Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Bees - Tiny Buzzing EVIL

I do not like bees.

Sure, they make honey. That's cool.

But they also buzz around your picnic table, sting you with their evil little stingers, and get all up in your grill for no good reason.

Evan would beg to differ. He used to keep bees. He kept those bees like a bawss. So if there is, oh say, a giant freaking horde of bees buzzing around right outside his front door, he will just walk right on through them. Like a bawss.

(Beekeeping is probably like this. You may become Covered in Bees. Warning: There is one wild F-Bomb. But just the one. A lot of people probably cuss when they discover they are covered in bees. I would. I just wouldn't use that particular word.)

I will blindly follow him, like the trusting little fool that I am, and be halfway through when I suddenly realize that those are not harmless little flies like I originally thought.
Oh son of a Nutcracker. Those are bees.I controlled myself ridiculously well. Mostly because if I jumped and screamed, the bees would become angry.
And angry bees are way scarier than bees that are just chillaxing around a large mysterious puddle in front of someone's front door.
So I probably squeaked a little, squeezed Evan's hand until I successfully cut off the circulation (Well, that would be some trick, actually. He seems to have a pulse everywhere), and kept walking.
The puddle in front of his front door is caused by their air conditioner drooling. Bees really love AC drool, so they all hang out and drink all day.
And because Evan used to be a crazy little beekeeper, there are LOTS of bees.
Iz scawy.

So far, I haven't been stung. Ever. Which is kind of nice, because I hear getting stung by bees kind of sucks, but it's also not that nice. Because I don't know if I'm allergic. My siblings aren't, but my mom is. Not the kind of allergic where you coughandchokeanddie. Just the kind where you swell up a lot. But I'm not allergic to the same stuff anyone else in my family is. I managed to be allergic to fire ants. Fire ant bites swell up, but not as much as they did when I was little (Or maybe they swell up the exact same amount, but I'm just bigger now. Hmmmmm...).
Sometimes I swell up for no good reason. Like, sometimes the area under my eye will go POOF! And one time my lip got all swollen for no good reason at all, other than to be like, "Ha! I'm big and poofy! NOW YOU LOOK FUNNY! Also....I buuurnnnnnn. >:D"
That was weird.
Anywhoo. Bees.

My family went on a big groovy road trip in August/September of...2009? We drove through Colorado, Wyoming, South Dakota, and various places in between. But the three states just mentioned are apparently where all the bees live. In Colorado, we were following around a tour guide in the Garden of the Gods, and a bee was all like, "O HAI" so I screamed and ran away. The tour guide thought I was weird. But he likes to eat the random plants that grow in the park, so I think he's weird too. I guess it's so he doesn't have to pack a lunch.

In Wyoming, we were havin' a picnic. I was all cute and innocent and drinkin' a soda (Yeah, I know...Bees love it) when a bee comes up and is all, "GIVE ME YO DRAHNK, FOO'!" and I was all, "FINE TAKE THE DAMN DRINK JUST LEAVE ME ALOOOOOONE!". I screamed and ran away. I left my chips. And my drink. And my purse. Oops. I tried to send my brother to go get it, since he's not allergic to bees, but he was too chicken. My mom had to do it. She was successful.
But I guess taking the soda away pissed the bee off, because as I was walking down the sidewalk, a bee (I bet it was the same bee, seeking it's revenge) flew all up in my grill, and started clunking it's face on my sunglasses. I screamed, and dropped my chips AGAIN and ran away.
I think I might've left the chips that time.
Poor little bag of baked Lay's.

In South Dakota, we visited the Badlands. There ain't a whole lot of plant life in the Badlands. But there are bees.
Angry bees.
They will find you. They will scare the crap out of you. You can't even run away properly. Too many cliffs. And large tourists.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is why I hate bees.
Thank you, and have a bee-free day!

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Dancing, Laughing, and Ginormous Sammiches

The past two summers, I have gone with my dance teacher, and sometimes fellow assistants, to the MusicWorks dance convention in Dallas. This blog entry will cover my third trip. I wrote a lot of this while at the hotel, so if the past and present tenses get all mixed up...sorry. Some of it was just happening, and I wasn't sleeping much, so I didn't catch it. You Grammar Nazis will just have to deal with it.

Day 01-

Awakened at 4:30 am. This actually was not as big deal as I thought it would be. I guess maybe because it wasn't like getting up in the morning. 4:30 is still night. I'm frequently still awake at 4:30. My big squishy Bunny was following me around while I got ready to go, meeping at me. Getting ready to go included putting on a teensy bit of makeup, just so I wouldn't look dead, and gathering all my luggage (prepacked of course) in slow motion. I snuggled my squishy Bunny goodbye, and patted Blitzen's bootay, and settled on the front porch to wait for my ride. The ride was late, so I got my dog, Candy, out of the yard and sang "Halfway Down the Stairs" to her twice. She doesn't care what I sing. She doesn't even care if I sing badly (Which is often true). If I sing, she gets all blissfully happy and looks like she's going to go to sleep.
She's weird.
So my ride eventually came, I threw my luggage in the trunk, and settled in the back seat with my pillow and mp3 player with the shiny new earbuds that blocked out the talking of Ms.Sue and her sister. (Her sister has decided she does not want her name on the internetz. So I'll call her...Ummm...Fine. Her name is Fred. Sorry, Fred, that's the first name that popped into my head.) Normally I wouldn't mind talking to them at all. But I had 3 or less hours  of sleep, and I wanted to get more. I ended up kinda dozing. Close enough. I've never been able to sleep in the car. Ever.
On the way, we stopped at a couple rest stops. I think one was maaayyybe a Shell station. That's seriously all I remember about it. The other was a barbeque/gas station/  gift shop type of place, with a bunch of Texas-themed souveneirs. Most of these had armadillos on them. WHY are tourists so freaking obsessed with armadillos? You hardly ever see armadillos wandering around the wild, anyway. In my entire life, I have seen live armadillos wandering about in the wild three times. The rest have all been roadkill. Armadillos are stupid.

For the rest of the trip I listened to quiet sleepy music and was in that weird place between waking and sleeping. I woke myself up shortly before we arrived at the hotel. Our room was waayy up on the tenth floor this time. We got a nice veiw of the runway.
But when the planes take off, it messes with our internetz.  Which is not cool. Especially since the Hyatt charges like, twenty bucks for 48 hours of internet. For one computer. I can't even log on with my computer. I'd have to pay another tweny bucks. D:

Ms.Sue and I headed down to the ballroom, and left Fred to wander around the hotel.
Not having much sleep I wasn't thinking too clearly, and decided to skip out on some of the more difficult classes. Teehee. I got better as the day went on. And I got to take a Contemporary class, which I really enjoyed. I like contemporary. It's weird. I want to do some contemporary choreography to Lithium, by Evanescence. I'd never be able to USE it, I just want to do some choreography to it. I love Lithium. It's my panic attack song.

Hip hop was pretty cool. First we had Kidz Hop with Joan Lather. It is very amusing to watch a seventy-nine year old woman do hip-hop, and do it well.
We also had hip-hop with Gina, which was really fun. We got to be alien robots. Everyone should enjoy pretending to be an alien robot. I'm totally using that for the hip-hop/jazz class I'm teaching this year. I'm going to change some parts though. Currently, I believe it to be too easy. Those kids need slightly more of a challenge than that.

Musical theatre is my favorite class at MusicWorks. The beginner musical theatre number that Gina taught us was Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. It has been discovered that it is REALLY hard to sing that song without making it sound like, "Oh, you, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, pretty s****y bang bang, we love you!" It was hilarious. I'm laughing right now thinking about it.

After classes, we headed down to the friggin' expensive hotel restaurant. Sneaky, sneaky restaurant. They give you the menu with the expensive stuff on it, and don't give you the menu with the burgers and nachos and stuff unless you ask. (I believe they give you this menu if you sit in the area with the bar.)

I had a giant burger, and fries in this weird springy fry-vase thing.
I know, it's a blurry picture. And I look horrible because of the whole no-sleep thing. And a waitress was looking at me weird. So I didn't take another one.
Seriously, I ate most of it. I. Ate. Almost a whole burger. This sort of thing doesn't happen often.
I actually ate a lot that day. It was kinda freaky.

After dinner, Fred and I settled in upstairs to watch TV and surf teh internetz while Ms.Sue went to her dance teacher meeting.
I was focused on my internet, so I didn't notice that Fred was watching a dirty movie until she freaked out, muted it, and changed the channel. I guess she felt the need to protect my innocence. Because I never watch anything dirty myself. Never. *whistles innocently*
She didn't mind the part where Pierce Brosnan was taking a bath and some woman walked in on him. But Pierce Brosnan didn't seem to mind either.

After Ms.Sue left her meeting, she and Fred went down to the bar for a glass of wine, jokingly instructing me to come down and get them if they called. Being too young to drink is apparently being like the designated driver. Except nobody had to drive anywhere.

Lookit, it's meeee!
View from the balcony, unobstructed by my face.
And it's not like I never drink wine anyway. But they wouldn't bring me any. -____-
While they were gone, I chillaxed, blasted music really loudly, took a few pictures on the balcony, painted my toenails black, and called my Mom.

About an hour later, Ms.Sue and Fred came back up. Ms.Sue declared that she was hungry, and that she was going to eat her birthday cookie. As she began eating her cookie, Fred started laughing uncontrollably.
F: *chucklechuckleguffaw*
F: "I *heeheehee* I ate some of it. Only around the edges, so you wouldn't notice."
S: "You're not a nice sister! THAT WAS MY COOKIE!"
F: *heeheeheeheheeee*
Me: "She ate your cookie?"

We then discovered that Fred had not only eaten part of Ms.Sue's birthday cookie, she had also eaten a bunch of other stuff. Like Ms.Sue's sandwich. And some Goldfish crackers. And some cherry fruit snacks. And some pretzels. And a Dr.B (Which is drinking, not eating, but whatever). When Fred gets bored, she eats food. Preferably other people's food. Ms.Sue does pretty much the same thing, only she eats her own food (Except at restuarants. Then she eats everyone's food).
I have no idea how they stay so fit.

It took a while for me to get to sleep after that massive giggle fit, but Ms.Sue and Fred had no trouble. How do they DO that? Without medication? These things baffle me. Within minutes, they were both snoring away. One of 'em snores pretty loud (The other stopped pretty quickly), so I didn't get to sleep until around 1:30 (Which is pretty freakin' early for me, really).
I bet the room was lovely while we all slept. I snore too. Sometimes. Usually right before I wake up. It's like a warning. Everyone knows to back off and not say the words "good morning" around me.
Hrmm. I actually only snore at home. My sister is the only one to have heard me snore (Except for me. I woke myself up once).


Day 02- Okay, so not everyone knows not to say good morning to me. Fred said good morning. I think I said, "Murni'" Or something. She told me other stuff too, that I don't remember. I do remember saying, "'K"  to everything she said. And then she left.
I got ready, and headed down to the ballroom for Intermediate Jazz with Darryl.
A little more than halfway through the class, the building spontaneously combusted.

Well, not really. The fire alarm went off. There were little lights going off like camera flashes, and the fire alarm was all like, "Hawwwnk. Hawwwwnk. Hawwwnk." and the creepy voice told us to walk calmly to the nearest exit. I was kinda hoping the sprinklers would go off, because that would be totally fun, but they didn't.
We all walked calmly (Seriously, we actually did) to the nearest exit, which was out to the pool. We assumed the pool was the best place in case of fire. Because, you know, it's...full of water. It's not even all blocked in. There's a fire escape down to the street. But a hotel employee came out and told us that they were herding everyone out to the front, so we walked through the hotel, out the front door, waited for five seconds, and then we got to go back in.
And that was the adventure for the day.

At lunch I decided to make a little video blog. Because I had nothing better to do.

After lunch, we did an advanced musical theatre number to America from West Side Story. So fun. So hard. I almost died. I loved it. There were steps I had seen, but never done before, and I was really excited when I didn't have trouble with the steps themselves (The speed at which they were done, however...). That's something I really love about going to this convention. I get to try new things that I ordinarily wouldn't, and I know I haven't reached my limit yet. It's kind of a confidence booster. Okay, so there totally IS stuff I can't do. Like big giant leaps. And I usually can't do the splits. And I can only do six fouette turns the right (On the left, I can do exactly none). And I can't do an illusion. I would love to be able to do an illusion. THEY LOOK SO COOL.
I took a tap class with Becca (Well, that may have been Tuesday. I don't remember what day that was, and I don't have my schedule with me), and "Ballet Enlightenment" with Janice, which was just  a lecture. Ooh, and we did baby ballet with Becca. It's fun to do the little kid dances. Everyone loves to fly around the room like a butterfly.

There are two water coolers in the room. I LOVE WATER COOLERS. I will keep finding excuses to get drinks, until I can get the water cooler to make a bubble. You know. It happens eventually. A big bubble comes up from the bottom and goes, "Bla-DOOOOP!"
I freaking love that bubble.
I told Ms.Sue about it. She looked at me for a while.
"....You like the bubble?"
"It doesn't take much with you."

Oh and Booty Shorts Man was back. He was also there the first day, but he wears capris for the first day. He's really really fit so it's not as bad as it COULD be, but should not wear booty shorts. Ever. And as far as I can tell, he's not gay. He's got a Lady Friend and they're always holding hands, and flirting, and grabbing each other's butts. Maybe Lady Friend is the one who encourages the booty shorts. I don't know. She always wears pants.
(I'm not going to post a link or a picture here, in case Booty Shorts Man magically finds it. Who knows, he might Google himself. But I'll totally post a link to his site on my Facebook.)

That evening we went to BJ's Brewery (Shut up, dirty minded people).I had some chicken-y thing that was pretty tasty, but I dunno...the sauce got my gag reflex.  The entree was kind of Italian, so maybe that was it. I have an oversensitive gag reflex, and I'm pretty weird about it. Italian food is one of the major things that sets it off. So when I smell Italian food, I get all panicky.
But I digress (And now everyone knows I'm basically afraid of Italian food, which is weird).
So I saved room for dessert.
For dessert, I got a triple chocolate pazooki.
I ate 3/4 of it.
It was amazing.

Nothing else of interest happened that night.
We talked, and internetted, and watched the planes take off. Planes look so weird when they take off. They're all like, *ZOOOOOOOOOOOM* down the runway, and then they just kinda...float off. And The Blue Danube plays in my head.
I am very easily fascinated.
That night, Ms.Sue gave me earplugs. That helped a lot. I still didn't get to sleep until about 2,


Day 03 - Again I slept in, skipping the first class. In fact, I only went to one class that day, Advanced Ballet with Janice. It was some pretty difficult stuff. Things I could do on flat with practice, but it'll deinitely be a while before I can do that stuff on pointe without dying.
Ms.Sue got her picture taken with Janice, and I told Janice  she was awesome. I love watching her dance. She's tiny, and dainty, and ridiculously graceful. Even when she's just walking around she looks like she's dancing. I should figure out how to do that. (Hey Evan, "I need a new walk.")

After that class, we went upstairs, and packed up errything. I always check hotel rooms for stuff at least twice. Usually more. Because leaving stuff would be BAAAAAAAAAD. Or something. Even though if you haven't seen the missing object the first two room checks, it's probably something small and insignificant, like a pen, or a sock, and if you DO leave it, you won't miss it.
We got into the elevator with some businessmen, one of whom looked like a very skinny Santa Claus, and headed down to the lobby.
Ms.Sue complained about the internet, and was told that they know it sucks, and they are working on getting a new server. They didn't charge us for the internet, and gave Ms.Sue a coupon for a free drink and pastry. She got a Diet Pepsi, and the most expensive pastry they had (It was probably like,  $40 or something.  Well, maybe not. But I'll bet it was at least $6).

In the parking garage, I slammed my door. I love slamming the car door in a parking garage. The noise it makes is very satisfying. I told Fred I loved to slam car doors in parking garages.
"'Cause I love the noise it makes."
"You like the noise?"
"It doesn't take much with you, does it?"

On the way home, we stopped at Braum's, in Hillsboro. Their ice cream is sooooooooo goooooood. :D
It was freaking cold in there. I had to go back out of the car and get my jacket. (I pretty much never carry a jacket around with me in Texas during the summer.I only had it because the Hyatt is always freakin' cold.)
After we ate, Ms.Sue and Fred went out to the car (Because they were freezing) and I stayed in to use the restroom. When I went to throw my trash away, my tray slipped out of my hand and fell into the trash. Being sleep-deprived, I found this hilarious. I was all, "Oops!...My tray just fell in the trash can. *hysterical laughter*" Yeah, I talk to myself. Sometimes even in crowded restuarants. There was some middle-aged guy watching me, looking amused. I'm glad I made his day more entertaining. I guess it would be weird to watch a teenage girl all dressed in black, talking to herself and laughing hysterically in front of a trash can. I possibly also said goodbye to the remains of my chocolate shake when I threw that away. I know I said SOMETHING to it.

We arrived back at the dance studio around 4 pm. I had called my Dad, and he was waiting to pick me up. I retrieved our recital DVDs, grabbed some bags, sent Dad to go get the rest, and opened the passenger side door on the truck.

And there was my cat.
He was in his kitty carrier, in the front seat, squeaking. It sounded a lot like, "Halloooooo?"
Needless to say I was rather surprised.

Ms.Sue met Bunny. He squeaked at her. I rode in the back seat with him. He was mostly okay, and looked like he was happy to see me, but he was also pretty freaked out. Cars aren't cool. He kept panting and squishing his face against the bars. It was pretty funny, but also kinda scary looking.

I arrived at home, released the Bunny (Who was still panting), greeted all my other kitties, saw my sister's new haircut (Which is cute, and makes her look even older. -____-) and met my sister's new guinea pig, Charlie (She didn't even know about Charlie the Drunk Guinea Pig. XD).

I slept for about ten and a half hours (BLISS) and still haven't unpacked.

Ladies and gentlemen, this has been another hilariously excellent three days at MusicWorks.
Hopefully you were at least mildly amused.

By the way, this was the width of our balcony. My feet are size six. When we  first drove up to the hotel, there was a  rather large woman on her balcony smoking. I have no idea how she got out there.

Okay, NOW it's the end.

Wednesday, July 06, 2011

The First Time He Died

 I’ll always look back fondly on the day we buried Evan alive.
 It was one of Emily’s birthday parties, and we were all upstairs playing “Funeral”. In Funeral, one person is the tombstone, who sits at the end of the grave and recites the date of birth, date of death, cause of death, and epitaph. The priest is all like, "They shall be greatly missed. Maybe. Probably not. Who is this, again?" The organist plays dramatic music. The widow either weeps loudly, or is like, "Yayyyy, he died! :D LIFE INSURANCE MONEEYYY!" The mourners weep. The more the widow pays them, the louder they weep. The corpse is usually just dead, but will occasionally sit up and ask what's going on. Somebody then clubs them over the head so the funeral can continue.
All of us little girls took turns playing all of the parts.
But eventually, we ran out of corpses.

 Evan came innocently upstairs, presumably to inform us that it was time for cake. I think he was even kind of smiling. He was probably trying to convey that he came in peace, with good tidings of cake and joy to all people.
But he never got to deliver his message.

 We needed corpses, and as the Big Brother, he was the ideal next victim.
We all grabbed onto him and shoved him into his grave (which was Emily’s bed. Also, this only worked because he didn’t resist). We declared him dead, and who ever was the tombstone that time declared that he had died from getting hit by an ice cream truck (I think).

 Evan wasn’t a very good corpse. He kept popping out of his grave, proclaiming he would agree to be dead only if he got a burger and fries. We promised him there would be a burger and fries waiting for him on the other side, and he died with a pleasant smile on his face. We buried him under the covers. I was the mourner. Possibly his widow, but I’m pretty sure I was just the paid mourner (I don't think I was paid much. I don't remember weeping very dramatically).
As we were finishing up his funeral, the adults downstairs realized that Evan’s message must have been interrupted, and called us down for cake. Of course, we gleefully abandoned our victim for sugar.

 I assume he dug himself up and come downstairs to receive cake, but I'm not really sure. He may have been up there munching on heavenly burgers and fries for all I know.

We were really messed up little kids.

Even better, this party was a sleepover, and we tried to bury the poor guy AGAIN the next morning.
He didn't let us.
Also I think he might've actually died at some point, because he doesn't remember any of this.

(This post makes me think of This Unskippable . There is most definitely language and violence in this cutscene. You have been forewarned.)

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Polite as a Princess (Or perhaps not)

(I apologize in advance for crappy typing. I have had very little sleep, and my ''a'' key is being eeeeeeviiiil.)

As a dance teacher, most of my work is done during the school year, and I spend all summer being a lazyass and despite taking medication, sleep at really odd hours (Because if you do nothing all day, sleep really is not required).

But to save dance teachers from doing absolutely nothing all summer, we go and have dance camp (And conventions, but that'll be a whoooole 'nother blog post). Dance camps have various themes, stuff like Under the Sea, maybe a ballet like Coppelia, Tinkerbell, the Princess and the Frog, or heck, maybe even something weird like cows (You never know. People are weird).

This is how some ballet friends and I ended up spending a few days as Disney Princesses. I was Ariel, because I am currently the only redhead at the studio who is not five years old (Plus, the other redhead just silently stares at you like "O.O").

Children are awed by Disney princesses. If you look remotely like a Disney princess, they will totally believe you are legit.

Of course, since I had been teaching them all week as Miss Mary, convincing them that I was really Ariel was kind of a stretch. The three year olds were no trouble at all. They were all like, "Whoooaah, our teacher is really Ariel! 8O"

The fours and fives are a bit more skeptical. They tend to be more like, "Pffft, you're faking. We can totally see your feet under your tail."
To which I'm all, "Didn't you see the end of the movie? I had legs. And in the second movie, I was a mermaid again.''
Roughly half were then convinced. But the other half was still skeptical.
I then told them I have a handsome prince, who carries me around stores when I have my tail, so I can shop.
The children decided that if I have a handsome prince, I must be legit, and mostly called me Ariel for the remainder of camp.


Once upon a time, in a land far, far away....
On the last day of camp, all the princesses get together, and have lunch. This year they decided to pay a visit to the local Chick Fil A, in costume (It was difficult to convince Cinderella to go along with it, but in the end she gave in. I think she secretly liked it).
Cinderella, Ariel, and Jasmine all piled into Belle's royal carriage (Or two-door car), turned on their favorite princess music. Nicki Minaj (Whom Ariel hadn't actually heard, as she mostly listens to metal and punk rock and good stuff like that), Lil' Wayne (Who seemed to be talking about random objects and swearing), and The Lonely Island (.....Yeaahhh. XD).

Princesses like to turn their music up really loud. They also sometimes like to roll down their windows and wave their hands out of them to call attention to themselves.

The Chick Fil A was freaking crowded.
The princesses got stared at a lot. Belle and Ariel liked this.
Cinderella and Jasmine are kind of chickens, so the princesses decided to get their food to go (Also, there was a little girl from the camp they just taught who was waving ecstatically).
Because Belle is a speed demon, the princesses arrived back at the studio in three seconds flat.
They had a picnic in the dance studio, and watched a wide variety of Youtube videos, ranging from "Malk" to "I Just Had Sex".

And they lived sexily ever after.
The last camp of the day went well. Nothing terrible happened, and nobody died. After camp, my sister came and took pictures.

So, sleep deprivation aside, it was a good week. I like working with the kids, I get paid, I get free lunch, and cupcakes.

I didn't even have to clean up the studio much, because The Boss had her granddaughter with her, and they just wanted to go home (And I'm certainly not sticking around if I don't have to. Though I'll help if she plans a work day, of course).

Now if you'll excuse me, Imma go sleep for a week.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

They Just Don't Make 'Em Like They Used To

Today, I visited a local antique mall. I love antique malls. Some things are really excellent, and I want them.
But most things...most things are really not. These things should never ever have existed.

And here, for your viewing pleasure (Or to kill some time and fight off boredom) are pictures of some of these creepy, creepy things that they fortunately do not make like they used to (Or at all, which is even better).

This is a triangular clown, ummm...thing. It has no arms. It has no pupils. It has no legs. It has no soul.
Why anyone would wish to purchase this, and then display it in their home is beyond me.
But maybe that's not what it's for.
Maybe you are supposed to buy a bunch of these in bulk, and leave one on the doorstep of your arch-nemesis every Wednesday until they go mad (Should take about three Wednesdays).
This is perhaps one of the more alarming objects I encountered.

Got children who are too old to believe in Santa, yet still stubbornly cling to their belief that somewhere out there, a jolly man sits Ho-ho-hoing and making them gifts, because he loves them and is kind?
Show them this.
They may still believe Santa exists, but at least they won't insist on leaving him cookies every year.
These are clip-on earrings.
Shaped like crabs.
"Hey honey, want to see my crabs?"

Yet another wearable horror.
This is a vest.
As if vests weren't bad enough already.
It's quilted. And has a 3D chicken on the back, with it's little chicks doing some sort of creepy-ass pagan dance around it.
Who would wear this?
And on what occasion?
These are some little glass shoes.
The shoes I think are pretty cute.
But I was getting this creepy vibe the whole time I was looking at them.
Kind of like someone/something was....watching me.

If that first Santa picture wasn't enough, send this life-size-to-a-small-impressionable-child Santa figurine after them.
They will never require Christmas presents from old Saint Nick ever again.
I was trying really hard to smile for the camera, but no smiling is possible with this Santa in the immediate vicinity.

These babies were in a glass case.
They appear to be saying, "Please take us out of this case. Take us home, to be with you forever."
For the love of all that is good and  holy, do not take them out of their case, for God only knows what horrors would follow.
And wassup with that pervy looking owl back there? I believe he is a salt shaker.
I really really hope that whoever gave this thing a face was trying to be funny.
But I kinda doubt it.
I pride myself in my ability to be creepy, but I could never match the creepiness of this disembodied head.

I don't know why, but it took me a couple seconds to realize what was wrong with these candles (Aside from the fact that they are plastic, and terribly made).

This is a man with an impressive mustache, and appears to be wearing a sarong.
He also has a lei wrapped around his ankles.
A shopping companion of mine commented, "He got lei'd."
I lol'd. If you didn't, you must not have said it right.

Someone please explain this painting to me.
There two boys, who look like they're heading to a funeral.
The chunky one is looking straight ahead. The other dude is staring straight at you.
They are carrying around a blindfolded angel.


This unnerving clown picture was supposed to be last, but since blogger is retarded when it come to posting pictures (Unless you know HTML, which I really don't) it decided it wanted to be here, and if I try to move it, it messes up the alignment of everything.
So anyway.
This is a clown figurine.
Holding sausages.
And he appears to be cutting his tie in half with scissors.
And there's another perverted looking figurine eyeing him suggestively.

I think maybe this is a fountain.
That child looks possessed.
And he's wearing a hat.
And I'm kind of afraid to know what exactly he is doing to that jar.

"LOL, I'm feeling a little bit tipsy, how 'bout you, babe?"
"LOL, yeppers!"

Needless to say, I won't be sleeping well tonight.
There were even more pictures that I didn't show you. I was merciful, and decided that this stuff is probably already way more creepy-spookiness than any human being should be able to take in within a 24-hour period. I also noticed that there were a lot of boobs everywhere. There were seriously a LOT of boobs. So that was kinda creepy too, but I didn't feel the need to document it.

Sometimes, it's a really good thing that they don't "make 'em like they used to".

Otherwise, we'd all have clowns in our houses.

Saturday, May 07, 2011

The Great Kibble War of 2011

My sister Jenni took this picture.
How she got Candy to sit still long enough for this picture
remains a mystery.
This is my doggy.
Her name is Candy.
Candy, like most other dogs, eats doggie kibble.
I assume that she thinks it's moderately tasty.
I don't really want to know. I licked a dog treat once to see what it tasted like, and it didn't really taste like anything. And since those are the TREATS, I assume the normal kibble REALLY tastes like nothing.
That is possibly why Candy gets much more excited over stuff like old turkey, and leftover baked potatoes. (I'll get that bitch a potato. Bitches love potatoes. [SEE WHAT I DID THERE??* And it's even okay that I said bitch, because CANDY IS ONE. :D])

But birds like dog kibble.

 The doggie dish is right up against the window-y side of the glass dining room door, so it took a while for the birds to become brave enough to sneak over and take kibble, when they thought no people or cats were looking. For a period of time, no one really cared, because the birds didn't steal kibble often, and half the time a cat would get excited to see a bird so close, and SPLAT themselves against the window, scaring the feathered thief away.

 But our wily little birdie nemeses (Yes, I had to Google the plural of nemesis. That's good. It means I rarely have more than one nemesis) were growing braver.
 They still become spooked by splatting cats, but they come straight back. We started hitting the window to scare them off, but the second we turned away, back they would come, and would resume shoveling kibbles down their little birdie throats.

Now, one might think Candy would chase the birds away from her dinner. After all, she is a dog. They are taking HER DINNER.
One thinks wrong.
Candy is much like me, and doesn't really care much about food, though delicious treats are EXCELLENT.
And even if Candy DID love food, she still wouldn't actually defend her Free Kibble Rights. But Candy is a big apathetic chicken. She won't even play fetch. You throw a ball, she just stares up at it, like, "Ooooh, look at the pretty flying spherical object! I think I'll just sit and watch it from afar." Then she resumes walking around your legs and rubbing on you like a kitty. Everything scares her, from sudden loud noises, to other dogs, to the satellite guy.
If someone tried to rob us, she'd go hide in her doghouse (But on the plus side, our current mode of Kibble Defense would probably scare away any intruder. Read on).

 Grandma has been saying for a while that she'd get us one of those creepy motion-sensor owls, designed to keep unwelcome critters off of your lawn, but she hasn't done it yet, and since she's been rather preoccupied with eye surgery at the present, I doubt she will be shopping for creepy bug-eyed hooting owls anytime soon.

My younger sister Kimberly designed her own ant-kibble-theft device. She got a red piece of construction paper, cut fringe along the edges, and then attached big paper googly eyes to the front. She then affixed it to the front of the doggie dish.
It kinda worked. The female birds would just stand and yell at it, while the male birds would just march past it (LIKE A KIBBLE-MUNCHIN' BAWSS) and gleefully munch their ill-gotten dinner.

Clearly, something more needed to be done.
And ohhhh yes, something more has been done.

Today, my dad returned from Wal*Mart with THIS:

Isn't he unnerving?
It's an inflatable bird-scaring device.
I don't know if it truly scares birds, but it sure as hell scares ME.
It's got eyes on all sides.
I believe this is what Pac-Man looks like when stoned.
It had been hanging in the far corner of the patio, away from the window, but apparently Dad found that to not be very effective, and he moved it.
Right over the dog dish.
And directly in front of the window.

So now we have stoned Pac-Man staring in at us.
Suddenly, the fact that we rarely get to sit down to dinner, all together in the dining room, is not bad. Not bad at all.
Bunny only appears undisturbed.
I'm sure he was shaking in his boots.
Operation Stoned Pac-Man so far appears to be a success. The soldiers have not reported any more attacks, and I certainly haven't seen any. Not that I've been looking.

In the Great Kibble War, we seem to be winning.
But as the enemy grows accustomed to seeing Stoned Pac-Man lurking over the coveted kibbles, they may begin to launch their attacks with renewed intensity, and we may find ourselves immersed again in the throes of battle.

Give us kibble, or give us death.

Although I'm sure Candy would just prefer a baked potato.

*If you do not in fact see what I did there, don't feel bad. You just don't hang out on Memebase enough.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

What is this I don't even

So I don't have anything particularly exciting to blog about. But I've already written a post about writer's block, and I've rambled endlessly about nothing numerous times, so I will have to think of something else.
I will go look through the pictures on my computer, and see if there's a good one to write about.

    Okay.  What the hell is this? Why is it here? I DON'T RECOGNIZE THIIIISSS. I don't even know what to call it. At first I thought it was a knife, but then I enlarged the picture and it doesn't look like a knife. It resembles an anvil. Kinda. And there's a noose involved.

Oh, great, more mysterious unknown pictures.

This one appears to be a book of some sort. Or a box. Whatever it is, it is very colorful, and colorful is usually good (Unless the "colorful" object being discussed is a clown. Clowns are bad. Always horrendously bad.)
 Oh goody, there's more!

Bloomingdale's? Whyyyy do I have this? I never searched for this.
It's not even that pretty. I don't like it.

WHO ARE YOU FACELESS PEOPLE?? I don't know you.  I never searched for you, or downloaded your picture, or anything. What do you want from meeeee??

Here we have last, and definitely least....A pair of plain ol' boring pearl earrings. I'm not into pearls. Too June Cleaver or something. So WHY is there a picture of them on my computer??

Now that I really look at them...those are kinda ugly. They are oddly shaped pearl things with nothing fancy on them. No offense to you pearl-lovers, that's cool if you like them. I just don't wear them. They're all...round...and white...and not really that shiny. I do however, like black pearls. Black makes pretty much everything better.

Wow. That was really weird. I had no idea these pictures were on my computer. Now I know they're HERE, but how did they GET here?
In that same file was my previous Facebook profile picture, along with the previous profile pictures of my mother, my sister, my fiance, and my friend Amber. Why? WHYYYYY??

Has someone been creeping around my computer, downloading pictures of cakes, books, earrings, newlyweds, and mysterious knife/anvil-like objects?
Has a mysterious stranger been creeping on my friends and family?

I'm scared. O.O
Oh crap.
I think I forgot to take my pills.
IT'S 2 AM.
I'm not sleepy. Seriously like, at all.
It's going to be a very long night.

Friday, April 22, 2011

Those Magic Changes

Ehehehehe, I named this post after a song that basically seems to be about puberty. This amuses me more than it should.

I realized I have not blogged this blog lately.
I have decided to give this blog an actual name, which I have never bothered to do. Shame upon me. But not too much, it could crush me flat.
I never use my Tumblr, but I like the name of my Tumblr, so Imma steal that name (The name, not the url. The url is the same as this one. Except Tumblr, not Blogspot. Creative, ain't I?)

The title is actually named after a Flyleaf EP that I don't have. I have the albums Flyleaf and Memento Mori. I didn't care to name my blog after the band itself, and Memento Mori (Basically, "Remember you will die") could be seen as morbid. And while I do have a love for darker music and such (I have a friend who calls me emo. I am nowhere near emo. XD) I am not seen as morbid. Plus, this is, first and foremost, a humor blog, about my life. You don't title a humor blog about life "Remember You Will Die". While that title could actually be seen in a positive light, I doubt most people would see it that way.
SO I go with something that actually sounds happy.
YAY FOR HAPPY, I LIKE HAPPY. (Which is why I obviously would fail at being emo. I would totally be gothic though. Goths are excellent, and are really not generally worshipers of Satan. Stupid stereotype is stupid.)
I also changed the picture. It is now my brother, my sister, my mom, and me at Berry Springs Park. My other sister was the one taking the picture, so while you can't see her, she is still there. Waaatchiiiing.
Anyway. I'm sort of getting ideas for a new actual post.
That way...this can be a post not only about my new title, but also about other new stuff. :O

Like, see where it used to say "Followers (Stalkers)"? It now says, "All My Little Ducklings". 'Cause ducklings follow. GET IT GET IT?

I thought about changing the layout, but this is the only layout I like. I went with a totally new template to build off of (I could do better if I knew codes and such, but I don't, so I won't). It's raining now. I freaking love rain.
GAH IT WON'T RAIN WHERE I LIVE. It's spring. It's supposed to rain. But noooooo. It's all....SUNNY. -_____-

I changed my colors. I like dem.

So, as for new subjects...I have a video of a creepy toy in Wal*Mart that I could upload (It's already on Facebook) or I could blog about eye doctors. Or if those two subjects are already boring you to tears...I'm sorry, I'll try to think of something else.
I bet I won't even get a response on that. I either have very few readers, or a bunch of silent readers. If you're a silent reader...Speak up for crying out loud, you're making me nervous. O.o

Wednesday, April 06, 2011

It Is Always Morning in Hell

There are morning people. Morning people get up with the sun, and cheerfully stretch and yawn and smile, and revel in the glory of the sunrise and the hope of a new day. They eat a nutritious breakfast, and skip off to work or whatever, singing along with the happily chirping birdies as they wave at the mailman (Or if you're in my neighborhood, the mailman comes in the afternoon, so they have to wave at the trash guys instead).

But I'm not here to write about them. That's basically all I know about the strange ways of morning people.
People like myself prefer the mystery of the night, and occasionally dance around their front yard like a little fairy in the moonlight. They find starlight and night air intoxicating. It's silly to sleep when the world is so full of excellence. They go to sleep very very early in the morning. They prefer to sleep straight through the morning, and are much happier if allowed to do so.
If one disturbs a creature of the night's sleep cycle by having them work mornings, the nocturnal being tends to become pissed off, and generally cranky. Sure, they love their job. And once there, they don't mind, and forget that it is indeed still morning.
It's the getting up that's difficult. First, the alarm goes off. Alarms are terrible. THEY WAKE YOU UUUUUUPPPP. BY BEEPING. Or slightly less offensive weird noises, if you use your cell phone.
The sun has come up, and ruined all the lovely night air. The freaking birds won't shut up. If you have the misfortune of living with morning people. they wish you a cheerful, "Good Morning!". You rip their face off as you stagger past them to the bathroom.
KILL IT. KILL IT WITH FI- Oh. No, no, that's just the mirror.
Now, this may not apply to all nocturnal humans, but I have noticed that most night people do not eat a nutritious breakfast. They have things like chocolate chip cookies, or a slice of mince pie and a Dr.Pepper. And no, this is not just me. My grandmother does it too (It is another observation of mine that elderly people rarely eat healthy. Eating healthy must not be all it's cracked up to be, 'cause hey, they made it this far).
Sometimes you have a particularly bad morning, where you keep dropping things, and hitting your elbows on stuff. You thought this was annoying? It could be worse. Maybe your car sounded funny. So you pull into the parking lot of the Chevron station around the corner from your house, turn the car off, and then attempt to turn it back on again. BUT IT DOESN'T TURN ON. Now you get to walk back home, and enlist the help of your also-barely-awake brother, and his ancient orange Malibu.
The Malibu deserves its own blog post, but since the Malibu is not my friend, I refuse to give it the satisfaction. The Malibu has been christened Ol' Stubborn Stanley.
Stanley runs. Barely. His doors don't stay open, and try to shut on your feet. Don't tip over on the seats. A giant cloud of seat will come up and attack your face (Seats really shouldn't come in clouds. O.o). He's slow. The needle on Stanley speedometer rocks back and forth you go over 40 mph. Actually, I don't even know if it's 40 mph. The needle was rocking back and forth at the time.  Stanley is too old to have a mirror on either side of the car, so the passenger cannot even make faces at herself, or check her hair. Ah well. It gives you more time to pray. Stanley probably runs on prayer more than anything else.
Having said all this, I suppose it is obvious that I hate riding in Stanley. Especially first thing in the morning.
See? SEEEEE how bad mornings can be? THEY'RE EVIL. They are the epitome of badness.
And that is why it is always morning in Hell (Except, presumably, for the morning people. Because then they'd like it there. And they'd be missing the whole point of eternal torment).                                                                                                                                                

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Your Typical Doctor's Office

Hello. I am really freaking paranoid about doctors. And who isn't? THEY ARE EVIL. Only crazy evil obsessed people would spend all that time and money in medical school, doing whatever the heck it is they do in medical school.
I try to avoid seeing doctors at all costs. I will go to a doctor if, A) I am sick, and steadily getting worse rather than better, B) I need a vaccination, and a shot is better than *in hick accent* "dyin' uf lawckjaw" (Also known as Tetanus), or C) I AM FREAKING DYING.
So I really don't have a lot of experience with doctors.
I think that I will tell you about them anyway.


  The waiting room is full of crappy old magazines that you can SEE the germs crawling upon. Never ever touch these. Unless it is something funny, like People, or US Weekly, or The National Enquirer.
  There are a lot of people coughing in here. Sometimes, the people will cough so hard, their feet come up off the floor. You will probably end up sitting next to this person. In between coughs, this person will keep checking you out, even though you are sick and look terrible. And so do they.
  The waiting room also has television. The crappy sort of television that no one, aside from maybe the receptionists, would watch. You know SOMEBODY picks the channels. And the receptionists are the only ones who have to be out there. Therefore, it must be them.
  The waiting room, along with the rest of this awful place, has a distinct smell. The smell of doctors, and evil, and fear, and latex. And possibly fake plants. There are often fake plants everywhere. Because fake dusty plants are somehow calming.

  Nurses are not usually bad people. They are usually nice and friendly, and they weigh you, and do all that crap the good doctor is too busy to do.
  Sometimes, the nurse happens to be a friend of yours, and you actually kind of have fun, even though your friend is peering inside your mouth and ears with an itty bitty flashlight.
  But considering their chosen profession, these people cannot be all good. They stick uberlong Q-Tip thingies down your throat, looking for strep. And you make "Cat with the Hairball of a Lifetime" noises.
 Sometimes, they will also stick a similar uberlong Q-tip up your nose. They say they are looking for the flu. I think they really just enjoy it when the patient screams "OH GOD!" (Even if you thought you had laryngitis, you can clearly still scream) and yanks their head away. Or maybe they just like poking your brains. I'm pretty sure that's how far they stick that damn thing up there.
  The nurse will try to check your pulse. Sometimes, they can't find your pulse. This is not that alarming, because sometimes, you can't find it yourself (This is obviously not true of all people. Some people have normal pulses. Some people's pulse is just EVERYWHERE, and if you snuggle such people, their pulse keeps thumping you on your head. And then there are some like me, who sometimes seem to lack a pulse altogether.). The nurse will then ask, very seriously, if you are a vampire. You, of course, tell them yes, indeed you are.
  If you are lucky, the nurse will check your temperature with the sort of thermometer that goes in your mouth. Sometimes they will use your ear (Which feels creepy) and sometimes use your armpit (And you hope to God you used the proper amount of deodorant. The perfect amount that will prevent the thermometer from coming out, A) Stinky and sweaty, or B) White with deodorant flakes). God forbid they ever try to take your temperature elsewhere (Do they even do that with people? 'Cause that's gross).
 The nurse will also take your blood pressure. They wrap the Large Blue Device of Squeezy Death and Tingly Hands around your arm. This device then tries to squeeze your arm off. Sometime, they will also stick what appears to be a large plastic clothespin on your finger. We're not sure what this does. But it sure feels weird doing it.

  After all this is over with, the nurse goes outside to laugh at you. The doctor comes in, and listens your self live and breath and pump and all that jazz.. He makes "Hmmm." noises. It has yet to be determined if these "Hmmms" are positive "Hmmms" or negative "Hmmms'. And the doctor is not about to tell you.
  The doctor searches for your pulse. You wish him luck.  He says your pulse is a little high. You try to refrain from stating the obvious. "That would be because there is a DOCTOR grabbing my arm. Duh." Sometimes you are really sick, and thus not in the best mood, so you do indeed state the obvious. Only to be polite, you should leave off the "Duh". Remember, this man has probably seen the insides of people numerous times.
  Doctor pokes you in the stomach. HARD. He asks if this hurts. That would hurt if you WEREN'T sick, of COURSE it hurts, but you say, "No.", assuming he probably just wants to know if that was abnormal massive pain. He also pokes you in the neck. This also hurts, but he usually doesn't ask about it. He just likes to poke your neck.
  The doctor goes out for a bit to laugh at you, and share stories of hilarious sick people with the nurse. Eventually, he comes back, and states that after all that, he doesn't actually know what is wrong with you, but here, take these pills. They're delicious.
  Sometimes though, the doctor will come in, and announce that, "The strep test was wonderful!". You take this do mean you do not have strep. You are wrong. You do have strep. And the doctor thinks this is wonderful.

  Yayyyy, it's finally almost over! All you have to do now, is pay a whole crapload of cash for the people to poke you. About this time, the horridness of this whole situation catches up with you, and you faint. But since you are way out here where the doctors and nurses can't see you, you are left to enjoy your unconsciousness undisturbed.
  Fainting in and of itself could take up a whole blog post. Lord knows I've had enough experience. Some people just gradually black out, losing all sense of touch. You can still hear your head hit the floor though. Some people get tunnel vision. Still others see random things like puppies and ice cream cones floating around. I am one of the gradually blacking out people. I also tend to think random weird things the first few minutes I'm awake again. Such as, "Hey, I wonder what I look like right after I've passed out??" *hops up to look at self in mirror. Is awed by extreme whiteness. Quickly sits back down. Or, "Heeheeheeee, everyone s standing around me looking worried. WORRIED IS HILARIOUS!!" And then they look even more worried, because you woke up giggling after clunking your head on a brick wall.

 Then people drive you home. And you blog about it.
Because you have wonderful strep, and nothing better to do.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Weird Random Things #1: The Strangley Popular Thing That Is Twilight

This had been going to be a post on random weird things I took pictures of. But then I realized I had a lot to say on Twilight, PLUS I could do weird random stuff SERIES. Oooooooooooh.

I came across this totally awesome...thing whilst (Did you see that? I said WHILST) roaming  around that great, shiny, designer-labeled wonderland that is The Mall.
In FYE (For Your Entertainment. Never fails to get Adam Glambert stuck in my head), there was  a cardboard cutout of Edward Cullen (of COURSE). Some really awesome person drew a Hitler 'stache on him.
Friggin' epic? I think so.
Sorry Twihards. *patpat*
I will admit in the books, Edward's a pretty groovy guy, so I can understand why you'd kinda like him. He's a gentleman with old-fashioned good manners (Usually), he drives a shiny car, he composes music, and he saved his virginity for the right person. He saved it for OVER A HUNDRED YEARS. He went through high school numerous times, AND STILL MANAGED TO DO THAT. That takes some mad virgin skillz.

He also supposedly looks, as Stephanie Meyer put it, "Like a Greek god."
I didn't know Edward was Greek. Edward Stephanopolis kinda has a ring to it, though.
Ol' Steph should've made him Greek.

The man who portrays Edward in the movie, however, does NOT look Greek. Or like a god.
Robert Pattinson looks like a hobo. Not only that, but HE FREELY ADMITS TO LOOKING LIKE A HOBO. Ladies, why would you chase after a hobo? And if a hobo, why THIS hobo? You don't all need to fight over the same one. There are plenty to go around. Try Austin, TX.

I really do need to watch the movie again. Maybe I will even make a review of it.
I did read the book, and from what I RECALL, it goes something like this:
Bella goes from living in  Phoenix, Arizona, with her mom, to living in Forks, Washington, with her father. Now she has to make new friends at a new high school. A surprisingly friendly high school. I figure there's just not enough students to form cliques, so everyone has to be friends with everyone, if they want any friends at all.

Bella must secretly be the hottest girl ever, because all the guys in the school throw themselves at her. Or maybe it's her stupidity and clumsiness that make them have to protect her, or see her get into some terrible accident for which she may blame them, and sue. "You spilled orange juice on the floor, I slipped on it, fell backwards, crashed through the window, rolled into the parking lot, and was run over by a bus. I SUE YOU, DUDE."

Maybe they are only throwing themselves at her to avoid being sued.

Edward on the other hand, is all like, "Mmmmmmmm. Delicious. Much better than those after-school cookies mom bakes."

So they argue a lot and act like they hate each other, while secretly falling in love.

That has certainly never been done before. 

They run around the meadows, and Edward shows Bella his sparkly chest and lack of abs. Bella seems very impressed. He also chucks around some large heavy things, in an attempt to warn Bella that he might accidentally kill her someday. Bella doesn't care. Because she is stupid. See that last sentence? I didn't even italicize that on purpose. It just came out italicized. Clearly, the internet itself wishes to emphasize Bella's stupidity.
Anyway. Most of the book is just describing Edward's hotness, and non-Greek Greek god-ness.
Or, it is Bella thinking about Edward. Or Bella hurting herself.

I don't remember how much Jacob is actually in this book. Not much. He's just a weird little kid whom Bella messes with. She already KNOWS she must have incredible hotness, since all the guys in school throw themselves at her. Yet she decided to flirt with this poor kid anyway.
So him pursuing her around all the other books is her own fault.
Like every other bad thing that happens.
A shorter version of this book would be: "People got hurt, it was cold and rainy, vampires sparkled, teenage boys were flirted, other teenage boys were not and it made them sad, there were fast cars driving fast, vampires tried to kill people, they messed up a dance studio, AND IT WAS ALL BELLA'S FAULT."

Oh, while I'm at it, here is a link to a hilarious video review of New Moon: Escape to the Movies with Movie Bob

And don't go jumping on me, "Oh, you don't love Twilight. YOU MUST LOVE HARRY POTTER THEN!! RIGHT, RIGHT? COME AND PRETEND TO CAST SPELLS WITH MEEEEE!"
I have read Twilight. Is was silly and amusing. I have watched Twilight. It was silly and amusing.
I have watched the Potter Puppet Pals and the Mysterious Ticking Noise. It was silly and amusing.
But that's it. How do Harry Potter and Twilight even COMPETE? One is a bunch of crazy wizard people things flying around and defeating the same noseless bad guy over and over. (Or, so I have heard.)
Twilight is a bunch of "sexy" immortal, semi-immortal, and not immortal at all but just as stupid, men going after the world's dumbest female. Seriously, she JUMPS OFF CLIFFS. In order to hallucinate and see Edward after he runs away to Italy.
They're completely different. Thus I am confused.
Terribly confused.

Friday, January 07, 2011

Today I Opened My Mathbook

This. This is what I saw.
All those words. All those numbers. All those variables. All those lines that are sort of like those division diving-boards.*
Why? Why would you start a lesson like THIS? Okay, they didn't START it like this. The first page was about ellipses. Something about string and pencils. Whatever it was, I mostly forgot it after I saw this.
I stared at it. I turned off my music (I Wish I Had an Angel, by Nightwish. For the record, I like both Tarja and Annette. I refuse to take a side in the matter). I stared at it some more. I tried to read over it, but I wasn't particularly successful. I literally spent ten minutes just looking at this page and trying to focus enough to figure out what they were trying to say. I eventually just turned the page to see what lay beyond.
Not this.
Thank God.
It was examples for the problems that would be coming in the lesson. The examples were perfectly comprehensible.  I didn't see anything that looked like that terrible mass of numbers on the previous page.
I'm still not entirely sure what that wall of text was supposed to mean.
It did make me realize how tired and sore I actually am today. It was the first week back at dance after three weeks off (Two week Christmas vacation. One week sick) so my legs hurt. I guess I slept wrong last night, because now my neck hurts.
When your neck hurts, be very careful drying your hair. Do not forget your neck hurts, and do that puppy-dog head shake from force of habit. JUST DON'T.

I closed my math book. I know I'll be able to comprehend what I'm supposed to do.
But I think that profusion of numbers and variables kind of made me lose the will to live.
In fact, I didn't realize until I saw this mass of math that some fairly sucky things happened this week.
Monday I was randomly mood swingy and felt like crap, so I had to go have a good cry and then I felt better (You ladies know how THAT is. Maybe some of you dudes do too. But probably not. That would just be kinda weird. Sorry dudes.)
Tuesday does not belong here in the pessimistic blah section. I don't mind going to the orthodontist. They're all fun to talk to. And I get my braces off in February. :D
Wednesday was the first day back at dance. I was really happy, don't get me wrong. I just did a lot of turns and went full-out a bit too much, and kinda blacked out a little in the back room. I also sorta fell against the refrigerator. But I didn't tell anybody that part. They might tell me to sit down and be careful or something. And I felt better later anyway.
Thursday was good too. :D

So not that many sucky things. But such an abundance of arithmetic really makes you think, "Oh jeez. Who? Why? What was WRONG with them? And now I have to learn this. I have to know this. Whyyyyy do I have to know this? This sucks. Huh. All that other stuff this week sucked too. I should be depressed.....Nope, I suck at being depressed. I CAN'T EVEN BE DEPRESSED RIGHT, OH MY GOSH. I'm too happy to be depressed. But I'm thinking of depressing things. I CAN'T EVEN BE AN OPTIMIST RIGHT, OH MY GOSH."

And then you take a picture of your math. And you close the book. And you blog about it.
And then you realize there is one thing you are wonderfully good at.
If procrastination was an Olympic sport, you'd take the gold......eventually.

* I totally forgot I stuck one of these star-thingies (Yes, I KNOW it's an asterisk. Star-thingie is more fun.) next to the division-diving-board thing. I thought I'd explain. You know how in division (Without a calculator. ON PAPER. Ooooooooooh.) you're putting little numbers onto top of that line? They're like, lining up to jump off the diving board. SEE? And then it's really fun if there's a remainder, because the remainder is going to come up behind them all, and push one, creating a lovely domino-effect.
This is possibly why math takes me so long. I'm busy thinking up things like THIS.

ADD? Meeee? ADHD? Of course not.
Well....maybe. But that's everybody else's excuse
I can make up my own excuses.
I don't sleep, I should be depressed, and my neck hurts. I could never concentrate on PRECALCULUS in such a state.
Never ever.