wall was not a LUCKY PLACE TO BE.
So she pulled the vacuum along, and tried to turn next to it, but hit the shelf. And apparently the nifty lamp we have doesn't like to be disturbed, because it leaped off of the shelf and it's glass shade thing broke! Broke! It really was a nice lamp, too, but my mom said that we just need a new shade, which cheers me up.
I heard the crash and walked over while my sister was pointing to it going, "Uh-oh. Broken. Uh-oh. Osh, broke," because she calls me Osh and I could clearly fix the problem.
So I cleaned that up, accidentally kneeling in some broken glass that I didn't know was there. It's okay, I'm indestructible, and didn't even feel it. Although it could just be my kick ass pajama pants. Except my mom didn't feel that I did a sufficient job (probably because I missed the little bits of glass that I was kneeling on...) and so she finished it.
My sister likes to randomly disappear when we're not looking. Particularly, she likes to run to hide in closets, which is awkward and funny and we really have no idea why. She'll leave the room, and we'll search everywhere for her. And where will she be? In the closet. It's slightly ridiculous and gets mad at us when we try to coax her out.
But anyway, while my mom was cleaning the rest of the glass, and I was blog-reading, my sister went to sit in the closet. It's very, very strange. She goes to sit in mine sometimes, which is weird and inconvenient, especially because I call my closet the Bad Karma Closet, so whenever it's left open I have a gloomy day. And one and a half year olds aren't good at remembering to close doors. (However, because she's been trained well, she turns off the TV before leaving the room, and occasionally the lights. Just not to shut closet doors once she's done using them.)
My mom asked, "Ashley, where's your sister?"
"I dunno."
She rolled her eyes. "Is she in the closet?"
"Probably." I was very tuned in to the blogs I was reading, hence the excitement in this conversation. I could try to make it more interesting.
"Could you get her for me?" Grudgingly, I nodded, set the laptop aside, and went to fetch my sister. Except when I tried looking at her, she went, "Oshh, no! Nooooo!"
Also, I swear, she discovered closets on her own. We don't lock her in there, although sometimes I'd like to do that to my brother. Unfortunately, he's slowly getting taller than me, which I do not like, and could probably defenestrate me if I tried.
(The more interesting version of this story:
"Ashley!" my mom yelled as we stepped closer to the open door of the plane.
"What?" I shouted back, not bothering to look at her, mostly because I physically couldn't. My gaze was held by the ground, which was, in fact, a great distance away.
"Where's your sister!?" she asked over the sound of wind rushing past us due to the high velocity of the plane. I gripped the straps to my parachute tighter.
"I dunno!"
She rolled her eyes at me. "Is she in the closet? In that house? Way down there? That we're conveniently over?"
"Probably!" I answered, preparing myself for the jump of a life time.
"Could you get her for me?!"
I looked at her like she was out of her mind. Me? Jumping? OUT OF A PLANE? It seemed ridiculous, but I've always wanted to go sky diving, and that seemed like the opportune moment, particularly because I already had a parachute strapped to my back, and had somehow gained infinite knowledge on What To Do When Sky Diving.
The ending to this is the same as the dull version, except in this one, I'm trailing a parachute behind me.)
Back to luck. Glass broke. Lamp broke. Sister goes into closet and won't come out. Bad luck. Which has a higher luck lever? Wine glass or lamp shade? I think it's a lamp shade, but I also think that we all know nothing brings more bad luck than THE MIRROR.
Thankfully, the Luck Level was rather low, and lasted probably about seven minutes, instead of seven years, as now my sister is running around with her toothbrush and watching iCarly.
One more random note before Random Question Time: My mom JUST (ten seconds ago) almost broke ANOTHER glass when she tried to move the wrack over. And now my sister is shaking the whole thing. Annddd *facepalm* That is a wrack with very high Bad Luck Levels, apparently, but still not nearly as high as the mirror.
Do you have any strange phobias?
In fact, I have many strange phobias that range from Santa Claus to caterpillars. I'll explain both of those, because they are my biggest, I think, and I also don't like to think of all my phobias at once...
Santa, and yes, I completely understand that he DOES NOT EXIST, just developed recently (a couple years ago) because I realized there are many innuendos that could be made about Santa, and that he could, in fact, be perceived as a pervert. I prefer not to sit on an old-man-in-all-red's lap just to tell him what I want so that he can sneak into my house in the middle of the night and leave presents (or BRIBERY) under a tree. And he expects cookies in return.
I do not think so. Nope.
Caterpillars happened a year before Santa. I was walking to my friend's house, and FOLLOWING THE SIDEWALK. Now, tell me. When you see a sidewalk, don't you generally think it's, oh, I don't know, A SAFE PLACE FOR YOU TO WALK? As in, if you WALK ON THIS SIDEWALK, you will not get dive bombed by caterpillars?
I thought so, but, apparently, I'm a moron.
Tent caterpillars. Those were the little asshats. I didn't really give much thought to caterpillars before that summer. I didn't care about them, they were just there, and always minded their own business. This was BEFORE.
They hang from trees in case you didn't know. Yes, they hang in trees, and live in trees, in populations of HUNDREDS. Like I said, I was walking to my friends house and walked RIGHT THROUGH THE MIDDLE of hundreds of caterpillars HANGING FROM THE TREE. And I didn't notice until I was IN THE MIDDLE.
I made it to my friends house, freaking out, dancing and flicking those stupid things off of me. They were all over! I was extremely close to taking my pants off, right in the middle of the street. Jeez, just thinking about it now is freaking me out.
Also, that was the same incident where my glasses first broke because they flew off of my face during the caterpillar dance.
Yeah.
So those are a couple of my phobias, and so far what my day has been about. I just now realized that, in two blogs, I've talked about weather and cleaning, which makes me feel kind of lame. Maybe I will go sky diving, because that's got to be more interesting than OMG BREAKING GLASS!
Until tomorrow,
Bye, guys!
Saturday, April 4, 2009
iHelp
I feel like I'm blogging earlier right now, even though I'm clearly not. If anything, I'm doing it around the same time as I always start to write/post a blog, but because it's SATURDAY it feels so much earlier, even though my day has already been busy. I've been volunteering once and a half today. ONCE AND A HALF.
I know you're all dying for an explanation, and what kind of BEDA-doer would I be if I didn't tell you about my Volunteering 1.5?
1. I'm in Key Club. Yes, Key Club, and no, not just because it would look good on college applications, though I'd be a liar if I didn't say that wasn't a nice benefit. In tenth grade, my friend David insisted that my friend Shannon and I join Key Club. His brother made him do it, I think, and what friends would we be if we didn't go to this random key-making club to keep him sane?
No friends at all, that's what.
So we started. It was run by about four seniors, and maybe like two of their friends were in their club. And then we would go, and, just picture it. Seniors + sophomores with short attention spans and the feeling of a hostage situation = nothing really productive. So we pretty much spend the first year doing what they told us (and, really, all I can remember is bell ringing and helping out at the special olympics). Then the second year came, and OH NO. The president, treasurer, vice president, and secretary were NO MORE. Because they were gone. Because they GRADUATED. (Just like I'll be doing in a mere 84 days.) So we had NO ONE except ourselves, really, and were left to RUN A CLUB.
Miraculously, we did not blow up the school. Pretty much, we rang bells at Christmas time to raise money again. Cleaned the city. Cleaned the Kiwanis Camp. Normal Key Club stuff. To be honest, I think what we talked about the most was OMG!DCON, which was the annual Key Club convention where all the Key Clubbers go and party for a weekend in a hotel.
Oh yeah.
So I'm in Key Club, which means that the first half of my day four of BEDA was spent helping out in my school's gym at an Autism Walk where we raised money for... autism. I worked the game booth with some friends, and they had the COOLEST and MOST RANDOM prizes ever.
Squirt guns. Yes. Those Chinese fans. Yes. Random bear key chains. Yes. Vibrating gorilla key chain. Yes. Dinosaur head on a stick with a button that makes it's jaw move so it can go OM NOM. Yes.
From nine in the morning until about eleven thirty, I wore an extremely bright green shirt, played with squirt guns, and helped manage the ring toss table. Thus, volunteer Part 1.
.5 My mom is a member of the Elk's Club, so I'm commonly kidnapped and forced to help out there, too, when needed. Which isn't that often, and they need me. So it's a... willing kidnapping, if you will. Today was an Easter party for little kids so that they could get these cool Easter baskets and go on an egg hunt and everything, and I assumed my help would be needed.
I went there, but my help wasn't exactly needed. I count this as a point five, because I could have just as easily gone to get ice cream after The Walk.
I don't know if it should count as a .5, because I sat there with my mom the whole time, occasionally chasing my rampaging and disaster-causing sister, being the most cliche teenager ever, texting a couple friends and reading. In order to not completely fill the stereotype, I refrained from pulling out my mp3 player.
Tonight is the night I'm passing out programs/being Usher at my school's musical, The Wiz, which could possibly replace my .5 that may or may not count. I'm excited. We've got these awesome shirts, and even though mine's much too big, I'm in love with it. It's extremely comfortable. I want to keep it away from all of my other shirts in fear that they'll get jealous and starch it or something, which would be VERY BAD.
You want to know another thing that's VERY BAD?
Today's random informational About Me question.
What's the worst injury you've every had?
Assuming that head injuries beat out stitches, I'm going to have to go with the time I got the "mild concussion" snowboarding, which is going to make me sound quite pathetic. Maybe later I'll do a "What's the second worst injury you've ever had?" BEDA, just for kicks and giggles, though it involved no kicking OR giggling.
I think it was two years ago, I absolutely begged my dad for a snowboard because "everybody is snowboarding" (yes, I was one of those kids) and "this will pay for itself" so it wouldn't make sense for me "to rent one, because I'm going to be going so often!"
Right.
My dad, being all sport-loving and athletic was thrilled that I wanted to do something that involved movement outside of my house. (AKA, not sitting inside reading/watching movies/etc). So what did he do? He BOUGHT ME A SNOWBOARD.
Oh, boy, it was pretty and shiny, and I didn't want to get it dirty by actually using it. However, that's what a snowboard was for. It was staring at me in my room going "Usseeee meeeeeee." I've learned not to ignore the random seemingly inanimate objects that demand things of me.
I used it once. That was fun! It was powder, fluffy, and safe. My friend Monica taught me how to stop. We didn't leave the Bunny Hill.
In fact, I never left the Bunny Hill. Yes, you're right, I got my concussion ON THE BUNNY HILL. For the record, it was extremely cold, therefore extremely icy that day, and not the most ideal snowboarding conditions. I just remember going, going, going, pretty much bombing the hill, hitting ice, trying to stop, turning COMPLETELY AROUND, losing balance, and falling. On my head. On the ice. That isn't powder, and has no resemblance of physical characteristics that could compare it to powder.
The result: my very first concussion.
It freaked me out. It hurt, but I thought it was just another head bang, so we went into the lodge, I took Advil, and we sat in there for a couple hours. Which, incidentally, was enough time for the Advil to wear off. Shannon and I went back up the ski lift, back to the bunny hill to go down some more. I got off easily (that was my favorite part), and started to go down the hill.
And then everything had started to spin.
I had fallen, and Shannon stopped a little way down from me. So I sat up, looked at her, and said, "Hey, Shannon. When you lie down and then sit back up, does the sky spin?"
Being Shannon, and my good friend, she hopped over (or whatever, she got near me), lied down, and then sat up really fast. "No."
I blinked. "Oh, crap."
Deciding that the SAFEST way to fix this, I took my snowboard off, and WALKED DOWN THE BUNNY HILL, which is apparently something extremely embarrassing, but at that point, I didn't care one bit. This little kid slid up next to me and was like, "Why are you walking? You're supposed to SNOWBOARD, hence being on the hill. Could you not make it down? Do you suck that much?"
He might not have actually said hence, but seeing as I was in the middle of MY FIRST CONCUSSION, I think I should get a free card.
I blinked at him. I was already dizzy and absolutely DID NOT NEED this little ten year old telling me that I sucked. I knew I did, clearly, or I wouldn't have gotten the concussion on the Bunny Hill in the first place. But I didn't need HIM telling me that.
"I hit my head," I said bluntly and made to make my way completely down the hill.
"How?"
Really? Did he REALLY just ask that?
"Snowboarding." I was in no mood to be sarcastic or witty. Though I wish I was. Or that I could have, I don't know, strapped him on the ski lift for all eternity.
He looked at me like I was completely INSANE and walked away, so I made my way down the hill, called my mom, and sat at the bottom while my friends finished up. Then Shannon fell out of her snowboard, and it came down close to me, my mom came, we went to the emergency room (because I'm a wuss), I was diagnosed with a "mild concussion," and I went home to sleep.
Though I must say, the time spent at the hospital for a head injury was much less than the time spent for stitches.
That was my worst injury, and an extremely long story. Sorry. :p
Now I've got to get ready for The Wiz.
Slaters, BEDA-doers.
I know you're all dying for an explanation, and what kind of BEDA-doer would I be if I didn't tell you about my Volunteering 1.5?
1. I'm in Key Club. Yes, Key Club, and no, not just because it would look good on college applications, though I'd be a liar if I didn't say that wasn't a nice benefit. In tenth grade, my friend David insisted that my friend Shannon and I join Key Club. His brother made him do it, I think, and what friends would we be if we didn't go to this random key-making club to keep him sane?
No friends at all, that's what.
So we started. It was run by about four seniors, and maybe like two of their friends were in their club. And then we would go, and, just picture it. Seniors + sophomores with short attention spans and the feeling of a hostage situation = nothing really productive. So we pretty much spend the first year doing what they told us (and, really, all I can remember is bell ringing and helping out at the special olympics). Then the second year came, and OH NO. The president, treasurer, vice president, and secretary were NO MORE. Because they were gone. Because they GRADUATED. (Just like I'll be doing in a mere 84 days.) So we had NO ONE except ourselves, really, and were left to RUN A CLUB.
Miraculously, we did not blow up the school. Pretty much, we rang bells at Christmas time to raise money again. Cleaned the city. Cleaned the Kiwanis Camp. Normal Key Club stuff. To be honest, I think what we talked about the most was OMG!DCON, which was the annual Key Club convention where all the Key Clubbers go and party for a weekend in a hotel.
Oh yeah.
So I'm in Key Club, which means that the first half of my day four of BEDA was spent helping out in my school's gym at an Autism Walk where we raised money for... autism. I worked the game booth with some friends, and they had the COOLEST and MOST RANDOM prizes ever.
Squirt guns. Yes. Those Chinese fans. Yes. Random bear key chains. Yes. Vibrating gorilla key chain. Yes. Dinosaur head on a stick with a button that makes it's jaw move so it can go OM NOM. Yes.
From nine in the morning until about eleven thirty, I wore an extremely bright green shirt, played with squirt guns, and helped manage the ring toss table. Thus, volunteer Part 1.
.5 My mom is a member of the Elk's Club, so I'm commonly kidnapped and forced to help out there, too, when needed. Which isn't that often, and they need me. So it's a... willing kidnapping, if you will. Today was an Easter party for little kids so that they could get these cool Easter baskets and go on an egg hunt and everything, and I assumed my help would be needed.
I went there, but my help wasn't exactly needed. I count this as a point five, because I could have just as easily gone to get ice cream after The Walk.
I don't know if it should count as a .5, because I sat there with my mom the whole time, occasionally chasing my rampaging and disaster-causing sister, being the most cliche teenager ever, texting a couple friends and reading. In order to not completely fill the stereotype, I refrained from pulling out my mp3 player.
Tonight is the night I'm passing out programs/being Usher at my school's musical, The Wiz, which could possibly replace my .5 that may or may not count. I'm excited. We've got these awesome shirts, and even though mine's much too big, I'm in love with it. It's extremely comfortable. I want to keep it away from all of my other shirts in fear that they'll get jealous and starch it or something, which would be VERY BAD.
You want to know another thing that's VERY BAD?
Today's random informational About Me question.
What's the worst injury you've every had?
Assuming that head injuries beat out stitches, I'm going to have to go with the time I got the "mild concussion" snowboarding, which is going to make me sound quite pathetic. Maybe later I'll do a "What's the second worst injury you've ever had?" BEDA, just for kicks and giggles, though it involved no kicking OR giggling.
I think it was two years ago, I absolutely begged my dad for a snowboard because "everybody is snowboarding" (yes, I was one of those kids) and "this will pay for itself" so it wouldn't make sense for me "to rent one, because I'm going to be going so often!"
Right.
My dad, being all sport-loving and athletic was thrilled that I wanted to do something that involved movement outside of my house. (AKA, not sitting inside reading/watching movies/etc). So what did he do? He BOUGHT ME A SNOWBOARD.
Oh, boy, it was pretty and shiny, and I didn't want to get it dirty by actually using it. However, that's what a snowboard was for. It was staring at me in my room going "Usseeee meeeeeee." I've learned not to ignore the random seemingly inanimate objects that demand things of me.
I used it once. That was fun! It was powder, fluffy, and safe. My friend Monica taught me how to stop. We didn't leave the Bunny Hill.
In fact, I never left the Bunny Hill. Yes, you're right, I got my concussion ON THE BUNNY HILL. For the record, it was extremely cold, therefore extremely icy that day, and not the most ideal snowboarding conditions. I just remember going, going, going, pretty much bombing the hill, hitting ice, trying to stop, turning COMPLETELY AROUND, losing balance, and falling. On my head. On the ice. That isn't powder, and has no resemblance of physical characteristics that could compare it to powder.
The result: my very first concussion.
It freaked me out. It hurt, but I thought it was just another head bang, so we went into the lodge, I took Advil, and we sat in there for a couple hours. Which, incidentally, was enough time for the Advil to wear off. Shannon and I went back up the ski lift, back to the bunny hill to go down some more. I got off easily (that was my favorite part), and started to go down the hill.
And then everything had started to spin.
I had fallen, and Shannon stopped a little way down from me. So I sat up, looked at her, and said, "Hey, Shannon. When you lie down and then sit back up, does the sky spin?"
Being Shannon, and my good friend, she hopped over (or whatever, she got near me), lied down, and then sat up really fast. "No."
I blinked. "Oh, crap."
Deciding that the SAFEST way to fix this, I took my snowboard off, and WALKED DOWN THE BUNNY HILL, which is apparently something extremely embarrassing, but at that point, I didn't care one bit. This little kid slid up next to me and was like, "Why are you walking? You're supposed to SNOWBOARD, hence being on the hill. Could you not make it down? Do you suck that much?"
He might not have actually said hence, but seeing as I was in the middle of MY FIRST CONCUSSION, I think I should get a free card.
I blinked at him. I was already dizzy and absolutely DID NOT NEED this little ten year old telling me that I sucked. I knew I did, clearly, or I wouldn't have gotten the concussion on the Bunny Hill in the first place. But I didn't need HIM telling me that.
"I hit my head," I said bluntly and made to make my way completely down the hill.
"How?"
Really? Did he REALLY just ask that?
"Snowboarding." I was in no mood to be sarcastic or witty. Though I wish I was. Or that I could have, I don't know, strapped him on the ski lift for all eternity.
He looked at me like I was completely INSANE and walked away, so I made my way down the hill, called my mom, and sat at the bottom while my friends finished up. Then Shannon fell out of her snowboard, and it came down close to me, my mom came, we went to the emergency room (because I'm a wuss), I was diagnosed with a "mild concussion," and I went home to sleep.
Though I must say, the time spent at the hospital for a head injury was much less than the time spent for stitches.
That was my worst injury, and an extremely long story. Sorry. :p
Now I've got to get ready for The Wiz.
Slaters, BEDA-doers.
Friday, April 3, 2009
About Me
It's not that I've already run out of things to blog about. It's only day three after all. That would actually be quite horrible. No. Actually, I figured what I said would make more sense if you knew more about me, so therefore I'm going to answer some random survey-like questions in hope that it will make more sense.
Also, I plan on murdering this keyboard soon because, yes, the M key is in fact FIXED. However, I think the SPACEBAR caught a bit of the M-plague, so more often than not, spaces donotcomeout. So, if things start to appear like that, it's because I either a) was lazy or b) defenestrated the spacebar, which are both plausible options.
I'm seriously beginning to think that this keyboard hates me. It could possibly have it's own website (ihateashley.com), but I hope not. I've never done anything bad to this keyboard. If anything, it should be unhappy with my sister. She's the one who RIPPED OFF the right shift key (RIP, right shift key), and now we can't get it back on. In fact, I don't even know where it is. Poor thing.
Alright, so I figure I'll do five random, but hopefully informational, questions. Here it goes...
How many emails to you have?
Currently, unread/unresponded to, I've only got about 11 or so. I think 10 of those are from my friend/Internet correspondent/fellow Harry Potter and book fanatic, Runa, who I email constantly about absolutely nothing most of the time.
Most of our emails are revolving around college right now, because we're both in the pre-college, application/decision making/scholarship-doing process. Which sucks. It's either that, or, to be honest, I don't even know. They are quite random emails. Sometimes I'll get a wave of 60 at once.
Last time you received flowers?
This... is interesting and will probably make me out to be annoying.
The last time I got flowers from someone (ie not the flowers that were left over from our HAITI WATER BENEFIT DINNER- which I hope will make me look less annoying) was on October 17th, after I, er, got on my school's homecoming court.
Don't get me wrong. It was fun. Really fun. But it was mostly like a joke. I'm not saying I'm one of those people who are trying to be ironic by trying to get on homecoming court to prove some kind of point, but, and this is cliche, I know, the general consensus is that it's rigged every year, which isn't fair. So on the way home from a tennis match, a couple friends and I decided that I should try for homecoming queen.
So I did. We campaigned and everything. Shirts were made, there was even a Facebook group about it. It was really fun, and we actually got a lot of people to vote. We got people to wear t-shirts, so there were probably about fifteen or so walking advertisements, and it worked out really well. When our homecoming game rolled around and half time came, they called my name. I came in third out of five. My status? A duchess. It was pretty cool. But as a gift, they gave me this flowers, and I thought that was pretty nice.
Then, I went back to our senior float and got an apple.
Last time you had a Krispy Kreme donut?
Believe it or not, never.
Do you have any pickles in your fridge?
Seemingly random, but relevant in a way. Every Christmas, three friends and I exchange gifts. I have one friend who has the memory of an elephant, and, I swear to you, remembers the most random things, and then presents them as Christmas gifts.
At some point in the time between Christmas 2007 and Christmas 2008, I mentioned that I wanted pickles. So, for this past Christmas, along with other random objects (including electronic bubble wrap, a cucumber, chocolate, a slinky, a CD, and more) I got pickles. So yes, I have pickles in my fridge.
What was the last thing you stapled?
Somewhere in the ballpark of 200 or so newsletters in about an hour. It could have been more, I'm really bad at estimating.
There. Five questions. I'm not sure how informational they were. (Ashley: She emails, she wasn't homecoming queen, she's clearly deprived of the goodness of Krispy Kreme, she likes pickles, and has a stapling obsession.) Throughout the month I'll probably answer more, and look for more interesting questions, too.
Feel free to submit any. Because I'm sure you're all extremely interested in my random life. :p
Oh, also, I didn't defenestrate the spacebar. It must have MIRACULOUSLY recovered from the M-plague. Or my ghost was messing with me again.
Don't worry, I'm sure at some point you'll hear about my ghost.
Also, I plan on murdering this keyboard soon because, yes, the M key is in fact FIXED. However, I think the SPACEBAR caught a bit of the M-plague, so more often than not, spaces donotcomeout. So, if things start to appear like that, it's because I either a) was lazy or b) defenestrated the spacebar, which are both plausible options.
I'm seriously beginning to think that this keyboard hates me. It could possibly have it's own website (ihateashley.com), but I hope not. I've never done anything bad to this keyboard. If anything, it should be unhappy with my sister. She's the one who RIPPED OFF the right shift key (RIP, right shift key), and now we can't get it back on. In fact, I don't even know where it is. Poor thing.
Alright, so I figure I'll do five random, but hopefully informational, questions. Here it goes...
How many emails to you have?
Currently, unread/unresponded to, I've only got about 11 or so. I think 10 of those are from my friend/Internet correspondent/fellow Harry Potter and book fanatic, Runa, who I email constantly about absolutely nothing most of the time.
Most of our emails are revolving around college right now, because we're both in the pre-college, application/decision making/scholarship-doing process. Which sucks. It's either that, or, to be honest, I don't even know. They are quite random emails. Sometimes I'll get a wave of 60 at once.
Last time you received flowers?
This... is interesting and will probably make me out to be annoying.
The last time I got flowers from someone (ie not the flowers that were left over from our HAITI WATER BENEFIT DINNER- which I hope will make me look less annoying) was on October 17th, after I, er, got on my school's homecoming court.
Don't get me wrong. It was fun. Really fun. But it was mostly like a joke. I'm not saying I'm one of those people who are trying to be ironic by trying to get on homecoming court to prove some kind of point, but, and this is cliche, I know, the general consensus is that it's rigged every year, which isn't fair. So on the way home from a tennis match, a couple friends and I decided that I should try for homecoming queen.
So I did. We campaigned and everything. Shirts were made, there was even a Facebook group about it. It was really fun, and we actually got a lot of people to vote. We got people to wear t-shirts, so there were probably about fifteen or so walking advertisements, and it worked out really well. When our homecoming game rolled around and half time came, they called my name. I came in third out of five. My status? A duchess. It was pretty cool. But as a gift, they gave me this flowers, and I thought that was pretty nice.
Then, I went back to our senior float and got an apple.
Last time you had a Krispy Kreme donut?
Believe it or not, never.
Do you have any pickles in your fridge?
Seemingly random, but relevant in a way. Every Christmas, three friends and I exchange gifts. I have one friend who has the memory of an elephant, and, I swear to you, remembers the most random things, and then presents them as Christmas gifts.
At some point in the time between Christmas 2007 and Christmas 2008, I mentioned that I wanted pickles. So, for this past Christmas, along with other random objects (including electronic bubble wrap, a cucumber, chocolate, a slinky, a CD, and more) I got pickles. So yes, I have pickles in my fridge.
What was the last thing you stapled?
Somewhere in the ballpark of 200 or so newsletters in about an hour. It could have been more, I'm really bad at estimating.
There. Five questions. I'm not sure how informational they were. (Ashley: She emails, she wasn't homecoming queen, she's clearly deprived of the goodness of Krispy Kreme, she likes pickles, and has a stapling obsession.) Throughout the month I'll probably answer more, and look for more interesting questions, too.
Feel free to submit any. Because I'm sure you're all extremely interested in my random life. :p
Oh, also, I didn't defenestrate the spacebar. It must have MIRACULOUSLY recovered from the M-plague. Or my ghost was messing with me again.
Don't worry, I'm sure at some point you'll hear about my ghost.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
I Likey the Weather
For right now, I am outside. Yes, I'm outside blogging, which is VERY EXCITING. And do you know whhhyyy it's exciting? Unless you live where I live, or you've been having the same type of weather I've been having, OR you can read my mind (which, by the way, that's really cool and creepy, but I bet you'd make lots of money off of it), you might not know why it's exciting. It's exciting because IT'S SUNNY! Apparently it's only 55 degrees here, but, baby, let me tell you, it feels like a lot more.
I'm actually wearing shorts and a t-shirt! How AWESOME IS THAT!? Outside! I am wearing shorts and a t-shirt OUTSIDE! And now I'll proceed to tell you exactly what is going on outside.
Well, I hear about a dozen different birds communicating with each other, probably talking about how they had a nice winter some place warm, and how NICE it is to come back here to this lovely weather (today at least). Also, I just sneezed. Which means allergies. BUT THAT'S OKAY because that means that grass is growing and things are green and pollen is coming!
Amongst the birds is a lawnmower mowing what I'm going to assume is the lawn. Or a shag carpet. But I haven't seen that happen since an episode of Rocket Power (ftw!) where Twister mows the shag carpet in his house or something. Epic show. Funny episode. But highly unlikely that that situation is occurring here.
What else is going on. Well, besides the SHINING SUN- no, I'll talk about that. It's sooo nice. I mean, yes, it's making it hard to see the actual screen of the laptop because it's so bright, but I DON'T CARE! It's so warm. My arm is actually getting hot because it's facing the sun directly (which will undoubtedly result in a funny, asymmetrical tan). The sky is almost completely blue, save a few wispy happy clouds strewn across it. It's ridiculously bright (as the sun normally is) and happy-making.
I hear cars passing, too, but they pass all year round, so it isn't anything to ramble about.
What else?
Oh. Bugs. There are lots of bugs. In fact, before I started this (Happy Day 2 of BEDA!) I was reading out here and about forty two million bugs decided to come fly around me and bounce off of the side of my house, which is occasionally distracting. One landed on my hand and freaked me out (but not nearly as much as one time last year when a spider crawled into my pocket). I suppose I should just be thankful that there aren't any caterpillars... yet.
The wind feels really nice, too. It's cool enough to make the sun feel not as burn-like, but not so cold that I'm getting goosebumps, which is greatly appreciated. (I tip my hat to you, Mother Nature.)
All in all, today's weather is perfect. The nonperfect thing is that I had to spend about 8 hours where I could have been happily sitting outside in school, learning things which may or may not pertain to my future. And none of my teachers were up for the idea of taking the class outside, even though it was gorgeous.
However, during AP Lit, I did get to stick my arms out the window for a couple seconds and contemplate the dangers and rewards of jumping so that I could sit out there while the rest of my class reads. I didn't jump out though. If it was the first floor, maybe, but not the second.
(Ten minute pause where I got distracted and am now inside.)
It's ridiculous how much easier it is to see things on the screen when it's
a. plugged in and
b. not facing the wrath of [glorious, brilliant, bright, warm, happy-making] sunshine.
Sounding like I have a completely lame life because I was talking about the [most epic] weather was not my intention (not completely at least). I'm still in the process of learning HOW to blog while sounding witty and clever. Which is ridiculously hard.
My Observations on Being Witty and Clever
a. I'm trying way too hard, which is ultimately leading to failure. My question: How do other people become Witty and Clever? Is it a born talent? Can it be acquired through eating a special food? Apples perhaps?
b. Occasionally, when I least expect it and will most likely not remember it, I will get random bursts and wit and cleverness. It's inspiring and depressing because YAY I've been witty, but Oh Crap, I forgot it. My question: How do I increase my Wit and Clever frequency, and possibly the ability to remember it?
c. I can decipher when other people's wit and cleverness sucks, but I can't figure out which things I say are good or not. Is there a specific way to tell?
d. I need to stop talking about wit and clever, because it's really not witty or clever to do so.
In other news, did you hear that the Queen accepts Michelle Obama? I'll bet they'll be on each others Top 8 in no time. (Myspace. *facepalm*)
Michelle Obama apparently did the friendly hand-pet-on-shoulder to the Queen, which is apparently a big No, no. Someone's a bit touchy (ba dum, chhhh). But instead of causing an international incident, the Queen went liberal and they did a secret handshake known only to certain tribes in Africa and a couple people in Arkansas. And by that, I mean, she did the friendly hand-pet-on-shoulder to Michelle Obama, too.
Apparently we're good with the Queen. So that's good.
Also, my M key is fixed, something that I'm extremely excited about. It happened while responding to email and talking to someone. I don't know what I did, but apparently I've developed some epic M-key-fixing power, which will probably make me millions some day.
Or not. Whatever.
Realization: This could possibly be why my Wit and Clever status isn't up to par! (Prepare yourself for a geeky Harry Potter reference.)
According to my friends, I'm a Hufflepuff (very passive, generally nice, dull, has all the cool parties (hahaha)). For college, we decided that, in order enhance our geekyness/keep in touch, we'd buy these pins, right?
There were five pins, one for each of the Hogwarts houses, and then one that's the Hogwarts crest. It's, I'm assuming, a collectors-esque thing. But we figure that because the four of us are all going to different schools, we should have something silly as a constant reminder. So, between the four of us, we divided the pins, and I got Hufflepuff.
Now, if I were witty and clever, I would have gotten Ravenclaw, but that went to my intelligent friend, Coral (and I'm not just saying that. In the top 10 in our class, so there).
Anddd that was Part 2 of BEDA.
Au revoir, and I'll write more tomorrow!
I'm actually wearing shorts and a t-shirt! How AWESOME IS THAT!? Outside! I am wearing shorts and a t-shirt OUTSIDE! And now I'll proceed to tell you exactly what is going on outside.
Well, I hear about a dozen different birds communicating with each other, probably talking about how they had a nice winter some place warm, and how NICE it is to come back here to this lovely weather (today at least). Also, I just sneezed. Which means allergies. BUT THAT'S OKAY because that means that grass is growing and things are green and pollen is coming!
Amongst the birds is a lawnmower mowing what I'm going to assume is the lawn. Or a shag carpet. But I haven't seen that happen since an episode of Rocket Power (ftw!) where Twister mows the shag carpet in his house or something. Epic show. Funny episode. But highly unlikely that that situation is occurring here.
What else is going on. Well, besides the SHINING SUN- no, I'll talk about that. It's sooo nice. I mean, yes, it's making it hard to see the actual screen of the laptop because it's so bright, but I DON'T CARE! It's so warm. My arm is actually getting hot because it's facing the sun directly (which will undoubtedly result in a funny, asymmetrical tan). The sky is almost completely blue, save a few wispy happy clouds strewn across it. It's ridiculously bright (as the sun normally is) and happy-making.
I hear cars passing, too, but they pass all year round, so it isn't anything to ramble about.
What else?
Oh. Bugs. There are lots of bugs. In fact, before I started this (Happy Day 2 of BEDA!) I was reading out here and about forty two million bugs decided to come fly around me and bounce off of the side of my house, which is occasionally distracting. One landed on my hand and freaked me out (but not nearly as much as one time last year when a spider crawled into my pocket). I suppose I should just be thankful that there aren't any caterpillars... yet.
The wind feels really nice, too. It's cool enough to make the sun feel not as burn-like, but not so cold that I'm getting goosebumps, which is greatly appreciated. (I tip my hat to you, Mother Nature.)
All in all, today's weather is perfect. The nonperfect thing is that I had to spend about 8 hours where I could have been happily sitting outside in school, learning things which may or may not pertain to my future. And none of my teachers were up for the idea of taking the class outside, even though it was gorgeous.
However, during AP Lit, I did get to stick my arms out the window for a couple seconds and contemplate the dangers and rewards of jumping so that I could sit out there while the rest of my class reads. I didn't jump out though. If it was the first floor, maybe, but not the second.
(Ten minute pause where I got distracted and am now inside.)
It's ridiculous how much easier it is to see things on the screen when it's
a. plugged in and
b. not facing the wrath of [glorious, brilliant, bright, warm, happy-making] sunshine.
Sounding like I have a completely lame life because I was talking about the [most epic] weather was not my intention (not completely at least). I'm still in the process of learning HOW to blog while sounding witty and clever. Which is ridiculously hard.
My Observations on Being Witty and Clever
a. I'm trying way too hard, which is ultimately leading to failure. My question: How do other people become Witty and Clever? Is it a born talent? Can it be acquired through eating a special food? Apples perhaps?
b. Occasionally, when I least expect it and will most likely not remember it, I will get random bursts and wit and cleverness. It's inspiring and depressing because YAY I've been witty, but Oh Crap, I forgot it. My question: How do I increase my Wit and Clever frequency, and possibly the ability to remember it?
c. I can decipher when other people's wit and cleverness sucks, but I can't figure out which things I say are good or not. Is there a specific way to tell?
d. I need to stop talking about wit and clever, because it's really not witty or clever to do so.
In other news, did you hear that the Queen accepts Michelle Obama? I'll bet they'll be on each others Top 8 in no time. (Myspace. *facepalm*)
Michelle Obama apparently did the friendly hand-pet-on-shoulder to the Queen, which is apparently a big No, no. Someone's a bit touchy (ba dum, chhhh). But instead of causing an international incident, the Queen went liberal and they did a secret handshake known only to certain tribes in Africa and a couple people in Arkansas. And by that, I mean, she did the friendly hand-pet-on-shoulder to Michelle Obama, too.
Apparently we're good with the Queen. So that's good.
Also, my M key is fixed, something that I'm extremely excited about. It happened while responding to email and talking to someone. I don't know what I did, but apparently I've developed some epic M-key-fixing power, which will probably make me millions some day.
Or not. Whatever.
Realization: This could possibly be why my Wit and Clever status isn't up to par! (Prepare yourself for a geeky Harry Potter reference.)
According to my friends, I'm a Hufflepuff (very passive, generally nice, dull, has all the cool parties (hahaha)). For college, we decided that, in order enhance our geekyness/keep in touch, we'd buy these pins, right?
There were five pins, one for each of the Hogwarts houses, and then one that's the Hogwarts crest. It's, I'm assuming, a collectors-esque thing. But we figure that because the four of us are all going to different schools, we should have something silly as a constant reminder. So, between the four of us, we divided the pins, and I got Hufflepuff.
Now, if I were witty and clever, I would have gotten Ravenclaw, but that went to my intelligent friend, Coral (and I'm not just saying that. In the top 10 in our class, so there).
Anddd that was Part 2 of BEDA.
Au revoir, and I'll write more tomorrow!
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Busy With the Plague
Being oddly addicted to author's blogs (like Maureen Johnson and John Green), I've acquired a strange habit of doing what they suggest. So, when Maureen Johnson declared she wasn't blogging enough, and that she was going to do it everyday in April, call it BEDA, and wanted more people to join her, I felt like I should.
This is actually really good, because I suck oh-so-very-much at actually keeping up with this, and I'm going to hope that it will help me in my journey of becoming more witty and clever. I don't know if that's actually possible, because I'm just... sending my brain through my fingers onto the keyboard onto the computer, and I don't actually know how that will help with wit and cleverness, but I'm going to hope it does.
Also, if random words like 'ade' or 'cal' or 'ake' or 'seldo' or 'coe' come up, it's because my sister attacked the laptop and now the M key doesn't always work when I try to push it. Also, there may be a random plethora of N's or commas (that was an evil word to type...) because now whenever I'm in the vicinity of the M I feel the need to push other keys harder. And my poor N and comma keys will be the ones taking the hit (tap? stroke?).
The good thing about this is that, for the first few days at least, I'll actually have time to write about something. None of my friends are home because they're all doing something in my school's musical. I didn't do it. Believe me, I can't act, sing, dance, and I especially can't do a combination of the three. Also, stage crew? Hahaha. No. Last time I did that, I held a scrim in place for the entire show. And that's the most I trust myself to do.
Believe it or not, I did actually mess up the scrim bit for Seussical. Well, it wasn't the scrim (which, if you didn't know, is like this woven see-through giant piece of black mesh(ish) fabric that comes down like a curtain and it makes cool light manipulating tricks) exactly. I had one other part in the whole thing, which was to make sure that the next part of scenery that came down didn't hit the steps and make a loud noise.
Oh, it did. It so did. Not once during rehearsals did I screw that up. And then, during the actual production, I did.
Our stage manager was this really funny guy who I have a picture of wearing a hat with, like, a fish on it or something. He was short, and funny, but I think he hated me. Well, actually, I know he did after that. He can give the scariest freaking glare that I've ever seen. In my entire life. Ever. So, when I failed to catch the scenery, I almost died. I mean, you don't even realize how scary his glares are. They. Are. Terrifying.
But it's okay, because I'm pretty sure a tree on the other side of the stage landed loudly or something, too, so my mistake wasn't exactly that noticeable. But I probably won't ever forget that.
So you can see why I didn't have any part in this musical. Except on the second night I'm going to hand out programs. I've done that enough for band, and it's not really something I can mess up. Unless, oh jeez, someone gets a huge paper cut when I give it to them.
I've been interchanging 'musical' and 'play' in daily conversation, just because. But every time I want to say that someone is busy with the 'play' I always want to say 'plague' instead.
A Sample Conversation:
"Hey, what are you doing tonight?"
"Probably nothing. Everyone is busy."
"Oh yeah? With what?"
"Oh, they've all got the plague."
So. Yeah. Yeah. Not the most interchangeable words. But, oh well.
Oh yeah!
Goal: To make the random transitions between topics here somewhat connected to whatever I was talking about before, and seemingly less random. (I've got an entire month to work on it after all.)
This is actually really good, because I suck oh-so-very-much at actually keeping up with this, and I'm going to hope that it will help me in my journey of becoming more witty and clever. I don't know if that's actually possible, because I'm just... sending my brain through my fingers onto the keyboard onto the computer, and I don't actually know how that will help with wit and cleverness, but I'm going to hope it does.
Also, if random words like 'ade' or 'cal' or 'ake' or 'seldo' or 'coe' come up, it's because my sister attacked the laptop and now the M key doesn't always work when I try to push it. Also, there may be a random plethora of N's or commas (that was an evil word to type...) because now whenever I'm in the vicinity of the M I feel the need to push other keys harder. And my poor N and comma keys will be the ones taking the hit (tap? stroke?).
The good thing about this is that, for the first few days at least, I'll actually have time to write about something. None of my friends are home because they're all doing something in my school's musical. I didn't do it. Believe me, I can't act, sing, dance, and I especially can't do a combination of the three. Also, stage crew? Hahaha. No. Last time I did that, I held a scrim in place for the entire show. And that's the most I trust myself to do.
Believe it or not, I did actually mess up the scrim bit for Seussical. Well, it wasn't the scrim (which, if you didn't know, is like this woven see-through giant piece of black mesh(ish) fabric that comes down like a curtain and it makes cool light manipulating tricks) exactly. I had one other part in the whole thing, which was to make sure that the next part of scenery that came down didn't hit the steps and make a loud noise.
Oh, it did. It so did. Not once during rehearsals did I screw that up. And then, during the actual production, I did.
Our stage manager was this really funny guy who I have a picture of wearing a hat with, like, a fish on it or something. He was short, and funny, but I think he hated me. Well, actually, I know he did after that. He can give the scariest freaking glare that I've ever seen. In my entire life. Ever. So, when I failed to catch the scenery, I almost died. I mean, you don't even realize how scary his glares are. They. Are. Terrifying.
But it's okay, because I'm pretty sure a tree on the other side of the stage landed loudly or something, too, so my mistake wasn't exactly that noticeable. But I probably won't ever forget that.
So you can see why I didn't have any part in this musical. Except on the second night I'm going to hand out programs. I've done that enough for band, and it's not really something I can mess up. Unless, oh jeez, someone gets a huge paper cut when I give it to them.
I've been interchanging 'musical' and 'play' in daily conversation, just because. But every time I want to say that someone is busy with the 'play' I always want to say 'plague' instead.
A Sample Conversation:
"Hey, what are you doing tonight?"
"Probably nothing. Everyone is busy."
"Oh yeah? With what?"
"Oh, they've all got the plague."
So. Yeah. Yeah. Not the most interchangeable words. But, oh well.
Oh yeah!
Goal: To make the random transitions between topics here somewhat connected to whatever I was talking about before, and seemingly less random. (I've got an entire month to work on it after all.)
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