#39
I know I haven't blogged in a long time, and this one may or may not be brief, but I just realized something profound.
Our children will be taught there are only eight planets. That's right - eight.
When we are old and gray, and annoy our grandchildren, we won't say "Back in my day, we didn't have robot slaves to carry our books."
We'll say, "Back in my day, there were nine planets."
Suck on that Pluto!
Also, I've started sewing again. Peace!
PS. If anybody could lend me some sewing needles, that would be awesome.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
#28 One Hundred Things That Needed to Be Written 1-38
1. I hate it when people chew with their mouth open.
2. If I could be reincarnated as anything, it would be a piano.
3. My favorite color is red.
4. I still sleep with a stuffed dog that my mother gave me for Valentines Day a long time ago.
5. If I was told I could never sing again, I'd probably die of sadness.
6. There is glitter on every brush and comb that I own.
7. I have only ever had one pet. It was a gold fish named flipper. My father "accidentally" killed him.
8. I have a real talent for self adornment, even though my mother doesn't let me wear the majority of my clothing outside.
9. I am sometimes afraid that I'll lose touch with any sense of fashion that I have, because I almost never wear anything for fun.
10. In conversation, I stay away from three topics: money situations, race, and abortion.
11. No matter what, I will always love Glee.
12. Sometimes I think about middle school and get sad, because even though I was glad to leave, I feel like it was good real life practice. There were fights, pregnancies, shootings, death, vanity, drugs, sex, secrets, gossip, and so much love.
13. Pomegranates. My love for them can only be described in one sentence: Why must you deny me the food of the dead?! Seriously, they are impossible to find!
14. I have a cousin with a line of headphones that came put a while back.
15. Everyone in my family plays an instrument, and has played a sport.
16. All of my siblings want to be engineers, except for me, because I don't know what I want to be.
17. If I don't get a 3.6 GPA every semester, my scholarship will be revoked, I won"t be able to pay for school, and I will be kicked out of Duchesne.
18. I have a big issue with Madame Voiture.
19. Every night I go to bed by at least 10:30 if I don't feel like finishing all my homework.
20. My hair defies gravity in ways most unsettling.
21. People laugh at a lot of the things I say. Half of what you laugh at wasn't a joke. Half of what you don't laugh at was a bad joke.
22. One day, I will write the Duchesne Musical.
23. It's quixotic, but I do believe that everything, in the end, will be alright. The dust always settles and the dawn always comes.
24. I've always found myself at a loss when it comes to verbally expressing my feelings. I'll usually just say what I think is a good answer answer until I can interject again and say what I know is the right answer.
25. My mind is always wandering and I can never sit still.
26. I keep things inside too much. I say one thing hypothetically and think the same thing seriously, so it sounds like my opinion is joke.
27. Think about how much of what I say is rambling, random, nonsense and hypothetical situations. Multiply that by two. That is how much I think about what to say.
28. I don't like my smile. My lips are too thick and it makes my nose look big, but I do it anyway.
29. They say you can't please everyone, but I can damn well try.
30. I don't use profanity to be profane. I use it for emphasis.
31. I am very self-conscious about my knees.
32. Animals and small children scare me. They both seem so fragile and I have little experience with either.
33. Making small talk is very difficult for me. I have always wanted to have long, heart to heart conversations, and until that urge is satisfied, I don't think I'll be able to communicate properly.
34. Every time I try to make conversation and don't know what to talk about, I feel like I should make some off hand comment about the weather or ask how their dinner was.
35. The idea of boys scares me. The fact I have to have a baby with one scares me more.
36. I have no idea what will happen when I start to meet boys. I hear their just like girls, but hairier and less expressive.
37. I like acting and singing because there's never any problem with knowing what to say.
38. I alway need a song in my heart. If I don't have a song to sing, I will be completely lost and unable to function until I find a new one.
2. If I could be reincarnated as anything, it would be a piano.
3. My favorite color is red.
4. I still sleep with a stuffed dog that my mother gave me for Valentines Day a long time ago.
5. If I was told I could never sing again, I'd probably die of sadness.
6. There is glitter on every brush and comb that I own.
7. I have only ever had one pet. It was a gold fish named flipper. My father "accidentally" killed him.
8. I have a real talent for self adornment, even though my mother doesn't let me wear the majority of my clothing outside.
9. I am sometimes afraid that I'll lose touch with any sense of fashion that I have, because I almost never wear anything for fun.
10. In conversation, I stay away from three topics: money situations, race, and abortion.
11. No matter what, I will always love Glee.
12. Sometimes I think about middle school and get sad, because even though I was glad to leave, I feel like it was good real life practice. There were fights, pregnancies, shootings, death, vanity, drugs, sex, secrets, gossip, and so much love.
13. Pomegranates. My love for them can only be described in one sentence: Why must you deny me the food of the dead?! Seriously, they are impossible to find!
14. I have a cousin with a line of headphones that came put a while back.
15. Everyone in my family plays an instrument, and has played a sport.
16. All of my siblings want to be engineers, except for me, because I don't know what I want to be.
17. If I don't get a 3.6 GPA every semester, my scholarship will be revoked, I won"t be able to pay for school, and I will be kicked out of Duchesne.
18. I have a big issue with Madame Voiture.
19. Every night I go to bed by at least 10:30 if I don't feel like finishing all my homework.
20. My hair defies gravity in ways most unsettling.
21. People laugh at a lot of the things I say. Half of what you laugh at wasn't a joke. Half of what you don't laugh at was a bad joke.
22. One day, I will write the Duchesne Musical.
23. It's quixotic, but I do believe that everything, in the end, will be alright. The dust always settles and the dawn always comes.
24. I've always found myself at a loss when it comes to verbally expressing my feelings. I'll usually just say what I think is a good answer answer until I can interject again and say what I know is the right answer.
25. My mind is always wandering and I can never sit still.
26. I keep things inside too much. I say one thing hypothetically and think the same thing seriously, so it sounds like my opinion is joke.
27. Think about how much of what I say is rambling, random, nonsense and hypothetical situations. Multiply that by two. That is how much I think about what to say.
28. I don't like my smile. My lips are too thick and it makes my nose look big, but I do it anyway.
29. They say you can't please everyone, but I can damn well try.
30. I don't use profanity to be profane. I use it for emphasis.
31. I am very self-conscious about my knees.
32. Animals and small children scare me. They both seem so fragile and I have little experience with either.
33. Making small talk is very difficult for me. I have always wanted to have long, heart to heart conversations, and until that urge is satisfied, I don't think I'll be able to communicate properly.
34. Every time I try to make conversation and don't know what to talk about, I feel like I should make some off hand comment about the weather or ask how their dinner was.
35. The idea of boys scares me. The fact I have to have a baby with one scares me more.
36. I have no idea what will happen when I start to meet boys. I hear their just like girls, but hairier and less expressive.
37. I like acting and singing because there's never any problem with knowing what to say.
38. I alway need a song in my heart. If I don't have a song to sing, I will be completely lost and unable to function until I find a new one.
#27 Warning: This Post Will Sound Boring and Vain Some Readers
I've been debating with myself for a long time on whether or not to write about this, but I feel the time has come. Isn't a blog for that anyway? Sharing what's on your mind and how you're doing? That's probably the reason I've struggling to write something lately. I've been trying to do something amusing rather what is actively on my mind.
I hate my hair.
There I said it. Half of you gasping right now. Somebody is probably shaking their head and saying, oh SWB.
But I hate my hair.
It has never been long, flowing, or even down to my shoulders. It's frizzy, curly, and short.
And the curls make absolutely no sense. The roots are a mass of frizz, the middles are spirals, and the ends are wavy. It's stiff and dry and breaks easily.
My hair is a lot like a slinky. Whenever I wake up my hair is all packed down and stiff. I have to rinse it out every morning to get it to uncoil a little. And even after it dries it shrinks again.
I have a limited number of hairstyles available if I don't straighten my hair. I like to have my hair frame my face, so any type of braid, cornrow, or twist is out of the question. Dreadlocks are permanent. So all I have is my little pseudo-fro.
And you know something else? I do NOT appreciate people ogling at my hair. Just because it's something different doesn't mean it's something to be stared at. When people come up to me, play around in my hair like a monkey looking for bugs, and effectively re-frizz my hair, saying "afros are already messy" is not cute, charming, funny, or informing in anyway what so ever. Having people stick their hands my in hair and comparing my head to sheep is not fun. It's a lot like going up to someone who you recently noticed has braces and sticking your hands in their mouth and then saying, "Take a look at those railroad tracks!"
Also, I don't appreciate it when people stare at my hair when they are talking to me. You know who you are.
Could people please stop coming up with new adjectives for my hair? Here is a short list of some of the things people have called it:
wild
mysterious
unkempt
frizzy
dense
wooly
kinky
nappy
baldheaded (an urban phrase for "very short")
and many, many more
I just do not like my hair. Though I'm sure, almost every person at one point in their lives has hated the texture of their hair.
But I've always hated my hair. Most because it's short. Partially because it's curly.
But I really hate my short hair. Which isn't to mean that I hate all hair that isn't long. I know plenty of people who look absolutely lovely with not-long hair. Well, not plenty of people, because the majority of the people that I know are women with long hair. But you catch the drift. And I also say not-long hair because shoulder length is not short, at least not for me.
Perhaps I should elaborate more. I hate my hair when it's short and curly. I actually like my hair when it's short and straight. It's smooth, it looks longer, it's softer, and easier to style. When my hair is curly I can't help but feel like a black Orphan Annie.
I feel naked without my hair straight. My neck, ears, and forehead are all bare and I feel as though I'm exposing myself to the world.
My hair is not fuzzy wonderland for people's hands to frolic around in, in some sort of frenzied delight. My head is not a plaything, and come Monday, will not be treated as such. Now that I have that off my chest, it's nice to know that I don't have to tell this to people one by one that "Yes, I will find my tap-shoes and kick you in the shin at your earliest convenience the next time you give me an unwarranted scalp massage."
It's all rather irritating.
It's nice to vent.
I hate my hair.
There I said it. Half of you gasping right now. Somebody is probably shaking their head and saying, oh SWB.
But I hate my hair.
It has never been long, flowing, or even down to my shoulders. It's frizzy, curly, and short.
And the curls make absolutely no sense. The roots are a mass of frizz, the middles are spirals, and the ends are wavy. It's stiff and dry and breaks easily.
My hair is a lot like a slinky. Whenever I wake up my hair is all packed down and stiff. I have to rinse it out every morning to get it to uncoil a little. And even after it dries it shrinks again.
I have a limited number of hairstyles available if I don't straighten my hair. I like to have my hair frame my face, so any type of braid, cornrow, or twist is out of the question. Dreadlocks are permanent. So all I have is my little pseudo-fro.
And you know something else? I do NOT appreciate people ogling at my hair. Just because it's something different doesn't mean it's something to be stared at. When people come up to me, play around in my hair like a monkey looking for bugs, and effectively re-frizz my hair, saying "afros are already messy" is not cute, charming, funny, or informing in anyway what so ever. Having people stick their hands my in hair and comparing my head to sheep is not fun. It's a lot like going up to someone who you recently noticed has braces and sticking your hands in their mouth and then saying, "Take a look at those railroad tracks!"
Also, I don't appreciate it when people stare at my hair when they are talking to me. You know who you are.
Could people please stop coming up with new adjectives for my hair? Here is a short list of some of the things people have called it:
wild
mysterious
unkempt
frizzy
dense
wooly
kinky
nappy
baldheaded (an urban phrase for "very short")
and many, many more
I just do not like my hair. Though I'm sure, almost every person at one point in their lives has hated the texture of their hair.
But I've always hated my hair. Most because it's short. Partially because it's curly.
But I really hate my short hair. Which isn't to mean that I hate all hair that isn't long. I know plenty of people who look absolutely lovely with not-long hair. Well, not plenty of people, because the majority of the people that I know are women with long hair. But you catch the drift. And I also say not-long hair because shoulder length is not short, at least not for me.
Perhaps I should elaborate more. I hate my hair when it's short and curly. I actually like my hair when it's short and straight. It's smooth, it looks longer, it's softer, and easier to style. When my hair is curly I can't help but feel like a black Orphan Annie.
I feel naked without my hair straight. My neck, ears, and forehead are all bare and I feel as though I'm exposing myself to the world.
My hair is not fuzzy wonderland for people's hands to frolic around in, in some sort of frenzied delight. My head is not a plaything, and come Monday, will not be treated as such. Now that I have that off my chest, it's nice to know that I don't have to tell this to people one by one that "Yes, I will find my tap-shoes and kick you in the shin at your earliest convenience the next time you give me an unwarranted scalp massage."
It's all rather irritating.
It's nice to vent.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
#26 Rule 34
Rule 34. The basis for the majority of the Internet. Snow White, Teletubbies, even Lion King.
If you know what Rule 34 is, kudos to you. If you don't know what Rule 34 is, then well, you might as well stop reading now.
Depending on what combination Rule 34 displays, it can be either humorous, ingenious, or the kind of traumatizing that scars your innocence. Murrbeth knows what I'm talking about. As a matter of fact, we had a conversation about it yesterday.
"Snow White."
"Really?"
"Glee."
"Not surprising."
"Even Lion King."
Murrbeth had to leave the room at that point. I imagine she was thinking, "Is nothing sacred?"
Nothing is sacred on the Internet. Not even Lion King. Which is really a shame. It's is surprising how vast the world of Rule 34 is. So vast that it encompasses Spongebob, a realm I previously thought would be impossible to Rule 34. But that just goes to show that I should have referenced Rule 35 first.
There is one thing you MUST remember: Rule 34 exists for every conceivable subject. Captain Planet, Power Rangers, Garfield. Do yourself a favor. Don't google Rule 34.
If you know what Rule 34 is, kudos to you. If you don't know what Rule 34 is, then well, you might as well stop reading now.
Depending on what combination Rule 34 displays, it can be either humorous, ingenious, or the kind of traumatizing that scars your innocence. Murrbeth knows what I'm talking about. As a matter of fact, we had a conversation about it yesterday.
"Snow White."
"Really?"
"Glee."
"Not surprising."
"Even Lion King."
Murrbeth had to leave the room at that point. I imagine she was thinking, "Is nothing sacred?"
Nothing is sacred on the Internet. Not even Lion King. Which is really a shame. It's is surprising how vast the world of Rule 34 is. So vast that it encompasses Spongebob, a realm I previously thought would be impossible to Rule 34. But that just goes to show that I should have referenced Rule 35 first.
There is one thing you MUST remember: Rule 34 exists for every conceivable subject. Captain Planet, Power Rangers, Garfield. Do yourself a favor. Don't google Rule 34.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
#25 Shine On You Crazy Diamond
I awakened this morning to realize two things: I should have done all of my home work yesterday and that I will not see my beloved, beloved friend from Charlotte's Web as I did before. No more show tunes, no long mildly inappropriate hugs, no dancing for no reason. At least for now. Ever since the first show of my freshman year, I have been a part of that crazy, wonderful, beautiful, magical place called Duchesne theater.
In the movie "Elf" there's this scene where Buddy is talking about the girl he met in the department store. He yells, "I'm in love, I'm in love and don't care who knows it!" And you know what? I'm in love with Duchesne Theater and I don't give a damn who knows it.
Duchesne theater is not just a show, or name, or stage. It's all of the wonderful people who have crossed this stage, all of the magical traditions, the show tunes, the dancing, the love that resonates in the air and in all of us as we do our super secret tradition right before a show. Even That-Thing-That-Didn't-Happen.
If Duchesne Theater was a rock, it would be in the shape of a majestic soaring eagle and then covered head to talon in rainbow glitter.
If Duchesne Theater was a bed, it would a giant bean bag chair, one that got bigger every time someone else wanted to sit on it.
If Duchesne Theater was an emotion, it would be the kind of love that warms your heart on cold nights and overflows from your eyes.
In the end, I still find that I love Duchesne Theater more than I can say. Instead of an actor they should have sent a poet.
All I must say to you, Duchesne Theater is this: Shine on you crazy diamond.
In the movie "Elf" there's this scene where Buddy is talking about the girl he met in the department store. He yells, "I'm in love, I'm in love and don't care who knows it!" And you know what? I'm in love with Duchesne Theater and I don't give a damn who knows it.
Duchesne theater is not just a show, or name, or stage. It's all of the wonderful people who have crossed this stage, all of the magical traditions, the show tunes, the dancing, the love that resonates in the air and in all of us as we do our super secret tradition right before a show. Even That-Thing-That-Didn't-Happen.
If Duchesne Theater was a rock, it would be in the shape of a majestic soaring eagle and then covered head to talon in rainbow glitter.
If Duchesne Theater was a bed, it would a giant bean bag chair, one that got bigger every time someone else wanted to sit on it.
If Duchesne Theater was an emotion, it would be the kind of love that warms your heart on cold nights and overflows from your eyes.
In the end, I still find that I love Duchesne Theater more than I can say. Instead of an actor they should have sent a poet.
All I must say to you, Duchesne Theater is this: Shine on you crazy diamond.
Monday, October 31, 2011
#24 Delicious Life Nectar
Dear Water,
You are in trees, animals, and large bodies of yourself. You give us energy and quench our thirst. I once referred to you as "delicious life nectar", but I feel a time has come to take back that name. Lately I have been feeling pretty dehydrated. I've had migraines, moderate to sever kidney pain, and light headedness all week. I know, Water. You're probably busy quenching the thirst sad orphans, or making people who live on the coast homeless. But if you could come back and visit, I would sure be grateful. I promise I'll drink at least five glasses of you everyday from now on. I won't complain that you are too bland, or cold, or warm. I'll cherish you with an open heart and be thankful that I even get t be near you. If you ever decide to rehydrate me again, I resolve to drink one cup of water each block everyday and two each block on double block days. Baby, come back. I can't live without you. I'll never see that floozy, Root Beer, again if you still want to quench my thirst. Of course, I can't promise there won't ever be a little Gatorade action on the side, but we can cross that bridge when we come to it.
Come on, Water. Rehydrate me. Be my delicious life nectar.
Love,
Suspicious Water Bottle
You are in trees, animals, and large bodies of yourself. You give us energy and quench our thirst. I once referred to you as "delicious life nectar", but I feel a time has come to take back that name. Lately I have been feeling pretty dehydrated. I've had migraines, moderate to sever kidney pain, and light headedness all week. I know, Water. You're probably busy quenching the thirst sad orphans, or making people who live on the coast homeless. But if you could come back and visit, I would sure be grateful. I promise I'll drink at least five glasses of you everyday from now on. I won't complain that you are too bland, or cold, or warm. I'll cherish you with an open heart and be thankful that I even get t be near you. If you ever decide to rehydrate me again, I resolve to drink one cup of water each block everyday and two each block on double block days. Baby, come back. I can't live without you. I'll never see that floozy, Root Beer, again if you still want to quench my thirst. Of course, I can't promise there won't ever be a little Gatorade action on the side, but we can cross that bridge when we come to it.
Come on, Water. Rehydrate me. Be my delicious life nectar.
Love,
Suspicious Water Bottle
Saturday, October 29, 2011
#23 Teen Angst: A Love Story
As of late, I have found myself repeating the same phrase over and over in my mind: Bucket.
Of course, I don't actually say the word bucket, but two one-syllable words similar to it. Why you ask?
I am full of teenage angst. I don't know why. I am a rebel without a cause, and quite honestly, I just wanna do something bad for once. My mother is especially controlling and overbearing, and I'm kind of sick of it. I don't want to be good anymore, at least not for now. I want to do a bunch of things I've seen in movies and things I'm just not allowed to do.
I wanna get in a fight, and sing on tables, and wear boots with shorts, and wear makeup, and roll around in mud, just roll around in it, I wanna play music too loud, I want to skip class and drink Mountain Dew, and go trick or treating, and paint my room, and I want to wear rain boots for no reason, and smash stuff!
I feel angtsy and rebellious and mad for no reason. I'm also a reasonably bored honor student, but that's besides the point.
One day, my dear Mongo, you will understand the thrill of being able to say "bucket". Right now, I know you hate cursing and any other forms of foul-mouthedness, but when you are older and less inclined to gasp or glare when people cuss you will begin to understand it's appeal.
Saying "bucket" opens up a world of opportunity! It separates you from the ties of responsibility and frees you up to do a whole host of things would have never otherwise done! "Bucket" lets me sleep at night. "Bucket" leaves me guiltless. "Bucket" lets me write an essay the night before it's due and get an A on it. "Bucket" makes me a bold youth.
You know who else said bucket? St. Philipine Duchesne. She said, "bucket" and came to America. Our founding fathers said, "Bucket" began this great nation. Neil Patrick Harris said "Bucket" and became awesome.
And you know what I want to do? I wanna say "bucket", put on bright red lipstick, and ask my mother, "What are you going to do about it?"
Of course, she would scrub my face with iron wool, but it's the gesture that counts.
Final summation: When you say bucket, there is no turning back. You will either win epically, or go out with bang.
Of course, I don't actually say the word bucket, but two one-syllable words similar to it. Why you ask?
I am full of teenage angst. I don't know why. I am a rebel without a cause, and quite honestly, I just wanna do something bad for once. My mother is especially controlling and overbearing, and I'm kind of sick of it. I don't want to be good anymore, at least not for now. I want to do a bunch of things I've seen in movies and things I'm just not allowed to do.
I wanna get in a fight, and sing on tables, and wear boots with shorts, and wear makeup, and roll around in mud, just roll around in it, I wanna play music too loud, I want to skip class and drink Mountain Dew, and go trick or treating, and paint my room, and I want to wear rain boots for no reason, and smash stuff!
I feel angtsy and rebellious and mad for no reason. I'm also a reasonably bored honor student, but that's besides the point.
One day, my dear Mongo, you will understand the thrill of being able to say "bucket". Right now, I know you hate cursing and any other forms of foul-mouthedness, but when you are older and less inclined to gasp or glare when people cuss you will begin to understand it's appeal.
Saying "bucket" opens up a world of opportunity! It separates you from the ties of responsibility and frees you up to do a whole host of things would have never otherwise done! "Bucket" lets me sleep at night. "Bucket" leaves me guiltless. "Bucket" lets me write an essay the night before it's due and get an A on it. "Bucket" makes me a bold youth.
You know who else said bucket? St. Philipine Duchesne. She said, "bucket" and came to America. Our founding fathers said, "Bucket" began this great nation. Neil Patrick Harris said "Bucket" and became awesome.
And you know what I want to do? I wanna say "bucket", put on bright red lipstick, and ask my mother, "What are you going to do about it?"
Of course, she would scrub my face with iron wool, but it's the gesture that counts.
Final summation: When you say bucket, there is no turning back. You will either win epically, or go out with bang.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
#22 Love, and Marriage, and Children, and What Not
Last night, I had a wonderful night that I will summarize with my alliteration skills:
Mongo and Murrbeth are marvelous mole makers.
But during that night a conversation came up about children or relationships or something and I started thinking:
What kind of nutter would marry ME? Now this isn't an exclamation of "Oh, I'm not good enough to get married." One day, when I'm financially set and deeply in love with someone I'll get married, but the question is, "with who?" Those who know me well enough will know I'm not your average Jane. Honestly guys, look deep inside of yourself, and think who. Think of the sane man who will want to marry the procrastinator with the weird sleeping schedule who likes to roll around on stuff and never stops singing.
He will either be deaf or singing will be like breathing to him.
Maybe we would meet in a traveling circus as a double act that does musical comedy.
I don't know if you guys know this, but I am quite a romantic. I have made it a policy that my first date will not be with any old guy who just asks. It will be with someone that I have been long term friends with, I will already have quite a bit of romantic feelings for him already, and we will "fist pump" (see post #19) through our entire date.
I don't really have any specifications for what he looks like. Just be clean and generally neat. Though, I wouldn't mind if he were as handsome as anything. And taller than me.
If we ever do the whole married with children thing, our children are going to turn out WEIRD. Hipsters, most likely. Try as I might, I can't guarantee that I'll be able to correctly raise children without screwing them up, which is what worries me most. What if they get bullied? What if they are the bully? What do I do when she wants to date a boy with a blue mohawk and twelve piercings, seven of which aren't visible? What do I do if he wants to date a girl who wears see through shirts and thong underwear? What if, God forbid, they start a drug habit? There are so many things that can go wrong with parenting it's scary.
Even before that, I have to provide for my children. A home, electricity, clothing, and eventually Internet will become a necessity.
Even before that I have to get married and be able to work on marriage with children.
Even before that I have to fall in love.
And even before that, I need figure out what I want in life.
Right now I only have a few things I want to do: be a performer, be an artist, be a business owner, or be a biochemist.
All this talk of the future makes my head hurt. Do you remember when your biggest problem was what would happen when there was an odd number of candy between two people? I do.
"Famous? I don't know about. It's hard to be famous and alive. I just want to play music every day and hear someone say, 'Thanks, that was great, here's some money, same time tomorrow, okay?'"
Terry Pratchett, Soul Music, page 151
Mongo and Murrbeth are marvelous mole makers.
But during that night a conversation came up about children or relationships or something and I started thinking:
What kind of nutter would marry ME? Now this isn't an exclamation of "Oh, I'm not good enough to get married." One day, when I'm financially set and deeply in love with someone I'll get married, but the question is, "with who?" Those who know me well enough will know I'm not your average Jane. Honestly guys, look deep inside of yourself, and think who. Think of the sane man who will want to marry the procrastinator with the weird sleeping schedule who likes to roll around on stuff and never stops singing.
He will either be deaf or singing will be like breathing to him.
Maybe we would meet in a traveling circus as a double act that does musical comedy.
I don't know if you guys know this, but I am quite a romantic. I have made it a policy that my first date will not be with any old guy who just asks. It will be with someone that I have been long term friends with, I will already have quite a bit of romantic feelings for him already, and we will "fist pump" (see post #19) through our entire date.
I don't really have any specifications for what he looks like. Just be clean and generally neat. Though, I wouldn't mind if he were as handsome as anything. And taller than me.
If we ever do the whole married with children thing, our children are going to turn out WEIRD. Hipsters, most likely. Try as I might, I can't guarantee that I'll be able to correctly raise children without screwing them up, which is what worries me most. What if they get bullied? What if they are the bully? What do I do when she wants to date a boy with a blue mohawk and twelve piercings, seven of which aren't visible? What do I do if he wants to date a girl who wears see through shirts and thong underwear? What if, God forbid, they start a drug habit? There are so many things that can go wrong with parenting it's scary.
Even before that, I have to provide for my children. A home, electricity, clothing, and eventually Internet will become a necessity.
Even before that I have to get married and be able to work on marriage with children.
Even before that I have to fall in love.
And even before that, I need figure out what I want in life.
Right now I only have a few things I want to do: be a performer, be an artist, be a business owner, or be a biochemist.
All this talk of the future makes my head hurt. Do you remember when your biggest problem was what would happen when there was an odd number of candy between two people? I do.
"Famous? I don't know about. It's hard to be famous and alive. I just want to play music every day and hear someone say, 'Thanks, that was great, here's some money, same time tomorrow, okay?'"
Terry Pratchett, Soul Music, page 151
Saturday, October 22, 2011
#21 La Bellezza di Non Fare Nulla
Every Saturday morning, if I wake up early enough, I can hear music outside of my window coming from the street. It's never quite same. Every time, I hear something like the simple sort of tune you would get from a music box. The street is quiet. The vent breathes loudly in the background. Wind brushes through the tree and sounds like an ocean made of paper.
Sometimes I can hear a plane passing by. Or car. Or a woodpecker. If the weather is nice enough, I can hear the children playing outside.
Instead of curtains, I have these sheer sort of window covers that never dare block out sunlight. Light fills the whole room, making everything slightly sepia toned. The walls in my room are sort of a bleached sky blue sort of color. The fan is on, making everything in the room slightly tremble, as if from the cold instead rushing air.
The fan, I have noticed, is always curiously silent. Unless you listen very closely and purposefully you can't hear the very quiet 'whoomp-a whoomp-a' sort of sound it makes.
It is very peaceful. I could just lay in my bed forever and think about....nothing.
The beauty of doing nothing.
Sometimes I can hear a plane passing by. Or car. Or a woodpecker. If the weather is nice enough, I can hear the children playing outside.
Instead of curtains, I have these sheer sort of window covers that never dare block out sunlight. Light fills the whole room, making everything slightly sepia toned. The walls in my room are sort of a bleached sky blue sort of color. The fan is on, making everything in the room slightly tremble, as if from the cold instead rushing air.
The fan, I have noticed, is always curiously silent. Unless you listen very closely and purposefully you can't hear the very quiet 'whoomp-a whoomp-a' sort of sound it makes.
It is very peaceful. I could just lay in my bed forever and think about....nothing.
The beauty of doing nothing.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
#20 The Infirmary
This morning, I woke up and actually got out of bed when I was supposed, too. Fast forwarding through some awkward stuff, it was because I realized I had started my period.
Aren't they just lovely? You bleed for five days straight, while trying not to puke, or writhe in pain too much.
Cramps just suck, don't they? I'm not sure why God decided I should shed the lining of my uterus every month in order to have a baby, but I sure would like to know why. Apparently the official name is dysmenorrhea. This is how Wikipedia describes it:
"Symptoms of dysmenorrhea may become debilitating in some women. It is unknown why this occurs in some women and not others. Severe symptoms may include pain spreading to hips, lower back and thighs, nausea and frequent diarrhea or constipation."
I have all of those symptoms. Each and every one.
And that is why I went to the infirmary this morning.
I was too distracted by my uterus falling out this morning to pay attention to my Algebra retake, so I'm not sure how many points I got back on that. After class ended, I was going to go straight to the cot on first floor, but realized I had no idea where my next study hall was. Walking down the stairs, five freshman appear in front of me like some sort black magic, and they walk so slowly could've kicked them down the stairs at that point and walked over them as I tried to get to ground floor. A few glanced back me, looked startled and looked away. I was literally trying to kill them with my glare. I then realized two things. Killing freshmen would be bad, no matter what the situation. Two, because of my cramps, I was walking slower than them.
By the time I got downstairs, I was begging people for pain killers. In the end, I got them from Olivia Klemme, who from hear on out will be known as The Dealer, for the wonderful drugs she gave me.
"How many of can I take at once?"
"I don't know, I usually take two."
I look at the bottle.
"Are you sure I can't take more?"
Mongo and My Favorite Dinosaur (Dino for short, AKA Michaela) soon found me, and tried to take me up to study hall. I ended up laying down outside of the dance room.
"You can tell her that I crawled into a corner somewhere. I'll be fine right here."
They proceeded to take me to the infirmary, which at the time I was not aware had a name. I signed the infirmary sheet and laid down on the bed. I passed the time singing "Joyful, Joyful" and song X. By the time the painkillers kicked in, study hall was half over.
I went back up to study hall, but now I am putting my foot down for what happens when ever I get my period:
1. Breakfast is not an option. Eat it.
2. Follow it up with 2-3 painkillers. Or five Midols.
3. Do not forget that you cannot ignore cramps. It is a fact that the more you try to ignore them, the faster the reduce you to a pained, angry ball of apathy.
Thus concludes
Aren't they just lovely? You bleed for five days straight, while trying not to puke, or writhe in pain too much.
Cramps just suck, don't they? I'm not sure why God decided I should shed the lining of my uterus every month in order to have a baby, but I sure would like to know why. Apparently the official name is dysmenorrhea. This is how Wikipedia describes it:
"Symptoms of dysmenorrhea may become debilitating in some women. It is unknown why this occurs in some women and not others. Severe symptoms may include pain spreading to hips, lower back and thighs, nausea and frequent diarrhea or constipation."
I have all of those symptoms. Each and every one.
And that is why I went to the infirmary this morning.
I was too distracted by my uterus falling out this morning to pay attention to my Algebra retake, so I'm not sure how many points I got back on that. After class ended, I was going to go straight to the cot on first floor, but realized I had no idea where my next study hall was. Walking down the stairs, five freshman appear in front of me like some sort black magic, and they walk so slowly could've kicked them down the stairs at that point and walked over them as I tried to get to ground floor. A few glanced back me, looked startled and looked away. I was literally trying to kill them with my glare. I then realized two things. Killing freshmen would be bad, no matter what the situation. Two, because of my cramps, I was walking slower than them.
By the time I got downstairs, I was begging people for pain killers. In the end, I got them from Olivia Klemme, who from hear on out will be known as The Dealer, for the wonderful drugs she gave me.
"How many of can I take at once?"
"I don't know, I usually take two."
I look at the bottle.
"Are you sure I can't take more?"
Mongo and My Favorite Dinosaur (Dino for short, AKA Michaela) soon found me, and tried to take me up to study hall. I ended up laying down outside of the dance room.
"You can tell her that I crawled into a corner somewhere. I'll be fine right here."
They proceeded to take me to the infirmary, which at the time I was not aware had a name. I signed the infirmary sheet and laid down on the bed. I passed the time singing "Joyful, Joyful" and song X. By the time the painkillers kicked in, study hall was half over.
I went back up to study hall, but now I am putting my foot down for what happens when ever I get my period:
1. Breakfast is not an option. Eat it.
2. Follow it up with 2-3 painkillers. Or five Midols.
3. Do not forget that you cannot ignore cramps. It is a fact that the more you try to ignore them, the faster the reduce you to a pained, angry ball of apathy.
Thus concludes
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
#19 Quotes
A surprising amount of wisdom comes out of my head. I've never really considered myself as much, but I'm starting to reconsider. I've been thinking on things. A lot. And as I think, I start to realize I know more than I give myself credit for.
For example:
An innovation is well though out criticism with a solution.
The air I breathe has been all over the world already. Chances are, I'm breathing in the air from France, Hong Kong, maybe even Peru.
Marriage is like trying to fist pump to every song at a dance. Sometimes a slow jam comes on, and you have to love each other enough to grin and bear it.
Love isn't like anger, or sadness, or confusion, or happiness. Regular emotions are like vehicles to expressing and feeling love. Anger of betrayal, the sadness of missing someone, the confusion of not knowing what your feeling, the joy of a love returned.
If ants had dreams and rocket ships, they would go to the moon, too.
It will not be Google that takes over the world, but Lays Chips. Their "you-can't-just-have-one" policy panders to the human instinct of self indulgence, and their world domination plan probably will, too.
For example:
An innovation is well though out criticism with a solution.
The air I breathe has been all over the world already. Chances are, I'm breathing in the air from France, Hong Kong, maybe even Peru.
Marriage is like trying to fist pump to every song at a dance. Sometimes a slow jam comes on, and you have to love each other enough to grin and bear it.
Love isn't like anger, or sadness, or confusion, or happiness. Regular emotions are like vehicles to expressing and feeling love. Anger of betrayal, the sadness of missing someone, the confusion of not knowing what your feeling, the joy of a love returned.
If ants had dreams and rocket ships, they would go to the moon, too.
It will not be Google that takes over the world, but Lays Chips. Their "you-can't-just-have-one" policy panders to the human instinct of self indulgence, and their world domination plan probably will, too.
#18 Verse One of Song "X"
The first verse of the first love song by The Suspicious Water Bottle. Untitled.
Lalalalalalalala x4
What the word?
Starts with L
This feeling
That makes my heart swell
I get to thinking
It's no surprise
After a while
I come to realize that
I am falling
Into something
And soon I'll know what
What it is and
What it's doing
And why there's butterflies in my gut
Update: Being both older and wiser, I apologize for the existence of this "song".
Lalalalalalalala x4
What the word?
Starts with L
This feeling
That makes my heart swell
I get to thinking
It's no surprise
After a while
I come to realize that
I am falling
Into something
And soon I'll know what
What it is and
What it's doing
And why there's butterflies in my gut
Update: Being both older and wiser, I apologize for the existence of this "song".
#17 It's That Time of Year Again
I get home, run upstairs, and throw my things on the floor. I lie back on my comforter, making a list of all the things I need to do tomorrow. I start writing the lyrics to a new song I'm writing (currently unnamed). I've never written a love song before and I want to take a crack at it. Realizing I should record this as I write, I open up improVox. I also realize I need headphones to record sound and so I run down stairs and suddenly-
I stop. Because I have stepped on the vent.
And it is oh, so, warm....
Yes, today marks the official beginning of fall for SWB.
During the fall, winter, and early spring I spend most of my time in long night gowns standing above vents. It's like your body becomes a circus tent of billowing warmth.
It's like magic! Vent turns on, leaves fall down. Vent goes off, so do coats.
I love autumn. Or fall. Whichever suits your fancy.
I stop. Because I have stepped on the vent.
And it is oh, so, warm....
Yes, today marks the official beginning of fall for SWB.
During the fall, winter, and early spring I spend most of my time in long night gowns standing above vents. It's like your body becomes a circus tent of billowing warmth.
It's like magic! Vent turns on, leaves fall down. Vent goes off, so do coats.
I love autumn. Or fall. Whichever suits your fancy.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
#16 A New Lethargy
Several exciting things have happened these past few days. I don't think I will talk about them, though. Exciting things are exciting things, but they will live on like memories. I want to blog about the things I might soon forget. And even besides that, I feel like a blog is to share experiences, rather than events.
And I just so happen to be experiencing lethargy. Lately, I just have had the will to do anything. Last night, I got in at seven, went to bed at seven-ten, woke up at three, and did half of my homework.
It's just that every time I get in own bed I just want to sleep, even if my bed feels like a block of ice. I look at my book bag and say, screw it. I then get back up at maybe nine or whenever I feel like it.
That's another thing. I am a big believer in Feng shui. If a room doesn't feel right, I just can't work in there. I have to close my door, make sure my room is slightly warm and be wearing pants longer than knee length to get anything done. It can't be too warm or cold or I get sleepy. If I don't close my door, I can hear my brother being obnoxious.
I am soooooooooooooooooooooooooo SLEEPY.........................
New Developments:
1. I cannot stand the way the freshman use the computers. I usually have two try at least two before I can find one that's logged off.
2. I'm not a huge fan of compliments like "You look so much thinner!" or "I like your hair today." People should just stop at I like your hair. When you say I like your hair "TODAY" it makes one wonder what was wrong with their hair every other day.
3. I am still waiting for my hair to grow out. I am very frustrated with it. People say they like my curly hair, but they don't see it every morning when I wake up looking like a quetip.
4. My legs have gotten very muscular, but I am losing ab definition.
5. Maybe I am sleepy because I'm lacking certain necessary vitamins, and minerals and what not in my diet.
As you can see, I am feeling pretty informal today. I think I'll roll around on something later.
And I just so happen to be experiencing lethargy. Lately, I just have had the will to do anything. Last night, I got in at seven, went to bed at seven-ten, woke up at three, and did half of my homework.
It's just that every time I get in own bed I just want to sleep, even if my bed feels like a block of ice. I look at my book bag and say, screw it. I then get back up at maybe nine or whenever I feel like it.
That's another thing. I am a big believer in Feng shui. If a room doesn't feel right, I just can't work in there. I have to close my door, make sure my room is slightly warm and be wearing pants longer than knee length to get anything done. It can't be too warm or cold or I get sleepy. If I don't close my door, I can hear my brother being obnoxious.
I am soooooooooooooooooooooooooo SLEEPY.........................
New Developments:
1. I cannot stand the way the freshman use the computers. I usually have two try at least two before I can find one that's logged off.
2. I'm not a huge fan of compliments like "You look so much thinner!" or "I like your hair today." People should just stop at I like your hair. When you say I like your hair "TODAY" it makes one wonder what was wrong with their hair every other day.
3. I am still waiting for my hair to grow out. I am very frustrated with it. People say they like my curly hair, but they don't see it every morning when I wake up looking like a quetip.
4. My legs have gotten very muscular, but I am losing ab definition.
5. Maybe I am sleepy because I'm lacking certain necessary vitamins, and minerals and what not in my diet.
As you can see, I am feeling pretty informal today. I think I'll roll around on something later.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
15# Lurvy: Not So Bad
Probably didn't tell you this, but last Wednesday, I had a full fledged conversation with Lurvy. Well, more like I asked random questions and he answered, but by the time his dad came and broke into his car (he had locked himself out of his vehicle), I learned a few things about our buddy Lurvs:
His favorite colors are green and black
If he could have a house of any color it would be black
The color of the door would be red. Personally, I have always admired red doors, ever since I saw that one commercial that was about a magical red door.
His favorite season is Spring
He likes cloudy days rather than sunny ones because everything looks cooler when it's cloudy. I agree on this, because colors are bolder and truer on cloudy days, and shadows are less apparent.
His favorite number is 11, because his birthday is in November
His favorite person is his Dad
He lives far away from Duchesne
He doesn't like Spanish
He likes English and History.
He has two dogs.
I suppose it is weird for me to know these things, when we are little more than acquaintances, but I feel as though this was good practice for talking to boys in the future. Not that Lurvy isn't a boy, just that he is not a potential dating option at this current point in time. Who knows, maybe he might be in the future. Not that I have coordinated any future plans involving Lurvy and me, but maybe in the future if were ever so inclined to have a crush on, or maybe even like (romantically speaking) Lurvy, I may or may not create plans that involve both of us in the future because in that situation he would be a boy that I crush on/like/love. Not that I do do any of those things at the moment, because I don't. I'm not saying it would be impossible, though, because he is a perfectly nice boy, just not a perfectly nice boy that I currently have any feelings for besides casual friendship.
Do you now see why I need to practice talking to members of the opposite ilk? It took me that long to say "We're just friends."
Honestly, I am hopeless.
On a more exciting note, I saw Mongo talking to a boy last night. My mind was just about blown. I was confused, excited, and anxious all at once. My first thought was, "Did he fill out the proper applications to be talking to her?" Just goes to show that I need to get my priorities straight and keep a better eye on Mongo. Who else is going to fight off the mob of males who have fallen in love with her?
“Always be wary of any helpful item that weighs less than its operating manual.”
― Terry Pratchett, Jingo
His favorite colors are green and black
If he could have a house of any color it would be black
The color of the door would be red. Personally, I have always admired red doors, ever since I saw that one commercial that was about a magical red door.
His favorite season is Spring
He likes cloudy days rather than sunny ones because everything looks cooler when it's cloudy. I agree on this, because colors are bolder and truer on cloudy days, and shadows are less apparent.
His favorite number is 11, because his birthday is in November
His favorite person is his Dad
He lives far away from Duchesne
He doesn't like Spanish
He likes English and History.
He has two dogs.
I suppose it is weird for me to know these things, when we are little more than acquaintances, but I feel as though this was good practice for talking to boys in the future. Not that Lurvy isn't a boy, just that he is not a potential dating option at this current point in time. Who knows, maybe he might be in the future. Not that I have coordinated any future plans involving Lurvy and me, but maybe in the future if were ever so inclined to have a crush on, or maybe even like (romantically speaking) Lurvy, I may or may not create plans that involve both of us in the future because in that situation he would be a boy that I crush on/like/love. Not that I do do any of those things at the moment, because I don't. I'm not saying it would be impossible, though, because he is a perfectly nice boy, just not a perfectly nice boy that I currently have any feelings for besides casual friendship.
Do you now see why I need to practice talking to members of the opposite ilk? It took me that long to say "We're just friends."
Honestly, I am hopeless.
On a more exciting note, I saw Mongo talking to a boy last night. My mind was just about blown. I was confused, excited, and anxious all at once. My first thought was, "Did he fill out the proper applications to be talking to her?" Just goes to show that I need to get my priorities straight and keep a better eye on Mongo. Who else is going to fight off the mob of males who have fallen in love with her?
“Always be wary of any helpful item that weighs less than its operating manual.”
― Terry Pratchett, Jingo
#14 The Morning After
Homecoming. Listen to it. Can you hear?
The floor shaking. The adolescents screaming. The hypnotic thump-a thump-a of the music.
I still can. I can feel it my head, which is still pounding even though the music isn't.
I can feel it in my heart, which is still keeping time to Like a Prayer.
I can see it when I look in the mirror and still see the glitter in my hair.
I can remember it when I look at my carefully painted nails.
Oh, yes. I can hear it.
All in all, I am very satisfied with the current station of things. I danced my heart out, then danced a little more. I let out my inner Gaga and she tore it up on the dance floor. I put so much glitter on my eyes and in my hair, that when I woke up, my eye boogers were made up of pink and silver glitter.
Mmmmmm. I love getting my groove up, on, and out.
Good times.
“I meant," said Ipslore bitterly, "what is there in this world that truly makes living worthwhile?"
Death thought about it.
CATS, he said eventually. CATS ARE NICE.”
― Terry Pratchett, Sourcery
The floor shaking. The adolescents screaming. The hypnotic thump-a thump-a of the music.
I still can. I can feel it my head, which is still pounding even though the music isn't.
I can feel it in my heart, which is still keeping time to Like a Prayer.
I can see it when I look in the mirror and still see the glitter in my hair.
I can remember it when I look at my carefully painted nails.
Oh, yes. I can hear it.
All in all, I am very satisfied with the current station of things. I danced my heart out, then danced a little more. I let out my inner Gaga and she tore it up on the dance floor. I put so much glitter on my eyes and in my hair, that when I woke up, my eye boogers were made up of pink and silver glitter.
Mmmmmm. I love getting my groove up, on, and out.
Good times.
“I meant," said Ipslore bitterly, "what is there in this world that truly makes living worthwhile?"
Death thought about it.
CATS, he said eventually. CATS ARE NICE.”
― Terry Pratchett, Sourcery
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
#13 Getting in Touch With My Inner Gaga
Tonight, it begins. I slowly begin descent into Gaga. It will be Gaga day and night. I will sleep to Bad Romance. I will wake to Beautiful, Dirty, Rich. If I'm not listening to her music, studying her fashion, or just thinking about her, I'm probably either dead or in a coma.
Why, you ask?
I have just realized that I have been neglecting my inner artist. It has been going on for quite some time now, and I just haven't had the time to really express myself physically rather than musically. Homecoming Week is the perfect opportunity. I can wear whatever I want for the next couple days, and I'm going to milk it for all it's worth! Wednesday is Disney. Watch out world!
SWB is BACK and has gird her loins!
Or, you know, gotten dressed for the day. Whichever suits your fancy.
Thursday is Kanye vs Swift. I have no idea what I'm gonna do that day because I am neither a West nor Swift fan, and I don't know either of their styles. It might be interesting. I could just end up dressing as just any old teenage country singer. Flannel shirt, flare jeans, the whole bit.
Friday is Fashionista Friday. I will be dressing up as Zoe Kuhn, or New Blonde. I will have to ask her what her style is and try to emulate the best that I can, but good golly, Miss Molly, what a dresser! She's not Kaleigh Moynihan (AKA Mufasa), but she knows how to pick 'em! Clothes, that is.
Then Saturday is Celebrity Saturday! It will be time to release the Gaga that will have been manifesting all that time.
Be ready, because when Gaga comes, Gaga COMES!
“If complete and utter chaos was lightning, then he'd be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armour and shouting 'All gods are bastards!”
― Terry Pratchett, The Color of Magic
Why, you ask?
I have just realized that I have been neglecting my inner artist. It has been going on for quite some time now, and I just haven't had the time to really express myself physically rather than musically. Homecoming Week is the perfect opportunity. I can wear whatever I want for the next couple days, and I'm going to milk it for all it's worth! Wednesday is Disney. Watch out world!
SWB is BACK and has gird her loins!
Or, you know, gotten dressed for the day. Whichever suits your fancy.
Thursday is Kanye vs Swift. I have no idea what I'm gonna do that day because I am neither a West nor Swift fan, and I don't know either of their styles. It might be interesting. I could just end up dressing as just any old teenage country singer. Flannel shirt, flare jeans, the whole bit.
Friday is Fashionista Friday. I will be dressing up as Zoe Kuhn, or New Blonde. I will have to ask her what her style is and try to emulate the best that I can, but good golly, Miss Molly, what a dresser! She's not Kaleigh Moynihan (AKA Mufasa), but she knows how to pick 'em! Clothes, that is.
Then Saturday is Celebrity Saturday! It will be time to release the Gaga that will have been manifesting all that time.
Be ready, because when Gaga comes, Gaga COMES!
“If complete and utter chaos was lightning, then he'd be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armour and shouting 'All gods are bastards!”
― Terry Pratchett, The Color of Magic
Monday, October 3, 2011
#12 Fra. Filippo Lippi earns a WIN Award!
Welcome to the second WIN ceremony!
Filippo Lippi has earned this award for boldness, courage, animal instinct, dexterity, and a strong love of, um, life. Let's call what he loves "life".
May his horn forever glow bright
In the ocean's darkest night.
Now and forever, a brother in fin.
From here on forth, you are a WIN.
“There are, it has been said, two types of people in the world. There are those who, when presented with a glass that is exactly half full, say: this glass is half full. And then there are those who say: this glass is half empty.
The world belongs, however, to those who can look at the glass and say: What's up with this glass? Excuse me? Excuse me? This is my glass? I don't think so. My glass was full! And it was a bigger glass! Who's been pinching my beer?
And at the other end of the bar the world is full of the other type of person, who has a broken glass, or a glass that has been carelessly knocked over (usually by one of the people calling for a larger glass) or who had no glass at all, because he was at the back of the crowd and had failed to catch the barman's eye. ”
-Terry Pratchett
Filippo Lippi has earned this award for boldness, courage, animal instinct, dexterity, and a strong love of, um, life. Let's call what he loves "life".
May his horn forever glow bright
In the ocean's darkest night.
Now and forever, a brother in fin.
From here on forth, you are a WIN.
“There are, it has been said, two types of people in the world. There are those who, when presented with a glass that is exactly half full, say: this glass is half full. And then there are those who say: this glass is half empty.
The world belongs, however, to those who can look at the glass and say: What's up with this glass? Excuse me? Excuse me? This is my glass? I don't think so. My glass was full! And it was a bigger glass! Who's been pinching my beer?
And at the other end of the bar the world is full of the other type of person, who has a broken glass, or a glass that has been carelessly knocked over (usually by one of the people calling for a larger glass) or who had no glass at all, because he was at the back of the crowd and had failed to catch the barman's eye. ”
-Terry Pratchett
#11 I Love Beds
I love my parents' bed. It is probably the most magical place in my house. It's the just right mixture of soft and firm, so you don't feel like your bed is uncomfortably squishy, but it doesn't feel like a rock either.
You just lay down on it and all the sadness in the world goes *kaput*. No more MEH, no more essays, no more homework- just a wonderland of softness. It absorbs all your stress, then radiates comfort that turns you into limp heap of relaxation.
Yes, that is a good bed. I have no idea why my bed is never that awesome, but I have high hopes that my own bed will one day do that.
“If cats looked like frogs we'd realize what nasty, cruel little bastards they are. Style. That's what people remember.”
― Terry Pratchett, Lords and Ladies
You just lay down on it and all the sadness in the world goes *kaput*. No more MEH, no more essays, no more homework- just a wonderland of softness. It absorbs all your stress, then radiates comfort that turns you into limp heap of relaxation.
Yes, that is a good bed. I have no idea why my bed is never that awesome, but I have high hopes that my own bed will one day do that.
“If cats looked like frogs we'd realize what nasty, cruel little bastards they are. Style. That's what people remember.”
― Terry Pratchett, Lords and Ladies
Saturday, October 1, 2011
#10 One Long Vent
I'm going to put the end of post nine on hiatus. One: so that I can figure out an appropriate time to post it. Two: so that I can write up an application form for the PDC's.
But anyways.
Shtuff happens in September, but it's really October that one needs to overcome. What came in September was bad, but inevitable. It was bound to happen from the start, but if those bad things had never happened, the good things would have never happened, either. So that part is okay. But whatever bad things happen in October is entirely your own doing. It might seem fun and exciting at first, but the odds stack up against you, and in the end you see how stupid you've been. You've got to build yourself "Brick by Boring Brick" instead making a temporary, unstable bridge "Over the Rainbow". And while people say building a fantasy world is like a carefully constructed web, it is more like being a gymnast. To come out completely unscathed and all you points and pride intact, you have to do each movement perfectly and gracefully or you risk mangling yourself for the world to see. Or you could choose not to even compete at all and just be a spectator, but what's the fun in that?
Nothing unless you like bad popcorn.
I remember I was once carefree. In a way I am still am, just less so in some regards. No I don't have to provide for myself, but I am awfully lonely at home. School isn't impossible, but with each week comes new challenges and my head keeps spinning. I am legitimately terrified of letting my GPA get too low. I have to keep at or above a 3.6 all year, or else I lose my scholarship and get kicked out of school. I'm not sure I could adjust to normal teenage society, seeing as I am socially crippled and socially awkward and sometimes unable to form fluid sentences. Despite being a child, I don't feel free. I wake up, go to school and come home, repeat. And while I like the school part it (well, damn- I LOVE THE SCHOOL PART OF IT) I feel like my life is one big oval.
When I was in middle school I barely spoke. I said maybe less than 100 words a day. Now I just want to scream every single thing in my heart and head from the mountain tops.
You know what I want? A boyfriend. You know what else? I wish I knew boys. Jumper, Mr. Zuckerman, and Lurvy don't count.
And you know what else? I wish I knew boys.
There is an interesting time line for all of these things to happen. My sixteenth birthday.
On that day I will be able to:
-go on dates
-drive (therefore getting places on time)
-wear make up
-who knows? Maybe I'll fly to a planet where elephants do the cha cha with elves who like to play the bassoon.
Funny thing is, I've never kissed anybody before. The mere thought of it makes me suddenly want to brush my teeth, and make sure my hair looks okay. I feel like I might never have my first kiss until I'm out of college because my parents are so uptight about, well, everything. The idea of boys frightens and excites me. I haven't seen a boy my age since the eighth grade, and while my memories are somewhat fuzzy, I remember some of those boys were quite awesome. I can still remember the time Ian Brummel complimented me on my sling shot. That was a good day.
I know I might talk a big talk, complete with swears and sexual innuendo, but I am just as innocent as everyone else. And you know something else? I feel as though a lot of people are confused on this subject, but I don't break the law. Besides downloading Internet music, but I always delete it soon after I listen to the songs for a couple minutes. I hate jaywalking. I hate shoplifting. I just hate crime in general. Which is probably why I like cop shows.
I think my favorite color is red. I'm not really sure right now.
I don't like growing up in shadow of brilliant siblings, or seeing my parents disappointment when I have a B, or living in the legacy of an irresponsible sister.
Madame Voiture gets on my nerves. She is not a bad teacher necessarily, just not a very kind one. I will probably have a C or a D in her class. Having French at the end of the day just makes me impatient. Seeing Madame Voiture makes me angry because she doesn't bother to let a student with a D- on a one hundred point test retake it. She just says "Study harder" when the only things that need studying are tests which come only once every blue moon. Most of what we do is busy work or completion grades that we only get two or three times a week.
I think I know why your heart gets all heavy when you're sad. It because your heart starts crying before you do.
I was gonna keep talking until I has nothing left to say, but I am both sleepy and dehydrated.
Final Summation: I am mildly depressed and need to kick October in the pants.
"Sometimes glass glitters more than diamonds because it has more to prove."
Terry Pratchett
But anyways.
Shtuff happens in September, but it's really October that one needs to overcome. What came in September was bad, but inevitable. It was bound to happen from the start, but if those bad things had never happened, the good things would have never happened, either. So that part is okay. But whatever bad things happen in October is entirely your own doing. It might seem fun and exciting at first, but the odds stack up against you, and in the end you see how stupid you've been. You've got to build yourself "Brick by Boring Brick" instead making a temporary, unstable bridge "Over the Rainbow". And while people say building a fantasy world is like a carefully constructed web, it is more like being a gymnast. To come out completely unscathed and all you points and pride intact, you have to do each movement perfectly and gracefully or you risk mangling yourself for the world to see. Or you could choose not to even compete at all and just be a spectator, but what's the fun in that?
Nothing unless you like bad popcorn.
I remember I was once carefree. In a way I am still am, just less so in some regards. No I don't have to provide for myself, but I am awfully lonely at home. School isn't impossible, but with each week comes new challenges and my head keeps spinning. I am legitimately terrified of letting my GPA get too low. I have to keep at or above a 3.6 all year, or else I lose my scholarship and get kicked out of school. I'm not sure I could adjust to normal teenage society, seeing as I am socially crippled and socially awkward and sometimes unable to form fluid sentences. Despite being a child, I don't feel free. I wake up, go to school and come home, repeat. And while I like the school part it (well, damn- I LOVE THE SCHOOL PART OF IT) I feel like my life is one big oval.
When I was in middle school I barely spoke. I said maybe less than 100 words a day. Now I just want to scream every single thing in my heart and head from the mountain tops.
You know what I want? A boyfriend. You know what else? I wish I knew boys. Jumper, Mr. Zuckerman, and Lurvy don't count.
And you know what else? I wish I knew boys.
There is an interesting time line for all of these things to happen. My sixteenth birthday.
On that day I will be able to:
-go on dates
-drive (therefore getting places on time)
-wear make up
-who knows? Maybe I'll fly to a planet where elephants do the cha cha with elves who like to play the bassoon.
Funny thing is, I've never kissed anybody before. The mere thought of it makes me suddenly want to brush my teeth, and make sure my hair looks okay. I feel like I might never have my first kiss until I'm out of college because my parents are so uptight about, well, everything. The idea of boys frightens and excites me. I haven't seen a boy my age since the eighth grade, and while my memories are somewhat fuzzy, I remember some of those boys were quite awesome. I can still remember the time Ian Brummel complimented me on my sling shot. That was a good day.
I know I might talk a big talk, complete with swears and sexual innuendo, but I am just as innocent as everyone else. And you know something else? I feel as though a lot of people are confused on this subject, but I don't break the law. Besides downloading Internet music, but I always delete it soon after I listen to the songs for a couple minutes. I hate jaywalking. I hate shoplifting. I just hate crime in general. Which is probably why I like cop shows.
I think my favorite color is red. I'm not really sure right now.
I don't like growing up in shadow of brilliant siblings, or seeing my parents disappointment when I have a B, or living in the legacy of an irresponsible sister.
Madame Voiture gets on my nerves. She is not a bad teacher necessarily, just not a very kind one. I will probably have a C or a D in her class. Having French at the end of the day just makes me impatient. Seeing Madame Voiture makes me angry because she doesn't bother to let a student with a D- on a one hundred point test retake it. She just says "Study harder" when the only things that need studying are tests which come only once every blue moon. Most of what we do is busy work or completion grades that we only get two or three times a week.
I think I know why your heart gets all heavy when you're sad. It because your heart starts crying before you do.
I was gonna keep talking until I has nothing left to say, but I am both sleepy and dehydrated.
Final Summation: I am mildly depressed and need to kick October in the pants.
"Sometimes glass glitters more than diamonds because it has more to prove."
Terry Pratchett
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
#9 PDC's (Potential Dating Candidates) Part 1
Mongolian Sweetheart says no one will want to marry her. There are several issues with this statement:
1. She is the most marriable person I know.
2. If Mongo never has children, the world will be deprived of the most awesome future mother ever.
3. I already have key parts of the wedding planned.
Starting from engagement to actual wedding, I have a few things that need to be made clear. The groom will ask for my blessing first. He will automatically know to do this, because I will be pre-screening all of her potential dating options. Whoever is most suitable at the time will first have an interview with me. If I find them unacceptable, undeserving of her, or just plain creepy, they will not have the opportunity to date her. After the select few pass my first test, they will have to talk to Mongo's father. He will pick at most two after his interview with the potential dating options. After the father's two are selected, the other family members will pick the PDC based on how helpful, respectful, charming, and interesting he is. Whoever is picked has just now been selected to take Mongolian Sweetheart on a first date!
The date will monitored by either I or her father, depending on who is available and less suspicious. If there is any kissing, awkward touching, or inappropriateness he will no longer be a candidate and the process will start over. However, if he makes it through the first date he will officially be the boyfriend.
The date must have the following items:
1. Flowers for the mother
2. Firm hand shake for the father
3. High-five to younger siblings
4. A compliment on Mongo's outfit
5. Dinner
6. Hand holding and a hug if he smells nice
So now, let's say they've been dating a while. Anniversary presents on time, never forgets her birthday, etc. He decides he would like to marry her. Hooray!
But hold up, buddy. We're not done yet!
Though he has made it this long, he's still got to proper about this. First things first, he asks for my blessing. If I find out a week or even two seconds later that he didn't ask me first, there is a problem. He then asks for the blessing of her parents. Now, here comes the fun part!
When he proposes they are going to be alone. Alone in the sense that there will be a spy camera in his collar, and all of Mongo's family and friends will be watching from a website that I make that streams the video live and and then saves it for a later date.
The PDC has now become a MC, or marriage candidate. I've decided to leave them alone for marriage preparation, but come time for the wedding, I'm coming back!
To be continued!
1. She is the most marriable person I know.
2. If Mongo never has children, the world will be deprived of the most awesome future mother ever.
3. I already have key parts of the wedding planned.
Starting from engagement to actual wedding, I have a few things that need to be made clear. The groom will ask for my blessing first. He will automatically know to do this, because I will be pre-screening all of her potential dating options. Whoever is most suitable at the time will first have an interview with me. If I find them unacceptable, undeserving of her, or just plain creepy, they will not have the opportunity to date her. After the select few pass my first test, they will have to talk to Mongo's father. He will pick at most two after his interview with the potential dating options. After the father's two are selected, the other family members will pick the PDC based on how helpful, respectful, charming, and interesting he is. Whoever is picked has just now been selected to take Mongolian Sweetheart on a first date!
The date will monitored by either I or her father, depending on who is available and less suspicious. If there is any kissing, awkward touching, or inappropriateness he will no longer be a candidate and the process will start over. However, if he makes it through the first date he will officially be the boyfriend.
The date must have the following items:
1. Flowers for the mother
2. Firm hand shake for the father
3. High-five to younger siblings
4. A compliment on Mongo's outfit
5. Dinner
6. Hand holding and a hug if he smells nice
So now, let's say they've been dating a while. Anniversary presents on time, never forgets her birthday, etc. He decides he would like to marry her. Hooray!
But hold up, buddy. We're not done yet!
Though he has made it this long, he's still got to proper about this. First things first, he asks for my blessing. If I find out a week or even two seconds later that he didn't ask me first, there is a problem. He then asks for the blessing of her parents. Now, here comes the fun part!
When he proposes they are going to be alone. Alone in the sense that there will be a spy camera in his collar, and all of Mongo's family and friends will be watching from a website that I make that streams the video live and and then saves it for a later date.
The PDC has now become a MC, or marriage candidate. I've decided to leave them alone for marriage preparation, but come time for the wedding, I'm coming back!
To be continued!
Sunday, September 25, 2011
#8 Terry Pratchett earns a WIN Award!
WIN- Witty Ingenious Narwhal
Welcome to the first ever WIN ceremony! We give out this award every week to one outstanding individual, we feel has been too awesome for a simple knuckle-touch or high-five.
Sir Terence David Pratchett, a novelist and chuckle-causer, has won this award for audacious wit, surprising wisdom, and winning me over with literary charm.
May his horn forever glow bright
In the ocean's darkest night.
Now and forever, a brother in fin.
From here on forth, you are a WIN.
Every post shall now end with a Terry Pratchett quote. Meeting adjourned.
“There are, it has been said, two types of people in the world. There are those who, when presented with a glass that is exactly half full, say: this glass is half full. And then there are those who say: this glass is half empty.
The world belongs, however, to those who can look at the glass and say: What's up with this glass? Excuse me? Excuse me? This is my glass? I don't think so. My glass was full! And it was a bigger glass! Who's been pinching my beer?
And at the other end of the bar the world is full of the other type of person, who has a broken glass, or a glass that has been carelessly knocked over (usually by one of the people calling for a larger glass) or who had no glass at all, because he was at the back of the crowd and had failed to catch the barman's eye. ” -Terry Pratchett
Welcome to the first ever WIN ceremony! We give out this award every week to one outstanding individual, we feel has been too awesome for a simple knuckle-touch or high-five.
Sir Terence David Pratchett, a novelist and chuckle-causer, has won this award for audacious wit, surprising wisdom, and winning me over with literary charm.
May his horn forever glow bright
In the ocean's darkest night.
Now and forever, a brother in fin.
From here on forth, you are a WIN.
Every post shall now end with a Terry Pratchett quote. Meeting adjourned.
“There are, it has been said, two types of people in the world. There are those who, when presented with a glass that is exactly half full, say: this glass is half full. And then there are those who say: this glass is half empty.
The world belongs, however, to those who can look at the glass and say: What's up with this glass? Excuse me? Excuse me? This is my glass? I don't think so. My glass was full! And it was a bigger glass! Who's been pinching my beer?
And at the other end of the bar the world is full of the other type of person, who has a broken glass, or a glass that has been carelessly knocked over (usually by one of the people calling for a larger glass) or who had no glass at all, because he was at the back of the crowd and had failed to catch the barman's eye. ” -Terry Pratchett
#7 My Week was a Little Weak
My week has been slightly Monday-ish, but Murrbeth had a birthday so that brought everything up. She is now the proud owner of a pillow plate. Confused?
Definition: an object that allows you to lay your head comfortably on any surface while keeping your pillow clean. Sometimes used as a Catholic schoolgirl Weasley Sweater.
So there you have it folks. The proud innovation of SWB was born out of procrastination and the obligation/pleasure of getting a friend a birthday present.
Speaking of procrastination, I'd like to give a shout out to "More Glitter Please" for her post of Procrastinators Unite. United, we strategically ignore what we really, really need to get done.
Divided, we begrudgingly act as contributing members of society.
I should probably divide soon, so I can write my Canterbury Tales essay.
Good luck, fellow Procrastinators!
Definition: an object that allows you to lay your head comfortably on any surface while keeping your pillow clean. Sometimes used as a Catholic schoolgirl Weasley Sweater.
So there you have it folks. The proud innovation of SWB was born out of procrastination and the obligation/pleasure of getting a friend a birthday present.
Speaking of procrastination, I'd like to give a shout out to "More Glitter Please" for her post of Procrastinators Unite. United, we strategically ignore what we really, really need to get done.
Divided, we begrudgingly act as contributing members of society.
I should probably divide soon, so I can write my Canterbury Tales essay.
Good luck, fellow Procrastinators!
#6 Ode to Bacon
Bacon. I know shouldn't. But I do.
Oh, bacon. You know how much I love you.
Together you ride free with the eggs in my mouth.
You've taught me what living truly is about.
Bacon makes my taste buds dance and sing
Of meat foods, it is the freaking king.
My friends may refuse, and may call you smelly,
But you will always have a place inside of my belly.
Oh, bacon. You know how much I love you.
Together you ride free with the eggs in my mouth.
You've taught me what living truly is about.
Bacon makes my taste buds dance and sing
Of meat foods, it is the freaking king.
My friends may refuse, and may call you smelly,
But you will always have a place inside of my belly.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
#5 I Hate You Katy-Perry-Look-Alike
If I had a list of my top five pet peeves, Zooey Deschanel would be number two, right under people saying my name incorrectly. She's right above #3, which is people waving at the person directly behind you, so it looks like they're waving at you. When they walk over, you think they're going to say hello, but they walk right past like you didn't even wave.
Anyways.
ZOOEY DESCHANEL
Last night, I was pumped for Glee. My week had been horrible. I mean, truly horrible- so horrible in fact, that I don't feel comfortable sharing one or two of the reasons why on the the Internet. But Glee would be like a shining beacon of Tuesday light.
I got home at about 6:40 so I immediately checked the tv listings on my iPad. There was a bright banner around the FOX listings that said 9/8c. As in nine/eight central. As in, eight o'clock. Figuring I had time, I decided to take a nap until it was time. I woke back up at 7:45 and made myself a sandwich. By 7:58 I was sitting in front of the TV changing the channel manually, on click at a time.
Oh so slowly.
By the time I got to FOX, Zooey Deschanel was looking at me. Bright eyed and bushy tailed. And all I could think was:
.........glee? Where are you? Why aren't there dancing teenagers here? WHERE IS DARREN CRISS?
Zooey Deschanel's mouth started moving, and all I heard was, "Dead. I killed them all with my new hit comedy, New Girl. I just ruined your week. And you know what else? Your face is stupid. That's right. Stupid face."
I couldn't believe my eyes or ears.
1. I wouldn't be able to see the rerun until next Tuesday.
2. I just slept through Glee.
3. In reality, Zooey Deschanel is a total rhymes-with-witch.
Devastated, I returned to my bedroom. I went back to sleep and when I woke up it was 3:12 AM. I decided then would be a good time to finish my homework. I decided to go down stairs and check if Sidereel had any Glee episodes up yet. I go to the webpage and there are millions of links to the episodes. I was elated, over-joyed, ecstatic! Watching that episode was like coal being fed to the fiery burning passion in my heart for musical theater. I ended up staying on the Internet until it was time to get ready for school.
To say the least, my Tuesday night was redeemed. However, I can never trust Zooey Deschanel again.
Happy Birthday's Eve to Murrbeth!
Anyways.
ZOOEY DESCHANEL
Last night, I was pumped for Glee. My week had been horrible. I mean, truly horrible- so horrible in fact, that I don't feel comfortable sharing one or two of the reasons why on the the Internet. But Glee would be like a shining beacon of Tuesday light.
I got home at about 6:40 so I immediately checked the tv listings on my iPad. There was a bright banner around the FOX listings that said 9/8c. As in nine/eight central. As in, eight o'clock. Figuring I had time, I decided to take a nap until it was time. I woke back up at 7:45 and made myself a sandwich. By 7:58 I was sitting in front of the TV changing the channel manually, on click at a time.
Oh so slowly.
By the time I got to FOX, Zooey Deschanel was looking at me. Bright eyed and bushy tailed. And all I could think was:
.........glee? Where are you? Why aren't there dancing teenagers here? WHERE IS DARREN CRISS?
Zooey Deschanel's mouth started moving, and all I heard was, "Dead. I killed them all with my new hit comedy, New Girl. I just ruined your week. And you know what else? Your face is stupid. That's right. Stupid face."
I couldn't believe my eyes or ears.
1. I wouldn't be able to see the rerun until next Tuesday.
2. I just slept through Glee.
3. In reality, Zooey Deschanel is a total rhymes-with-witch.
Devastated, I returned to my bedroom. I went back to sleep and when I woke up it was 3:12 AM. I decided then would be a good time to finish my homework. I decided to go down stairs and check if Sidereel had any Glee episodes up yet. I go to the webpage and there are millions of links to the episodes. I was elated, over-joyed, ecstatic! Watching that episode was like coal being fed to the fiery burning passion in my heart for musical theater. I ended up staying on the Internet until it was time to get ready for school.
To say the least, my Tuesday night was redeemed. However, I can never trust Zooey Deschanel again.
Happy Birthday's Eve to Murrbeth!
Sunday, September 18, 2011
#4 What the heck is wrong with me?!
I originally was going to recap on my week, but I have something more important.
I have failed Computer Essentials.
No, you didn't read that incorrectly.
I HAVE FAILED COMPUTER ESSENTIALS.
I realized right when I got home this morning, I never took the Computer Essentials test. I know what you're thinking. "Niara, how could this happen? You had all week!" Nope. YOU had all week. I had an essay, homework, quizzes, three hours at the Rose theater every night being the light board operator. And then because of my new sleeping schedule, fell asleep at the latest of 10:30 every night. Not to mention Thursday night, which was my last night to get it done. Speaking of that, let's recap on Thursday.
As you may or may not know, Thursday was opening night for a play I was the light board operator for. Call was at six and it started at seven.
5:00 Hmm. I should probably get ready to leave.
5:15 All done! Better call daddy!
5:20 "You're where?!"
"I'm at the guitar center, in west Omaha."
5:40 He'll be here soon. He's gonna be here.
5:45 WHERE IS HE?
6:00 "How far are you from the house?"
"I'm making a transaction at the guitar center."
".......WHAT?"
"I told you I was at the guitar center"
"How long until you get here?"
"What do you mean?"
"An estimate. Give me an estimate."
"Well, after this I need to pick up Jalani"
"......."
"And your mother"
"......."
"Then she has to drop me off some where"
"......."
"Then she'll pick you up! But don't worry, you'll be there by 6:45."
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!
*CLICK*
6:20 "Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"I'm going to be late."
"Tell that to your father."
"Tonight is opening night."
"What?"
"And what's with all the picking up and dropping of people?"
"What do you mean?"
I recap on the previous conversation.
My mother says, "That is not supposed to happen."
"Hmm."
6:35 Goes to voice mail five times. "When will you be here?"
"You're calling again?"
"Yes."
"Look I'll get there when I get there."
"But-"
*CLICK*
38 minutes later, I arrive at the Rose. This time the only reason I am able to get in is because someone was leaving Ferdinand the Bull. I run up to the fourth level to the Hitchcock theater and realize that I am in a SNAFU. If you don't know what the acronym for SNAFU means go here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SNAFU
I cannot get to the sound booth unless I walk directly into the scene. I was later told that there were only two to four people in the audience that night, but still. Principles. I've got 'em. So I walk outside to scream out some frustration. Once I have finished a few vigorous banshee impressions, I realized I have been locked out. I run to each door, rattling and kicking each one futilely. And here's the kicker:
It rains. Not enough for me to get soaked, but just enough to let you know that the sky thinks it's fun the piss on the little guy. The little guy who got locked out of what they'd been looking forward to all week. The little guy with no mode of transportation. The little guy with no shelter. The little guy who was sitting in a pile of cigarettes, pigeon feathers, and bird crap. The little guys who started to sob while sitting on that pile, that was conveniently placed in an empty parking lot.
At about 8:20 I decide to get up and write a note to the director. I folded it closed then wrote on one side:
PLEASE BRING 2 HITCHCOCK THEATER
On the other side:
TO MICHAEL MILLER
I spent a couple minutes pushing it through a door, and when it finally got through, someone opened the door for me. Rendering my note useless. I ran back up to the theater and told the director what had happened. He looked like he was trying not to laugh. I hated him a little bit right then. But then he gave me a cookie, so I cooled down a little. I called my Mom to pick me up. When I get into the car she asks:
"Why are you so wet and dirty?"
"Just take me home...."
I later found out that reason my dad thought it was okay if I was late to my supposed "dress rehearsal", was because of his own rehearsal with his jazz band.
Irony. Gotta love it right?
But, I digress. This is the reason I failed Computer essentials.
On a lighter note, Quinlan and I have decided that I am Lorelei Lamb and she is Lilian Lamb.
Also, I found out that Mrs. Harrison works at Hancock Fabrics.
I have failed Computer Essentials.
No, you didn't read that incorrectly.
I HAVE FAILED COMPUTER ESSENTIALS.
I realized right when I got home this morning, I never took the Computer Essentials test. I know what you're thinking. "Niara, how could this happen? You had all week!" Nope. YOU had all week. I had an essay, homework, quizzes, three hours at the Rose theater every night being the light board operator. And then because of my new sleeping schedule, fell asleep at the latest of 10:30 every night. Not to mention Thursday night, which was my last night to get it done. Speaking of that, let's recap on Thursday.
As you may or may not know, Thursday was opening night for a play I was the light board operator for. Call was at six and it started at seven.
5:00 Hmm. I should probably get ready to leave.
5:15 All done! Better call daddy!
5:20 "You're where?!"
"I'm at the guitar center, in west Omaha."
5:40 He'll be here soon. He's gonna be here.
5:45 WHERE IS HE?
6:00 "How far are you from the house?"
"I'm making a transaction at the guitar center."
".......WHAT?"
"I told you I was at the guitar center"
"How long until you get here?"
"What do you mean?"
"An estimate. Give me an estimate."
"Well, after this I need to pick up Jalani"
"......."
"And your mother"
"......."
"Then she has to drop me off some where"
"......."
"Then she'll pick you up! But don't worry, you'll be there by 6:45."
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!
*CLICK*
6:20 "Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"I'm going to be late."
"Tell that to your father."
"Tonight is opening night."
"What?"
"And what's with all the picking up and dropping of people?"
"What do you mean?"
I recap on the previous conversation.
My mother says, "That is not supposed to happen."
"Hmm."
6:35 Goes to voice mail five times. "When will you be here?"
"You're calling again?"
"Yes."
"Look I'll get there when I get there."
"But-"
*CLICK*
38 minutes later, I arrive at the Rose. This time the only reason I am able to get in is because someone was leaving Ferdinand the Bull. I run up to the fourth level to the Hitchcock theater and realize that I am in a SNAFU. If you don't know what the acronym for SNAFU means go here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SNAFU
I cannot get to the sound booth unless I walk directly into the scene. I was later told that there were only two to four people in the audience that night, but still. Principles. I've got 'em. So I walk outside to scream out some frustration. Once I have finished a few vigorous banshee impressions, I realized I have been locked out. I run to each door, rattling and kicking each one futilely. And here's the kicker:
It rains. Not enough for me to get soaked, but just enough to let you know that the sky thinks it's fun the piss on the little guy. The little guy who got locked out of what they'd been looking forward to all week. The little guy with no mode of transportation. The little guy with no shelter. The little guy who was sitting in a pile of cigarettes, pigeon feathers, and bird crap. The little guys who started to sob while sitting on that pile, that was conveniently placed in an empty parking lot.
At about 8:20 I decide to get up and write a note to the director. I folded it closed then wrote on one side:
PLEASE BRING 2 HITCHCOCK THEATER
On the other side:
TO MICHAEL MILLER
I spent a couple minutes pushing it through a door, and when it finally got through, someone opened the door for me. Rendering my note useless. I ran back up to the theater and told the director what had happened. He looked like he was trying not to laugh. I hated him a little bit right then. But then he gave me a cookie, so I cooled down a little. I called my Mom to pick me up. When I get into the car she asks:
"Why are you so wet and dirty?"
"Just take me home...."
I later found out that reason my dad thought it was okay if I was late to my supposed "dress rehearsal", was because of his own rehearsal with his jazz band.
Irony. Gotta love it right?
But, I digress. This is the reason I failed Computer essentials.
On a lighter note, Quinlan and I have decided that I am Lorelei Lamb and she is Lilian Lamb.
Also, I found out that Mrs. Harrison works at Hancock Fabrics.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
#3 Charllotte's Web Auditions
Yesterday, I auditioned for Charlotte's Web. Depending on who's reading, you may or may not know that I have some anxiety about these of things. My hands shake, my stomach turns, and I feel like I'm going vomit and crap myself at the same. Rest assured, this has never happened and I intend to keep it that way, but you can see where the problem lies. So I spent parts of my day thinking about auditions.
ADVISORY:
This is it. The day of auditions. Do or die. Or run the sound booth. Come on, Niara, buck up! You are a rock. You are soli- wait a minute. Where the heck did all the good muffins go? What is this thing, raisin, oats, and Splenda?
ALGEBRA:
I am not retaking this test. There is no way I'm retaking this dumb test. Well.....I might retake it. Just to see if it's easy. Unlike auditions.
CHEMISTRY:
"What happened to your head Jen?"
"Ow."
"Are you okay?"
"Ow."
"Do you need to go to the nurse?"
"This school doesn't have a nurse."
"Oh. Right."
"Ow."
(I later ended up accidentally stealing her iPad.)
STUDY HALL
You are my fiddle, I shall name you Reginald.
I just realized I didn't spend too much time thinking about it.
Skipping ahead, I auditioned with Mongo. We did the scene where Wilbur first meets Charlotte. I was a little apprehensive about doing the part at first, because Murrbeth had done it before, and made a much better Wilbur than I. Like if her Wilbur and my Wilbur got in a fight, my Wilbur would be on the whimpering before any sort of conflict had been started. Mongo was great, though. I think she'd make a perfect Charlotte. Baby Carrot auditioned with I Love George, and they were so HILARIOUS that they deserve all-caps.
But after most of the auditions, something glorious happened. John Byrne walked into the room. Everyone immediately fell to their knees and started bowing to their master, while screaming and crying tears of joy.
Not really, but the look on everyone's faces approximated to that. John Byrne? Pretty much a legend among legends, and the male version of Lil' Newton. There's even a Facebook group devoted to hugging John Byrne (http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=188241739493) Y'know something funny? Even though everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, knows he's gay, every single girl in the room goes crazy when he's around. His sweat is magical, his sentences are lyrical, and it is impossible to dislike him. Try it. You'll either pass out or spontaneously combust.
Afterward, there was a girl, who was on the fence about trying out. I knew her quite well so I decided to help her throw the snake. "Just do it. Nike knows what they're talking about."
"What?"
"Just tryout, kid."
So I auditioned with her. TBecks looked unhappy when I said she wanted to practice first, but I felt like a lot like Troy Bolton, and it's not every day that you're the captain of the basketball team. The girl forgot some of her lines, and started to whisper to me about how she forgot her lines, and then I had go whisper back directions to her on what to do, but I think it turned out alright.
This morning, I realized on my own improv, the little lambs can clean with their backs and how a spider dances ballet.
But what's done is done. Good luck future auditioners, you have all my sympathy.
ADVISORY:
This is it. The day of auditions. Do or die. Or run the sound booth. Come on, Niara, buck up! You are a rock. You are soli- wait a minute. Where the heck did all the good muffins go? What is this thing, raisin, oats, and Splenda?
ALGEBRA:
I am not retaking this test. There is no way I'm retaking this dumb test. Well.....I might retake it. Just to see if it's easy. Unlike auditions.
CHEMISTRY:
"What happened to your head Jen?"
"Ow."
"Are you okay?"
"Ow."
"Do you need to go to the nurse?"
"This school doesn't have a nurse."
"Oh. Right."
"Ow."
(I later ended up accidentally stealing her iPad.)
STUDY HALL
You are my fiddle, I shall name you Reginald.
I just realized I didn't spend too much time thinking about it.
Skipping ahead, I auditioned with Mongo. We did the scene where Wilbur first meets Charlotte. I was a little apprehensive about doing the part at first, because Murrbeth had done it before, and made a much better Wilbur than I. Like if her Wilbur and my Wilbur got in a fight, my Wilbur would be on the whimpering before any sort of conflict had been started. Mongo was great, though. I think she'd make a perfect Charlotte. Baby Carrot auditioned with I Love George, and they were so HILARIOUS that they deserve all-caps.
But after most of the auditions, something glorious happened. John Byrne walked into the room. Everyone immediately fell to their knees and started bowing to their master, while screaming and crying tears of joy.
Not really, but the look on everyone's faces approximated to that. John Byrne? Pretty much a legend among legends, and the male version of Lil' Newton. There's even a Facebook group devoted to hugging John Byrne (http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=188241739493) Y'know something funny? Even though everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, knows he's gay, every single girl in the room goes crazy when he's around. His sweat is magical, his sentences are lyrical, and it is impossible to dislike him. Try it. You'll either pass out or spontaneously combust.
Afterward, there was a girl, who was on the fence about trying out. I knew her quite well so I decided to help her throw the snake. "Just do it. Nike knows what they're talking about."
"What?"
"Just tryout, kid."
So I auditioned with her. TBecks looked unhappy when I said she wanted to practice first, but I felt like a lot like Troy Bolton, and it's not every day that you're the captain of the basketball team. The girl forgot some of her lines, and started to whisper to me about how she forgot her lines, and then I had go whisper back directions to her on what to do, but I think it turned out alright.
This morning, I realized on my own improv, the little lambs can clean with their backs and how a spider dances ballet.
But what's done is done. Good luck future auditioners, you have all my sympathy.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
#2 SWB Meets PWB
Today, Murrbeth ran toward me frantically telling me that I needed to see something.
"Well, let me pack up my things fir-"
"NO, COME WITH ME NOW!" And so I did. Because my school reeks of sweet, sweet (sometimes evil), serendipity, I did see something.
Oh, did I see something.
The Purple Water Bottle. Now let me back up a bit, since you don't know the story.
Once upon a time, there was a little curly haired freshman named S. Dubya B. S Dubya was walking down from Scripture, laughing and joking, with her good friend Mongolian Sweetheart like little curly haired freshmen tend to do. All of a sudden, a menacing force started to emanate from the staircase. S. Dubya could tell because her curls were tingling, the way they always did around pure evil. Now keep in mind folks, Dubya is a completely sane, normal, run of the mill kind of gal, but when she looked down into her hand she-
Well, she went insane.
Temporarily, thank the Lord, but insane she went. Dubya became hysterical! She sobbed and screamed, and worst of all, thoroughly confused Mongo.
"What's wrong?"
"It came out of nowhere- in my hand- stairs- bottle- PURPLE!"
It certainly was quite the ordeal. But Mongo, being the brightest of the bright, managed to make sense of Dubya's garbled sobs. Dubya was walking down the stairs when an evil purple water bottle appeared in her hand because of some sort ancient stairwell curse. As Mongo tried to help Dubya down the hall, people asked what was wrong with Dubya and she always gave them the same response:
"I don't know....."
A few months later, Mongo and Dubya went to the bathroom to get some water (AKA delicious life nectar as I like to call it). Sitting a top the fountain was none other than the hated, the despicable, the vile
PURPLE WATER BOTTLE.
I don't remember much after that, but I assume I gave it a round house kick to the face.
So readers, you may have guessed by now (or read my name), but I was little S. Dubya B. I know, so shocking that calm, cool, collected SWB would react like that to something. But at least now you know what I saw. Returning back to Murrbeth and I, we were standing in the Junior locker room, staring at the purple water bottle crouching like a tiger ready to pounce. As excited as she was, I'm not sure she understood the gravity of the situation. It was RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER LOCKER. I simply said, "You're next," and walked away. I having a feeling my Bottle scare is over and someone else's is starting. Good luck, Murrbeth.
P.S. I know you sent me those used socks, PWB. You wore them one at a time, then put them in a brown paper bag.
"Well, let me pack up my things fir-"
"NO, COME WITH ME NOW!" And so I did. Because my school reeks of sweet, sweet (sometimes evil), serendipity, I did see something.
Oh, did I see something.
The Purple Water Bottle. Now let me back up a bit, since you don't know the story.
Once upon a time, there was a little curly haired freshman named S. Dubya B. S Dubya was walking down from Scripture, laughing and joking, with her good friend Mongolian Sweetheart like little curly haired freshmen tend to do. All of a sudden, a menacing force started to emanate from the staircase. S. Dubya could tell because her curls were tingling, the way they always did around pure evil. Now keep in mind folks, Dubya is a completely sane, normal, run of the mill kind of gal, but when she looked down into her hand she-
Well, she went insane.
Temporarily, thank the Lord, but insane she went. Dubya became hysterical! She sobbed and screamed, and worst of all, thoroughly confused Mongo.
"What's wrong?"
"It came out of nowhere- in my hand- stairs- bottle- PURPLE!"
It certainly was quite the ordeal. But Mongo, being the brightest of the bright, managed to make sense of Dubya's garbled sobs. Dubya was walking down the stairs when an evil purple water bottle appeared in her hand because of some sort ancient stairwell curse. As Mongo tried to help Dubya down the hall, people asked what was wrong with Dubya and she always gave them the same response:
"I don't know....."
A few months later, Mongo and Dubya went to the bathroom to get some water (AKA delicious life nectar as I like to call it). Sitting a top the fountain was none other than the hated, the despicable, the vile
PURPLE WATER BOTTLE.
I don't remember much after that, but I assume I gave it a round house kick to the face.
So readers, you may have guessed by now (or read my name), but I was little S. Dubya B. I know, so shocking that calm, cool, collected SWB would react like that to something. But at least now you know what I saw. Returning back to Murrbeth and I, we were standing in the Junior locker room, staring at the purple water bottle crouching like a tiger ready to pounce. As excited as she was, I'm not sure she understood the gravity of the situation. It was RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER LOCKER. I simply said, "You're next," and walked away. I having a feeling my Bottle scare is over and someone else's is starting. Good luck, Murrbeth.
P.S. I know you sent me those used socks, PWB. You wore them one at a time, then put them in a brown paper bag.
#1 And so, "It" Began
"It" being this blog and I being the Suspicious Water Bottle that writes it. I have decided to start a blog. Creative outlets are always good for the mind and occasionally cause a chuckle or two. So, keep your eyes peeled for more!
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